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LIFE IN CANADA FIFTY YEARS AGO:


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS AND REMINISCENCES OF A SEXAGENARIAN.


BY CANNIFF HAIGHT




"Ah, happy years! Once more who would not be a boy?"

_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage._




TO THE YOUNG MEN OF CANADA,

UPON WHOSE INTEGRITY AND ENERGY OF CHARACTER THE FUTURE OF THIS GREAT
HERITAGE OF OURS RESTS,

THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR.




PREFACE.



When a man poses before the world--even the Canadian world--in the
_role_ of an author, he is expected to step up to the footlights,
and explain his purpose in presenting himself before the public in that
capacity.

The thoughts of the world are sown broadcast, very much as the seed
falls from the sweep of the husbandman's hand. It drops here and there,
in good ground and in stony places. Its future depends upon its
vitality. Many a fair seed has fallen on rich soil, and never reached
maturity. Many another has shot up luxuriantly, but in a short time has
been choked by brambles. Other seeds have been cast out with the chaff
upon the dung heap, and after various mutations, have come in contact
with a clod of earth, through which they have sent their roots, and have
finally grown into thrifty plants. A thought thrown out on the world, if
it possesses vital force, never dies. How much is remembered of the work
of our greatest men? Only a sentence here and there; and many a man
whose name will go down through all the ages, owes it to the truth or
the vital force of the thought embedded in a few brief lines.

I have very little to say respecting the volume here with presented to
the public. The principal contents appeared a short time ago in the
_Canadian Monthly_ and the _Canadian Methodist Magazine_. They
were written at a time when my way seemed hedged around with
insurmountable difficulties, and when almost anything that could afford
me a temporary respite from the mental anxieties that weighed me down,
not only during the day, but into the long hours of the night, would
have been welcomed. Like most unfortunates, I met Mr. Worldly Wiseman
from day to day. I always found him ready to point out the way I should
go and what I should do, but I have no recollection that he ever got the
breadth of a hair beyond that. One evening I took up my pen and began
jotting down a few memories of my boyhood. I think we are all fond of
taking retrospective glances, and more particularly when life's pathway
trends towards the end. The relief I found while thus engaged was very
soothing, and for the time I got altogether away from the present, and
lived over again many a joyous hour. After a time I had accumulated a
good deal of matter, such as it was, but the thought of publication had
not then entered my mind. One day, while in conversation with Dr.
Withrow, I mentioned what I had done, and he expressed a desire to see
what I had written. The papers were sent him, and in a short time he
returned them with a note expressing the pleasure the perusal of them
had afforded him, and advising me to submit them to the _Canadian
Monthly_ for publication. Sometime afterwards I followed his advice.
The portion of the papers that appeared in the last-named periodical
were favourably received, and I was much gratified not only by that, but
from private letters afterwards received from different parts of the
Dominion, conveying expressions of commendation which I had certainly
never anticipated. This is as much as need be said about the origin and
first publication of the papers which make up the principal part of this
volume. I do not deem it necessary to give any reasons for putting them
in book form; but I may say this: the whole has been carefully revised,
and in its present shape I hope will meet with a hearty welcome from a
large number of Canadians.

In conclusion, I wish to express my thanks to the Hon. J.C. Aikins,
Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, for information he procured for me at
the time of publication, and particularly to J.C. Dent, Esq., to whom I
am greatly indebted for many useful hints.




CONTENTS.



DEDICATION

PREFACE

CHAPTER I.

The prose and poetry of pioneer life in the backwoods--The log house--
Sugar making--An omen of good luck--My Quaker grandparents--The old
home--Winter evenings at the fireside--Rural hospitality--Aristocracy
_versus_ Democracy--School days--Debating societies in the olden
time--A rural orator clinches the nail--Cider, sweet and otherwise--
Husking in the barn--Hog killing and sausage making--Full cloth and
corduroy--Winter work and winter amusements--A Canadian skating song.

CHAPTER II.

The round of pioneer life--Game--Night fishing--More details about
sugar-making--Sugaring-off--Taking a hand at the old churn--Sheep-
washing--Country girls, then and now--Substance and Shadow--"Old Gray"
and his eccentricities--Harvest--My early emulation of Peter Paul
Rubens--Meeting-houses--Elia on Quaker meetings--Variegated autumn
landscapes--Logging and quilting bees--Evening fun--The touching lay of
the young woman who sat down to sleep.

CHAPTER III.

Progress, material and social--Fondness of the young for dancing--
Magisterial nuptials--The charivari--Goon-hunting--Catching a tartar--
Wild pigeons--The old Dutch houses--Delights of summer and winter
contrasted--Stilled voices.

CHAPTER IV.

The early settlers in Upper Canada--Prosperity, national and individual--
The old homes, without and within--Candle-making--Superstitions and
omens--The death-watch--Old almanacs--Bees--The divining rod--The U. E.
Loyalists--Their sufferings and heroism--An old and a new price list--
Primitive horologes--A jaunt in one of the conventional "carriages" of
olden times--Then and now--A note of warning

CHAPTER V.

Jefferson's definition of "Liberty"--How it was acted upon--The Canadian
renaissance--Burning political questions in Canada half a century ago--
Locomotion--Mrs. Jameson on Canadian stagecoaches--Batteaux and Durham
boats

CHAPTER VI.

Road-making--Weller's line of stages and steamboats--My trip from
Hamilton to Niagara--Schools and colleges--Pioneer Methodist Preachers--
Solemnization of matrimony--Literature and libraries--Early newspapers--
Primitive editorial articles

CHAPTER VII.

Banks--Insurance--Marine--Telegraph companies--Administration of
Justice--Milling and manufactures--Rapid increase of population in
cities and towns--Excerpts from Andrew Picken

SKETCHES OF EARLY HISTORY:--

Early schools and schoolmasters--Birth of the American Republic--Love
of country--Adventures of a U.E. Loyalist family ninety years ago--The
wilds of Upper Canada--Hay bay--Hardships of pioneer life--Growth of
population--Division of the Canadian Provinces--Fort Frontenac--The
"dark days"--Celestial fireworks--Early steam navigation in Canada--The
country merchant Progress--The Hare and the Tortoise

RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS EARLY DAYS

Paternal memories--A visit to the home of my boyhood--The old Quaker
meeting-house--Flashes of silence--The old burying ground--"To the
memory of Eliza"--Ghostly experiences--Hiving the Bees--Encounter with a
bear--Giving "the mitten"--A "boundary question"--Song of the bullfrog--
Ring--Sagacity of animals--Training-days--Picturesque scenery on the
Bay of Quinte--John A. Macdonald--A perilous journey--Aunt Jane and
Willet Casey




CHAPTER I.

  "I talk of dreams,
  For you and I are past our dancing days."
--_Romeo and Juliet_.

THE PROSE AND POETRY OF PIONEER LIFE IN THE BACKWOODS--THE LOG HOUSE--
SUGAR MAKING--AN OMEN OF GOOD LUCK--MY QUAKER GRANDPARENTS--THE OLD
HOME--WINTER EVENINGS AT THE FIRESIDE--RURAL HOSPITALITY--ARISTOCRACY
versus DEMOCRACY--SCHOOL DAYS--DEBATING SOCIETIES IN THE OLDEN TIME--A
RURAL ORATOR CLINCHES THE NAIL--CIDER, SWEET AND OTHERWISE--HUSKING IN
THE BARN--HOG KILLING AND SAUSAGE MAKING--FULL CLOTH AND CORDUROY--
WINTER WORK AND WINTER AMUSEMENTS--A CANADIAN SKATING SONG.



I was born in the County of ----, Upper Canada, on the 4th day of June,
in the early part of this present century. I have no recollection of my
entry into the world, though I was present when the great event
occurred; but I have every reason to believe the date given is correct,
for I have it from my mother and father, who were there at the time, and
I think my mother had pretty good reason to know all about it. I was the
first of the family, though my parents had been married for more than
five years before I presented myself as their hopeful heir, and to
demand from them more attention than they anticipated. "Children," says
the Psalmist, "are an heritage, and he who hath his quiver full of them
shall not be ashamed; they shall speak with the enemies in the gate." I
do not know what effect this had on my father's enemies, if he had any;
but later experience has proved to me that those who rear a numerous
progeny go through a vast deal of trouble and anxiety. At any rate I
made my appearance on the stage, and began my performance behind the
footlights of domestic bliss. I must have been a success, for I called
forth a great deal of applause from my parents, and received their
undivided attention. But other actors came upon the boards in more rapid
succession, so that in a few years the quiver of my father was well
filled, and he might have met "his enemies in the gate."

My father, when he married, bought a farm. Of course it was all woods.
Such were the only farms available for young folk to commence life with
in those days. Doubtless there was a good deal of romance in it. Love in
a cot; the smoke gracefully curling; the wood-pecker tapping, and all
that; very pretty. But alas, in this work-a-day world, particularly the
new one upon which my parents then entered, these silver linings were
not observed. They had too much of the prose of life.

A house was built--a log one, of the Canadian rustic style then much in
vogue, containing one room, and that not very large either; and to this
my father brought his young bride. Their outfit consisted, on his part,
of a colt, a yoke of steers, a couple of sheep, some pigs, a gun, and an
axe. My mother's _dot_ comprised a heifer, bed and bedding, a table
and chairs, a chest of linen, some dishes, and a few other necessary
items with which to begin housekeeping. This will not seem a very lavish
set-out for a young couple on the part of parents who were at that time
more than usually well-off. But there was a large family on both sides,
and the old people then thought it the better way to let the young folk
try their hand at making a living before they gave them of their
abundance. If they succeeded they wouldn't need much, and if they did
not, it would come better after a while.

My father was one of a class of young men not uncommon in those days,
who possessed energy and activity. He was bound to win. What the old
people gave was cheerfully accepted, and he went to work to acquire the
necessaries and comforts of life with his own hands. He chopped his way
into the stubborn wood and added field to field. The battle had now been
waged for seven or eight years; an addition had been made to the house;
other small comforts had been added, and the nucleus of future
competence fairly established.

One of my first recollections is in connection with the small log barn
he had built, and which up to that date had not been enlarged. He
carried me out one day in his arms, and put me in a barrel in the middle
of the floor. This was covered with loosened sheaves of wheat, which he
kept turning over with a wooden fork, while the oxen and horse were
driven round and round me. I did not know what it all meant then, but I
afterwards learned that he was threshing. This was one of the first rude
scenes in the drama of the early settlers' life to which I was
introduced, and in which I had to take a more practical part in after
years. I took part, also, very early in life, in sugar-making. The sap-
bush was not very far away from the house, and the sap-boiling was under
the direction of my mother, who mustered all the pots and kettles she
could command, and when they were properly suspended over the fire on
wooden hooks, she watched them, and rocked me in a sap-trough. Father's
work consisted in bringing in the sap with two pails, which were carried
by a wooden collar about three feet long, and made to fit the shoulder,
from each end of which were fastened two cords with hooks to receive the
bail of the pails, leaving the arms free except to steady them. He had
also to cut wood for the fire. I afterwards came to take a more active
part in these duties, and used to wish I could go back to my primitive
cradle. But time pushed me on whether I would or not, until I scaled the
mountain top of life's activities; and now, when quietly descending into
the valley, my gaze is turned affectionately towards those early days. I
do not think they were always bright and joyous, and I am sure I often
chafed under the burdens imposed upon me; but how inviting they seem
when viewed through the golden haze of retrospection.

My next recollection is the raising of a frame barn behind the house,
and of a niece of my father's holding me in her arms to see the men
pushing up the heavy "bents" with long poles. The noise of the men
shouting and driving in the wooden pins with great wooden beetles, away
up in the beams and stringers, alarmed me a great deal, but it all went
up, and then one of the men mounted the plate (the timber on which the
foot of the rafter rests) with a bottle in his hand, and swinging it
round his head three times, threw it off in the field. If the bottle was
unbroken it was an omen of good luck. The bottle, I remember, was picked
up whole, and shouts of congratulation followed. Hence, I suppose, the
prosperity that attended my father.

The only other recollection I have of this place was of my father, who
was a very ingenious man, and could turn his hand to almost everything,
making a cradle for my sister, for this addition to our number had
occurred. I have no remembrance of any such fanciful crib being made for
my slumbers. Perhaps the sap-trough did duty for me in the house as well
as in the bush. The next thing was our removal, which took place in the
winter, and all that I can recall of it is that my uncle took my mother,
sister, and myself away in a sleigh, and we never returned to the little
log house. My father had sold his farm, bought half of his old home, and
come to live with his parents. They were Quakers. My grandfather was a
short, robust old man, and very particular about his personal
appearance. Half a century has elapsed since then, but the picture of
the old man taking his walks about the place, in his closely-fitting
snuff-brown cut-away coat, knee-breeches, broad-brimmed hat and silver-
headed cane is distinctively fixed in my memory. He died soon after we
took up our residence with him, and the number who came from all parts
of the country to the funeral was a great surprise to me. I could not
imagine where so many people came from. The custom prevailed then, and
no doubt does still, when a death occurred, to send a messenger, who
called at every house for many miles around to give notice of the death,
and of when and where the interment would take place.

[Illustration: THE FIRST HOME.]

My grandmother was a tall, neat, motherly old woman, beloved by
everybody. She lived a number of years after her husband's death, and I
seem to see her now, sitting at one side of the old fire-place knitting.
She was always knitting, and turning out scores of thick warm socks and
mittens for her grandchildren.

At this time a great change had taken place, both in the appearance of
the country and in the condition of the people. It is true that many of
the first settlers had ceased from their labours, but there were a good
many left--old people now, who were quietly enjoying, in their declining
years, the fruit of their early industry. Commodious dwellings had taken
the place of the first rude houses. Large frame barns and outhouses had
grown out of the small log ones. The forest in the immediate
neighbourhood had been cleared away, and well-tilled fields occupied its
place. Coarse and scanty fare had been supplanted by a rich abundance of
all the requisites that go to make home a scene of pleasure and
contentment. Altogether a substantial prosperity was apparent. A genuine
content and a hearty good will, one towards another, existed in all the
older parts. The settled part as yet, however, formed only a very narrow
belt extending along the bay and lake shores. The great forest lay close
at hand in the rear, and the second generation, as in the case of my
father, had only to go a few miles to find it, and commence for
themselves the laborious struggle of clearing it away.

The old home, as it was called, was always a place of attraction, and
especially so to the young people, who were sure of finding good cheer
at grandfather's. What fun, after the small place called home, to have
the run of a dozen rooms, to haunt the big cellar, with its great heaps
of potatoes and vegetables, huge casks of cider, and well-filled bins of
apples, or to sit at the table loaded with the good things which
grandmother only could supply. How delicious the large piece of pumpkin
pie tasted, and how toothsome the rich crullers that melted in the
mouth! Dear old body! I can see her now going to the great cupboard to
get me something saying as she goes, "I'm sure the child is hungry." And
it was true, he was always hungry; and how he managed to stow away so
much is a mystery I cannot now explain. There was no place in the world
more to be desired than this, and no spot in all the past the
recollection of which is more bright and joyous.

My father now assumed the management of affairs. The old people reserved
one room to themselves, but it was free to all, particularly to us
children. It was hard to tell sometimes which to choose, whether the
kitchen, where the family were gathered round the cheerful logs blazing
brightly in the big fire-place, or a stretch on the soft rag-carpet
beside the box stove in grandmother's room. This room was also a
sanctuary to which we often fled to escape punishment after doing some
mischief. We were sure of an advocate there, if we could reach it in
time.

The house was a frame one, as nearly all the best houses were in those
days, and was painted a dark yellow. There were two kitchens, one used
for washing and doing the heavier household work in; the other,
considerably larger, was used by the family. In the latter was the large
fire-place, around which gathered in the winter time bright and happy
faces; where the old men smoked their pipes in peaceful reverie, or
delighted us with stories of other days; where mother darned her socks,
and father mended our boots; where the girls were sewing, and uncles
were scraping axe-handles with bits of glass, to make them smooth. There
were no drones in farm-houses then; there was something for every one to
do. At one side of the fire-place was the large brick oven with its
gaping mouth, closed with a small door, easily removed, where the bread
and pies were baked. Within the fire-place was an iron crane securely
fastened in the jamb, and made to swing in and out with its row of iron
pot-hooks of different lengths, on which to hang the pots used in
cooking. Cook stoves had not yet appeared to cheer the housewife and
revolutionize the kitchen. Joints of meat and poultry were roasted on
turning spits, or were suspended before the fire by a cord and wire
attached to the ceiling. Cooking was attended with more difficulties
then. Meat was fried in long-handled pans, and the short-cake that so
often graced the supper table, and played such havoc with the butter and
honey, with the pancakes that came piping hot on the breakfast table,
owed their finishing touch to the frying pan. The latter, however, were
more frequently baked on a large griddle with a bow handle made to hook
on the crane. This, on account of its larger surface, enabled the cook
to turn out these much-prized cakes, when properly made, with greater
speed; and in a large family an expert hand was required to keep up the
supply. Some years later an ingenious Yankee invented what was called a
"Reflector," made of bright tin for baking. It was a small tin oven with
a slanting top, open at one side, and when required for use was set
before the fire on the hearth. This simple contrivance was a great
convenience, and came into general use. Modern inventions in the
appliances for cooking have very much lessened the labour and increased
the possibilities of supplying a variety of dishes, but it has not
improved the quality of them. There were no better caterers to hungry
stomachs than our mothers, whose practical education had been received
in grandmother's kitchen. The other rooms of the house comprised a
sitting-room--used only when there was company--a parlour, four
bedrooms, and the room reserved for the old people. Up-stairs were the
sleeping and store-rooms. In the hall stood the tall old fashioned house
clock, with its long pendulum swinging to and fro with slow and measured
beat. Its face had looked upon the venerable sire before his locks were
touched with the frost of age. When his children were born it indicated
the hour, and it had gone on telling off the days and years until the
children were grown. And when a wedding day had come, it had rung a
joyful peal through the house, and through the years the old hands had
travelled on, the hammer had struck off the hours, and another
generation had come to look upon it and grow familiar with its constant
tick.

[Illustration: GRANDFATHER'S.]

The furniture was plain and substantial, more attention being given to
durability than to style or ornament. Easy chairs--save the spacious
rocking-chair for old women--and lounges were not seen. There was no
time for lolling on well-stuffed cushions. The rooms were heated with
large double box stoves, very thick and heavy, made at Three Rivers; and
by their side was always seen a large wood-box, well filled with sound
maple or beech wood. But few pictures adorned the walls, and these were
usually rude prints far inferior to those we get every day now from the
illustrated papers. Books, so plentiful and cheap now-a-days, were then
very scarce, and where a few could be found, they were mostly heavy
doctrinal tomes piled away on some shelf where they were allowed to
remain.

The home we now inhabited was altogether a different one from that we
had left in the back concession, but it was like many another to be
found along the bay shore. Besides my own family, there were two younger
brothers of my father, and two grown-up nieces, so that when we all
mustered round the table, there was a goodly number of hearty people
always ready to do justice to the abundant provision made. This reminds
me of an incident or two illustrative of the lavish manner with which a
well-to-do farmer's table was supplied in those days. A Montreal
merchant and his wife were spending an evening at a very highly-esteemed
farmer's house. At the proper time supper was announced, and the
visitors, with the family, were gathered round the table, which groaned,
metaphorically speaking, under the load it bore. There were turkey, beef
and ham, bread and the favourite short cake, sweet cakes in endless
variety, pies, preserves, sauces, tea, coffee, cider, and what not. The
visitors were amazed, as they might well be, at the lavish display of
cooking, and they were pressed, with well-meant kindness, to partake
heartily of everything. They yielded good-naturedly to the entreaties to
try this and that as long as they could, and paused only when it was
impossible to take any more. When they were leaving, the merchant asked
his friend when they were coming to Montreal, and insisted that they
should come soon, promising if they would only let him know a little
before when they were coming he would buy up everything there was to be
had in the market for supper. On another occasion an English gentleman
was spending an evening at a neighbour's, and, as usual, the supper
table was crowded with everything the kind-hearted hostess could think
of. The guest was plied with dish after dish, and, thinking it would be
disrespectful if he did not take something from each, he continued to
eat, and take from the dishes as they were passed, until he found his
plate, and all the available space around him, heaped up with cakes and
pie. To dispose of all he had carefully deposited on his plate and
around it seemed utterly impossible, and yet he thought he would be
considered rude if he did not finish what he had taken, and he struggled
on, with the perspiration visible on his face, until in despair he asked
to be excused, as he could not eat any more if it were to save his life.

It was the custom in those days for the hired help (the term servant was
not used) to sit at the table, with the family. On one occasion, a
Montreal merchant prince was on a visit at a wealthy Quaker's, who owned
a large farm, and employed a number of men in the summer. It was
customary in this house for the family to seat themselves first at the
head of the table, after which the hired hands all came in, and took the
lower end. This was the only distinction. They were served just as the
rest of the family. On this occasion the guest came out with the family,
and they were seated. Then the hired men and girls came in and did the
same, whereupon the merchant left the table and the room. The old lady,
thinking there was something the matter with the man, soon after
followed him into the sitting-room, and asked him if he was ill. He said
"No." "Then why did thee leave the table?" thee old lady enquired.
"Because," said he, "I am not accustomed to eat with servants." "Very
well," replied the old lady, "if thee cannot eat with us, thee will have
to go without thy dinner." His honour concluded to pocket his dignity,
and submit to the rules of the house.

I was sent to school early--more, I fancy, to get me out of the way for
a good part of the day, than from any expectation that I would learn
much. It took a long time to hammer the alphabet into my head. But if I
was dull at school, I was noisy and mischievous enough at home, and very
fond of tormenting my sisters. Hence, my parents--and no child ever had
better ones--could not be blamed very much if they did send me to school
for no other reason than to be rid of me. The school house was close at
hand, and its aspect is deeply graven in my memory. My first
schoolmaster was an Englishman who had seen better days. He was a good
scholar, I believe, but a poor teacher. The school house was a small
square structure, with low ceiling. In the centre of the room was a box
stove, around which the long wooden benches without backs were ranged.
Next the walls were the desks, raised a little from the floor. In the
summer time the pupils were all of tender years, the elder ones being
kept at home to help with the work. At the commencement of my
educational course I was one of a little lot of urchins ranged daily on
hard wooden seats, with our feet dangling in the air, for seven or eight
hours a day. In such a plight we were expected to be very good children,
to make no noise, and to learn our lessons. It is a marvel that so many
years had to elapse before parents and teachers could be brought to see
that keeping children in such a position for so many hours was an act of
great cruelty. The terror of the rod was the only thing that could keep
us still, and that often failed. Sometimes, tired and weary, we fell
asleep and tumbled off the bench, to be roused by the fall and the rod.
In the winter time the small school room was filled to overflowing with
the larger boys and girls. This did not improve our condition, for we
were mere closely packed together, and were either shivering with the
cold or being cooked with the red-hot stove. In a short time after, the
old school house, where my father, I believe, had got his schooling, was
hoisted on runners, and, with the aid of several yoke of oxen, was taken
up the road about a mile and enlarged a little. This event brought my
course of study to an end for a while. I next sat under the rod of an
Irish pedagogue--an old man who evidently believed that the only way to
get anything into a boy's head was to pound it in with a stick through
his back. There was no discipline, and the noise we made seemed to rival
a Bedlam. We used to play all sorts of tricks on the old man, and I was
not behind in contriving or carrying them into execution. One day,
however, I was caught and severely thrashed. This so mortified me, that
I jumped out of the window and went home. An investigation followed, and
I was whipped by my father and sent back. Poor old Dominic, he has long
since put by his stick, and passed beyond the reach of unruly boys. Thus
I passed on from teacher to teacher, staying at home in the summer, and
resuming my books again in the winter. Sometimes I went to the old
school house up the road, sometimes to the one in an opposite direction.
The latter was larger, and there was generally a better teacher, but it
was much farther, and I had to set off early in the cold frosty mornings
with my books and dinner basket, often through deep snow and drifts. At
night I had to get home in time to help to feed the cattle and get in
the wood for the fires. The school houses then were generally small and
uncomfortable, and the teachers were often of a very inferior order. The
school system of Canada, which has since been moulded by the skilful
hand of Dr. Ryerson into one of the best in the world, and which will
give to his industry and genius a more enduring record than stone or
brass, was in my day very imperfect indeed. It was, perhaps, up with
the times. But when the advantages which the youth of this country now
possess are compared with the small facilities we had of picking up a
little knowledge, it seems almost a marvel that we learned anything.
Spelling matches came at this time into vogue, and were continued for
several years. They occasioned a friendly rivalry between schools, and
were productive of good. The meetings took place during the long winter
nights, either weekly or fortnightly. Every school had one or more prize
spellers, and these were selected to lead the match; or if the school
was large, a contest between the girls and boys came off first.
Sometimes two of the best spellers were selected by the scholars as
leaders, and these would proceed to 'choose sides;' that is, one would
choose a fellow pupil, who would rise and take his or her place, and
then the other, continuing until the list was exhausted. The
preliminaries being completed, the contest began. At first the lower end
of the class was disposed of, and as time wore on one after another
would make a slip and retire, until two or three only were left on
either side. Then the struggle became exciting, and scores of eager eyes
were fixed on the contestants. With the old hands there was a good deal
of fencing, though the teacher usually had a reserve of difficult words
to end the fight, which often lasted two or three hours. He failed
sometimes, and then it was a drawn battle to be fought on another
occasion.

Debating classes also met and discussed grave questions, upon such old-
fashioned subjects as these:

"Which is the more useful to man, wood or iron?" "Which affords the
greater enjoyment, anticipation or participation?" "Which was the
greater general, Wellington or Napoleon?" Those who were to take part in
the discussion were always selected at a previous meeting, so that all
that had to be done was to select a chairman and commence the debate. I
can give from memory a sample or two of these first attempts. "Mr.
President, Ladies and Gentlemen: Unaccustomed as I am to public
speaking, I rise to make a few remarks on this all important question--
ahem--Mr. President, this is the first time I ever tried to speak in
public, and unaccustomed as I am to--to--ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen, I
think our opponents are altogether wrong in arguing that Napoleon was a
greater general than Wellington--ahem--I ask you, Mr. President, did
Napoleon ever thrash Wellington? Didn't Wellington always thrash him,
Mr. President? Didn't he whip him at Waterloo and take him prisoner? and
then to say that he is a greater general than Wellington--why, Mr.
President, he couldn't hold a candle to him. Ladies and Gentlemen, I say
that Napoleon wasn't a match for him at all. Wellington licked him every
time--and--yes, licked him every time. I can't think of any more, Mr.
President, and I will take my seat, Sir, by saying that I'm sure you
will decide in our favour from the strong arguments our side has
produced."

After listening to such powerful reasoning, some one of the older
spectators would ask Mr. President to be allowed to say a few words on
some other important question to be debated, and would proceed to air
his eloquence and instruct the youth on such a topic as this: "Which is
the greater evil, a scolding wife or a smoky chimney?" After this wise
the harangue would proceed:--"Mr. President, I have been almost mad a-
listening to the debates of these 'ere youngsters--they don't know
nothing at all about the subject. What do they know about the evil of a
scolding wife? Wait till they have had one for twenty years, and been
hammered, and jammed, and slammed, all the while. Wait till they've been
scolded because the baby cried, because the fire wouldn't burn, because
the room was too hot, because the cow kicked over the milk, because it
rained, because the sun shined, because the hens didn't lay, because the
butter wouldn't come, because the old cat had kittens, because they came
too soon for dinner, because they were a minute late--before they talk
about the worry of a scolding wife. Why Mr. President, I'd rather hear
the clatter of hammers and stones and twenty tin pans, and nine brass
kettles, than the din, din, din of the tongue of a scolding woman; yes,
sir, I would. To my mind, Mr. President, a smoky chimney is no more to
be compared to a scolding wife than a little nigger is to a dark night."
These meetings were generally well attended, and conducted with
considerable spirit. If the discussions were not brilliant, and the
young debater often lost the thread of his argument--in other words, got
things "mixed"--he gained confidence, learned to talk in public, and to
take higher flights. Many of our leading public men learned their first
lessons in the art of public speaking in the country debating school.

Apple trees were planted early by the bay settlers, and there were now
numerous large orchards of excellent fruit. Pears, plums, cherries,
currants and gooseberries were also common. The apple crop was gathered
in October, the best fruit being sent to the cellar for family use
during winter, and the rest to the cider mill.

The cider mills of those days were somewhat rude contrivances. The mill
proper consisted of two cogged wooden cylinders about fourteen inches in
diameter and perhaps twenty-six inches in length, placed in an upright
position in a frame. The pivot of one of these extended upward about six
feet, and at its top was secured the long shaft to which the horse was
attached, and as it was driven round and round, the mill crunched the
apples, with many a creak and groan, and shot them out on the opposite
side. The press which waited to receive the bruised mass was about eight
feet square, round the floor of which, near the edge, ran a deep groove
to carry off the juice. In making what is known as the cheese, the first
process was to spread a thick layer of long rye or wheat straw round the
outer edge, on the floor of the press. Upon this the pulp was placed to
the depth of a foot or more. The first layer of straw was then turned in
carefully, and another layer of straw put down as in the first place,
upon which more pulp was placed, and so on from layer to layer, until
the cheese was complete. Planks were then placed on the top, and the
pressure of the powerful wooden screw brought to bear on the mass. At
once a copious stream of cider began to flow into the casks or vat, and
here the fun began with the boys, who, well armed with long straws,
sucked their fill.

  By the roadside stands the cider mill,
  Where a lowland slumber waits the rill:

  A great brown building, two stories high,
  On the western hill face warm and dry;

  And odorous piles of apples there
  Fill with incense the golden air;

  And masses of pomace, mixed with straw,
  To their amber sweets the late flies draw.

  The carts back up to the upper door,
  And spill their treasures in on the floor;

  Down through the toothed wheels they go
  To the wide, deep cider press below.

  And the screws are turned by slow degrees
  Down on the straw-laid cider cheese;

  And with each turn a fuller stream
  Bursts from beneath the graning beam,

  An amber stream the gods might sip,
  And fear no morrow's parched lip.

  But therefore, gods? Those idle toys
  Were soulless to real _Canadian_ boys!

  What classic goblet ever felt
  Such thrilling touches through it melt,

  As throb electric along a straw,
  When the boyish lips the cider draw?

  The years are heavy with weary sounds,
  And their discords life's sweet music drowns

  But yet I hear, oh, sweet! oh, sweet!
  The rill that bathed my bare, brown feet;

  And yet the cider drips and falls
  On my inward ear at intervals

  And I lead at times in a sad, sweet dream
  To the bubbling of that little stream;

  And I sit in a visioned autumn still,
  In the sunny door of the cider mill.

--WHITTIER.

It was a universal custom to set a dish of apples and a pitcher of cider
before everyone who came to the house. Any departure from this would
have been thought disrespectful. The sweet cider was generally boiled
down into a syrup, and, with apples quartered and cooked in it, was
equal to a preserve, and made splendid pies. It was called apple sauce,
and found its way to the table thrice a day.

Then came the potatoes and roots, which had to be dug and brought to the
cellar. It was not very nice work, particularly if the ground was damp
and cold, to pick them out and throw them into the basket, but it had to
be done, and I was compelled to do my share. One good thing about it was
that it was never a long job. There was much more fun in gathering the
pumpkins and corn into the barn. The corn was husked, generally at
night, the bright golden ears finding their way into the old crib, from
whence it was to come again to fatten the turkeys, the geese, and the
ducks for Christmas. It was a very common thing to have husking bees. A
few neighbours would be invited, the barn lit with candles.

  Strung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow,
  Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scenes below;
  The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before,
  And laughing eyes, and busy hand, and brown cheeks glimmering o'er.

  Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart,
  Talking their old times o'er, the old men sat apart;
  While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade,
  At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.

--WHITTIER.

Amid jokes and laughter the husks and ears would fly, until the work was
done, when all hands would repair to the house, and, after partaking of
a hearty supper, leave for home in high spirits.

Then came hog-killing time, a very heavy and disagreeable task, but the
farmer has many of these, and learns to take them pleasantly. My father,
with two or three expert hands dressed for the occasion, would slaughter
and dress ten or a dozen large hogs in the course of a day. There were
other actors besides in the play. It would be curious, indeed, if all
hands were not employed when work was going on. My part in the
performance was to attend to the fire under the great kettle in which
the hogs were scalded, and to keep the water boiling, varied at
intervals by blowing up bladders with a quill for my own amusement. In
the house the fat had to be looked to, and after being washed and tried
(the term used for melting), was poured into dishes and set aside to
cool and become lard, afterwards finding its way into cakes and
piecrust. The out-door task does not end with the first day either, for
the hogs have to be carried in and cut up; the large meat tubs, in which
the family supplies are kept, have to be filled; the hams and shoulders
to be nicely cut and cured, and the rest packed into barrels for sale.

Close on the heels of hog-killing came sausage-making, when meat had to
be chopped and flavoured, and stuffed into cotton bags or prepared gut.
Then the heads and feet had to be soaked and scraped over and over
again, and when ready were boiled, the one being converted into head-
cheese, the other into souse. All these matters, when conducted under
the eye of a good housewife, contributed largely to the comfort and good
living of the family. Who is there, with such an experience as mine,
that receives these things at the hands of his city butcher and meets
them on his table, who does not wish for the moment that he was a boy,
and seated at his mother's board, that he might shake off the phantom
canine and feline that rise on his plate, and call in one of mother's
sausages.

As the fall crept on, the preparations for winter increased. The large
roll of full cloth, which had been lately brought from the mill, was
carried down, and father and I set out for a tailor, who took our
measurements and cut our clothes, which we brought home, and some woman,
or perhaps a wandering tailor, was employed to make them up. There was
no discussion as to style, and if the fit did not happen to be perfect,
there was no one to criticise either the material or the make, nor were
there any arbitrary rules of fashion to be respected. We had new
clothes, which were warm and comfortable. What more did we want? A
cobbler, too, was brought in to make our boots. My father was quite an
expert at shoemaking, but he had so many irons in the fire now that he
could not do more than mend or make a light pair of shoes for mother at
odd spells. The work then turned out by the sons of St. Crispin was not
highly finished. It was coarse, but, what was of greater consequence, it
was strong, and wore well. While all this was going on for the benefit
of the male portion of the house, mother and the girls were busy turning
the white flannels into shirts and drawers, and the plaid roll that came
with it into dresses for themselves. As in the case of our clothes,
there was no consulting of fashion-books, for a very good reason,
perhaps--there was none to consult. No talk about Miss Brown or Miss
Smith having her dress made this way or that; and I am sure they were
far happier and contented than the girls of to-day, with all their show
and glitter.

The roads at that time, more particularly in the fall, were almost
impassable until frozen up. In the spring, until the frost was out of
the ground, and they had settled and dried, they were no better. The
bridges were rough, wooden affairs, covered with logs, usually flattened
on one side with an axe. The swamps and marshes were made passable by
laying down logs, of nearly equal size, close together in the worst
places. These were known as corduroy roads, and were no pleasant
highways to ride over for any distance, as all who have tried them know.
But in the winter the frost and snow made good traveling everywhere, and
hence the winter was the time for the farmer to do his teaming.

One of the first things that claimed attention when the sleighing began,
and before the snow got deep in the woods, was to get out the year's
supply of fuel. The men set out for the bush before it was fairly
daylight, and commenced chopping. The trees were cut in lengths of about
ten feet, and the brush piled in heaps. Then my father, or myself, when
I got old enough, followed with the sleigh, and began drawing it, until
the wood yard was filled with sound beech and maple, with a few loads of
dry pine for kindling. These huge wood-piles always bore a thrifty
appearance, and spoke of comfort and good cheer within.

Just before Christmas there was always one or two beef cattle to kill.
Sheep had also to be slaughtered, with the turkeys, geese and ducks,
which had been getting ready for decapitation. After home wants were
provided for, the rest were sent to market.

The winter's work now began in earnest, for whatever may be said about
the enjoyment of Canadian winter life--and it is an enjoyable time to
the Canadian--there are few who really enjoy it so much as the farmer.
He cannot, however, do like bruin--roll himself up in the fall, and suck
his paw until spring in a state of semi-unconsciousness, for his cares
are numerous and imperious, his work varied and laborious. His large
stock demands regular attention, and must be fed morning and night. The
great barn filled with grain had to be threshed, for the cattle needed
the straw, and the grain had to be got out for the market. So day after
day he and his men hammered away with the flail, or spread the sheaves
on the barn floor to be trampled out by horses. Threshing machines were
unknown then, as were all the labour-saving machines now so extensively
used by the farmer. His muscular arm was the only machine he then had to
rely upon, and if it did not accomplish much, it succeeded in doing its
work well, and in providing him with all his modest wants. Then the
fanning mill came into play to clean the grain, after which it was
carried to the granary, whence again it was taken either to the mill or
to market. Winter was also the time to get out the logs from the woods,
and to haul them to the mill to be sawed in the spring--we always had a
use for boards. These saw mills, built on sap-streams, which ran dry as
soon as the spring freshets were over, were like the cider mills, small
rough structures. They had but one upright saw, which, owing to its
primitive construction, did not move as now, with lightning rapidity,
nor did it turn out a very large quantity of stuff. It answered the
purpose of the day, however, and that was all that was required or
expected of it. Rails, also, had to be split and drawn to where new
fences were wanted, or where old ones needed repairs. There were flour,
beef, mutton, butter, apples, and a score more of things to be taken to
market and disposed of. But, notwithstanding all this, the winter was a
good, joyful time for the farmer--a time, moreover, when the social
requisites of his nature received the most attention. Often the horses
would be put to the sleigh, and we would set off, well bundled up, to
visit some friends a few miles distant, or, as frequently happened, to
visit an uncle or an aunt, far away in the new settlements. The roads
often wound along for miles through the forest, and it was great fun for
us youngsters to be dashing along behind a spirited team, now around the
trunks of great trees, or under the low-hanging boughs of the spruce or
cedar, laden with snow, which sometimes shed their heavy load upon our
head. But after a while the cold would seize upon us, and we would wish
our journey at an end.

The horses, white with frost, would then be pressed on faster, and would
bring us at length to the door. In a few moments we would all be seated
round the glowing fire, which would soon quiet our chattering teeth,
thaw us out, and prepare us to take our places at the repast which had
been getting ready in the meantime. We were sure to do justice to the
good things which the table provided.

Many of these early days start up vividly and brightly before me,
particularly since I have grown to manhood, and lived amid other
surroundings. Among the most pleasing of these recollections are some of
my drives on a moonlight night, when the sleighing was good, and when
the sleigh, with its robes and rugs, was packed with a merry lot of
girls and boys (we had no ladies and gentlemen then). Off we would set,
spanking along over the crisp snow, which creaked and cracked under the
runners, making a low murmuring sound in harmony with the sleigh-bells.
When could a more fitting time be found for a pleasure-ride than on one
of those clear calm nights; when the earth, wrapped in her mantle of
snow, glistened and sparkled in the moonbeams, and the blue vault of
heaven glittered with countless stars, whose brilliancy seemed
intensified by the cold--when the aurora borealis waved and danced
across the northern sky, and the frost noiselessly fell like flakes of
silver upon a scene at once inspiriting, exhilarating and joyous! How
the merry laugh floated along in the evening air, as we dashed along the
road! How sweetly the merry song and chorus echoed through the silent
wood; while our hearts were aglow with excitement, and all nature seemed
to respond to the happy scene!

When the frosty nights set in, we were always on the _qui vive_ for
a skating revel on some pond near by, and our eagerness to enjoy the
sport frequently led to a ducking. But very soon the large ponds, and
then the bay, were frozen over, when we could indulge in the fun to our
heart's content. My first attempts were made under considerable
difficulties, but perseverance bridges the way over many obstacles, and
so, with my father's skates, which were over a foot long, and which
required no little ingenuity to fasten to my feet, I made my first
attempt on the ice. Soon, however, in the growth of my feet, this
trouble was overcome, and I could whirl over the ice with anyone. The
girls did not share in this exhilarating exercise then; indeed their
doing so would have been thought quite improper. As our time was usually
taken up with school through the day, and with such chores as feeding
cattle and bringing wood in for the fire when we returned at night, we
would sally out after supper, on moonlight nights, and, full of life and
hilarity, fly over the ice, singing and shouting, and making the night
ring with our merriment. There was plenty of room on the bay, and early
in the season there were miles of ice, smooth as glass and clear as
crystal, reflecting the stars which sparkled and glittered beneath our
feet, as though we were gliding over a sea of silver set with
brilliants.

  Ho for the bay, the ice-bound bay!
    The moon is up, the stars are bright;
  The air is keen, but let it play--
    We're proof against Jack Frost to-night.
  With a sturdy swing and lengthy stride,
    The glassy ice shall feel our steel;
  And through the welkin far and wide
    The echo of our song shall peal.

CHORUS.--Hurrah, boys, hurrah! skates on and away!
  You may lag at your work, but never at play;
  Give wing to your feet, and make the ice ring,
  Give voice to your mirth, and merrily sing.

  Ho for the boy who does not care
    A fig for cold or northern blast!
  Whose winged feet can cut the air
    Swift as an arrow from bowman cast:
  Who can give a long and hearty chase,
    And wheel and whirl; then in a trice
  Inscribe his name in the polished face,
    Of the cold and clear and glistening ice.

CHORUS.

  Ho, boys! the night is waning fast;
    The moon's last rays but faintly gleam.
  The hours have glided swiftly past,
    And we must home to rest and dream.
  The morning's light must find us moving,
    Ready our daily tasks to do;
  This is the way we have of proving
    We can do our part at working too.

CHORUS.




CHAPTER II.

THE ROUND OF PIONEER LIFE--GAME--NIGHT FISHING--MORE DETAILS ABOUT
SUGAR-MAKING--SUGARING-OFF--TAKING A HAND AT THE OLD CHURN--SHEEP-
WASHING-COUNTRY GIRLS, THEN AND NOW--SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW--"OLD GRAY"
AND HIS ECCENTRICITIES--HARVEST--MY EARLY EMULATION OF PETER PAUL
RUBENS--MEETING-HOUSES--ELIA ON QUAKER MEETINGS--VARIEGATED AUTUMN
LANDSCAPES--LOGGING AND QUILTING BEES--EVENING FUN--THE TOUCHING LAY OF
THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO SAT DOWN TO SLEEP.



Visiting for the older folk and sleigh-riding for the younger were the
principal amusements of the winter. The life then led was very plain and
uneventful. There was no ostentatious display, or assumption of
superiority by the "first families." Indeed there was no room for the
lines of demarcation which exist in these days. All had to struggle for
a home and home comforts, and if some had been more successful in the
rough battle of pioneer life than others, they saw no reason why they
should be elated or puffed up over it. Neighbours were too scarce to be
coldly or haughtily treated. They had hewn their way, side by side, into
the fastnesses of the Canadian bush, and therefore stood on one common
level. But few superfluities could be found either in their houses or on
their persons. Their dress was of home-made fabric, plain, often coarse,
but substantial and comfortable. Their manners were cordial and hearty,
even to brusqueness, but they were true friends and honest counsellors,
rejoicing with their neighbours in prosperity, and sympathising when
days of darkness visited their homes. Modern refinement had not crept
into their domestic circle to disturb it with shams and pretensions.
Fashion had no court wherein to adjudicate on matters of dress. Time-
worn styles of dress and living were considered the best, and hence
there was no rivalry or foolish display in either. Both old and young
enjoyed an evening at a friend's house, where they were sure to be
welcomed, and where a well-supplied table always greeted them. The home
amusements were very limited. Music, with its refining power, was
uncultivated, and indeed almost unknown. There were no musical
instruments, unless some wandering fiddler happened to come along to
delight both old and young with his crazy instrument. There were no
critical ears to detect discordant sounds, or be displeased with the
poor execution of the rambling musician. The young folk would sometimes
spirit him away to the village tavern, which was usually provided with a
large room called a ball-room, where he would fiddle while they danced
the hours gaily away. At home the family gathered round the glowing
fire, where work and conversation moved on together. The old motto of
"Early to bed, and early to rise" was strictly observed. Nine o'clock
usually found the household wrapt in slumber. In the morning all were up
and breakfast was over usually before seven. As soon as it began to get
light, the men and boys started for the barn to feed the cattle and
thresh; and thus the winter wore away.

Very little things sometimes contribute largely to the comfort of a
family, and among those I may mention the lucifer match, then unknown.
It was necessary to carefully cover up the live coals on the hearth
before going to bed, so that there would be something to start the fire
with in the morning. This precaution rarely failed with good hard-wood
coals. But sometimes they died out, and then some one would have to go
to a neighbour's house for fire, a thing which I have done sometimes,
and it was not nice to have to crawl out of my warm nest and run through
the keen cold air for a half mile or more to fetch some live coals,
before the morning light had broken in the east. My father usually kept
some bundles of finely split pine sticks tipped with brimstone for
starting a fire. With these, if there was only a spark left, a fire
could soon be made.

But little time was given to sport, although there was plenty of large
game. There was something of more importance always claiming attention.
In the winter an occasional deer might be shot, and foxes were sometimes
taken in traps. It required a good deal of experience and skill to set a
trap so as to catch the cunning beast. Many stories have I heard
trappers tell of tricks played by Reynard, and how he had, night after
night, baffled all their ingenuity, upset the traps, set them off, or
removed them, secured the bait, and away. Another sport more largely
patronized in the spring, because it brought something fresh and
inviting to the table, was night-fishing. When the creeks were swollen,
and the nights were calm and warm, pike and mullet came up the streams
in great abundance. Three or four would set out with spears, with a man
to carry the jack, and also a supply of dry pine knots, as full of resin
as could be found, and cut up small, which were deposited in different
places along the creek. The jack was then filled and lit, and when it
was all ablaze carried along the edge of the stream, closely followed by
the spearsman, who, if an expert, would in a short time secure as many
fish as could be carried. It required a sharp eye and a sure aim. The
fish shot through the water with great rapidity, which rendered the
sport all the more exciting. All hands, of course, returned home
thoroughly soaked. Another and pleasanter way was fishing in a canoe on
the bay, with the lighted jack secured in the bow. While there its light
shone for a considerable distance around, and enabled the fishers to see
the smallest fish low down in the clear calm water. This was really
enjoyable sport, and generally resulted in a good catch of pike,
pickerel, and, very often, a maskelonge or two.

Early in the spring, before the snow had gone, the sugar-making time
came. Success depended altogether upon the favourable condition of the
weather. The days must be clear and mild, the nights frosty, and plenty
of snow in the woods. When the time was at hand, the buckets and troughs
were overhauled, spiles were made, and when all was ready the large
kettles and casks were put in the sleigh, and all hands set out for the
bush. Tapping the tree was the first thing in order. This was done
either by boring the tree with an auger, and inserting a spile about a
foot long to carry off the sap, or with a gouge-shaped tool about two
inches wide, which was driven into the tree, under an inclined scar made
with an axe. The spiles used in this case were split with the same
instrument, sharpened at the end with a knife, and driven into the cut.
A person accustomed to the work would tap a great many trees in a day,
and usually continued until he had done two or three hundred or more.
This finished, next came the placing and hanging of the kettles. A large
log, or what was more common, the trunk of some great tree that had been
blown down, would be selected, in as central a position as possible. Two
crotches were erected by its side, and a strong pole was put across from
one to the other. Hooks were then made, and the kettles suspended over
the fire. The sap was collected once and sometimes twice a day, and when
there was a good supply in the casks, the boiling began. Each day's run
was finished, if possible, the same night, when the sugaring-off took
place. There are various simple ways of telling when the syrup is
sufficiently boiled, and when this is done, the kettle containing the
result of the day's work is set off the fire, and the contents stirred
until they turn to sugar, which is then dipped into dishes or moulds,
and set aside to harden. Sometimes, when the run was large, the boiling
continued until late at night, and, although there was a good deal of
hard work connected with it, there was also more or less enjoyment,
particularly when some half dozen merry girls dropped in upon you, and
assisted at the closing scene. On these occasions the fun was free and
boisterous. The woods rang with shouts and peals of laughter, and always
ended by our faces and hair being all _stuck up_ with sugar. Then
we would mount the sleigh and leave for the house. But the most
satisfactory part of the whole was to survey the result of the toil in
several hundred weight of sugar, and various vessels filled with rich
molasses.

[Illustration: NIGHT FISHING IN THE CREEK.]

Now the hams and beef had to be got out of the casks, and hung up in the
smoke-house to be smoked. The spring work crowded on rapidly. Ploughing,
fencing, sawing and planting followed in quick succession. All hands
were busy. The younger ones had to drive the cows to pasture in the
morning and bring them up at night. They had also to take a hand at the
old churn, and it was a weary task, as I remember well, to stand for an
hour, perhaps, and drive the dasher up and down through the thick cream.
How often the handle was examined to see if there were any indications
of butter; and what satisfaction there was in getting over with it. As
soon as my legs were long enough I had to follow a team, and drag in
grain--in fact, before, for I was mounted on the back of one of the
horses when my nether limbs were hardly long enough to hold me to my
seat. The implements then in use were very rough. Iron ploughs, with
cast iron mouldboards, shears, &c., were generally used. As compared
with the ploughs of to-day they were clumsy things, but were a great
advance over the old wooden ploughs which had not yet altogether gone
out of use. Tree tops were frequently used for drags. Riding a horse in
the field, under a hot sun, which I frequently had to do, was not as
agreeable as it might seem at the first blush.

[Illustration: SUGAR MAKING.]

In June came sheep-washing. The sheep were driven to the bay shore and
secured in a pen, whence they were taken one by one into the bay, and
their fleece well washed, after which they were let go. In a few days
they were brought to the barn and sheared. The wool was then sorted;
some of it being retained to be carded by hand, the rest sent to the
mill to be turned into rolls; and when they were brought home the hum of
the spinning wheel was heard day after day, for weeks, and the steady
beat of the girls' feet on the floor, as they walked forward and
backward drawing out and twisting the thread, and then letting it run
upon the spindle. Of course the quality of the cloth depended on the
fineness and evenness of the thread; and a great deal of pains was taken
to turn out good work. When the spinning was done, the yarn was taken
away to the weaver to be converted into cloth. As I have said before,
there were no drones in a farmer's house then. While the work was being
pushed outside with vigour, it did not stand still inside. The thrifty
housewife was always busy. Beside the daily round of cares that
continually pressed upon her, the winter had hardly passed away before
she began to make preparations for the next. There were wild
strawberries and raspberries to pickle and preserve, of which the family
had their share as they came, supplemented with an abundance of rich
cream and sugar; and so with the other fruits in their turn. There was
the daily task, too, of milking, and the less frequent one of making
butter and cheese. The girls were always out in the yard by sunrise, and
soon came tripping in with red cheeks and flowing pails of milk; and at
sunset the scene was repeated. The matron required no nurse to take care
of the children; no cook to superintend the kitchen; no chamber-maid to
make the beds and do the dusting. She had, very likely, one or two hired
girls, neighbours' daughters. It was quite common then for farmers'
daughters to go out to work when their services could be dispensed with
at home. They were treated as equals, and took as much interest in the
affairs of the family as the mistress herself. The fact of a girl going
out to work did not affect her position. On the contrary, it was rather
in her favour, and showed that she had some ambition about her. The
girls, in those days, were quite as much at home in the kitchen as in
the drawing-room or boudoir. They could do better execution over a wash
tub than at a spinet. They could handle a rolling pin with more
satisfaction than a sketch book; and if necessity required, could go out
in the field and handle a fork and rake with practical results. They
were educated in the country school house--

  "Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,"

with their brothers, and not at a city boarding school. They had not so
much as dreamed of fashion books, or heard of fashionable milliners.
Their accomplishments were picked up at home, not abroad. And with all
these drawbacks, they were pure, modest, affectionate. They made good
wives; and that they were the best and most thoughtful mothers that ever
watched over the well-being of their children, many remember full well.

Country life was practical and plodding in those days. Ambition did not
lure the husbandman to days of luxury and ease, but to the
accomplishment of a good day's work, and a future crowned with the
fruits of honest industry. If the girls were prepared for the future by
the watchful care and example of the mothers, so the boys followed in
the footsteps of their fathers. They did not look upon their lives as
burdensome. They did not feel that the occupation of a farmer was less
honourable than any other. The merchant's shop did not possess more
attraction than the barn. Fine clothes were neither so durable nor so
cheap as home-made suits. Fashionable tailors did not exist to lure them
into extravagance, and the town-bred dandy had not broken loose to taint
them with his follies. Their aspirations did not lead into ways of
display and idleness, or their association to bad habits. They were
content to work as their fathers had done, and their aim was to become
as exemplary and respected as they were. It was in such a school and
under such masters that the foundation of Canadian prosperity was laid,
and it is not gratifying to the thoughtful mind, after the survey of
such a picture, to find that although our material prosperity in the
space of fifty years has been marvellous, we have been gradually
departing from the sterling example set us by our progenitors, for
twenty years at least. "Dead flies" of extravagance have found their way
into the "ointment" of domestic life, and their "savour" is keenly felt.
In our haste to become rich, we have abandoned the old road of honest
industry. To acquire wealth, and to rise in the social scale, we have
cast behind us those principles which give tone and value to position.
We are not like the Israelites who longed for the "flesh pots" they had
left behind in Egypt; yet when we look around it is difficult to keep
back the question put by the Ecclesiast, "What is the cause that the
former days were better than these?" and the answer we think is not
difficult to find. Our daughters are brought up now like tender plants,
more for ornament than use. The practical lessons of life are neglected
for the superficial. We send our sons to college, and there they fly
from the fostering care of home; they crowd into our towns and cities--
sometimes to rise, it is true, but more frequently to fall, and to
become worthless members of society. Like the dog in the fable, we
ourselves have let the substance drop, while our gaze has been glamoured
by the shadow.

Early in July the haying began. The mowers were expected to be in the
meadow by sunrise; and all through the day the rasp of their whetstones
could be heard, as they dexterously drew them with a quick motion of the
hand, first along one side of the scythe and then the other; after which
they went swinging across the field, the waving grass falling rapidly
before their keen blades, and dropping in swathes at their side. The
days were not then divided off into a stated number of working hours.
The rule was to begin with the morning light and continue as long as you
could see. Of course men had to eat in those days as well as now, and
the blast of the old tin dinner-horn fell on the ear with more melodious
sound than the grandest orchestra to the musical enthusiast. Even "Old
Gray," when I followed the plough, used to give answer to the cheerful
wind of the horn by a loud whinny, and stop in the furrow, as if to say,
"There now, off with my harness, and let us to dinner." If I happened to
be in the middle of the field, I had considerable trouble to get the old
fellow to go on to the end.

I must say a few words in this place about "Old Gray." Why he was always
called "Old Gray" is more than I know. His colour could not have
suggested the name, for he was a bright roan, almost a bay. He was by no
means a pretty animal, being raw-boned, and never seeming to be in
first-rate condition; but he was endowed with remarkable sagacity and
great endurance, and was, moreover, a fleet trotter. When my father
began the work for himself he was a part of his chattels, and survived
his master several years. Father drove him twice to Little York one
winter, a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles, accomplishing
the trip both times inside of a week. He never would allow a team to
pass him. It was customary in those days, particularly with youngsters
in the winter, to turn out and run by, and many such races I have had;
but the moment a team turned out of the track to pass "Old Gray," he was
off like a shot, and you might as well try to hold a locomotive with
pins as him with an ordinary bit. He was skittish, and often ran away.
On one occasion, when I was very young, he ran off with father and
myself in a single waggon. We were both thrown out, and, our feet
becoming entangled in the lines, we were dragged some distance. The
wheel passed over my head, and cut it so that it bled freely, but the
wound was not serious. My father was badly hurt. After a while we
started for home, and before we reached it the old scamp got frightened
at a log, and set off full tilt. Again, father was thrown out, and I
tipped over on the bottom of the waggon. Fortunately, the shafts gave
way, and let him loose, when he stopped. Father was carried home, and
did not leave the house for a long time. I used to ride the self-willed
beast to school in the winter, and had great sport, sometimes, by
getting boys on behind me, and, when they were not thinking, I would
touch "Old Gray" under the flank with my heel, which would make him
spring as though he were shot, and off the boys would tumble in the
snow. When I reached school I tied up the reins and let him go home. I
do not think he ever had an equal for mischief, and for the last years
we had him we could do nothing with him. He was perpetually getting into
the fields of grain, and leading all the other cattle after him. We used
to hobble him in all sorts of ways, but he would manage to push or rub
down the fence at some weak point, and unless his nose was fastened down
almost to the ground by a chain from his head to his hind leg, he would
let down the bars, or open all the gates about the place. There was not
a door about the barn but he would open, if he could get at the latch,
and if the key was left in the granary door he would unlock that. If
left standing he was sure to get his head-stall off, and we had to get a
halter made specially for him. He finally became such a perpetual
torment that we sold him, and we all had a good cry when the old horse
went away. He was upwards of twenty-five years old at this time. How
much longer he lived I cannot say. I never saw him afterward.

[Illustration: RUNNING BY.]

As soon as the sun was well up, and our tasks about the house over, our
part of this new play in the hayfield began, and with a fork or long
stick we followed up the swathes and spread them out nicely, so that the
grass would dry. In the afternoon, it had to be raked up into winrows--
work in which the girls often joined us--and after tea one or two of the
men cocked it up, while we raked the ground clean after them. If the
weather was clear and dry it would be left out for several days before
it was drawn into the barn or stacked; but often it was housed as soon
as dry.

Another important matter which claimed the farmer's attention at this
time was the preparation of his summer-fallow for fall wheat. The ground
was first broken up after the spring sowing was over, and about hay time
the second ploughing had to be done, to destroy weeds, and get the land
in proper order. In August the last ploughing came, and about the first
of September the wheat was sown. It almost always happened, too, that
there were some acres of woodland that had been chopped over for fire
wood and timber, to be cleaned up. Logs and bush had to be collected
into piles, and burned. On new farms this was heavy work. Then the
timber was cut down, and ruthlessly given over to the fire. Logging bees
were of frequent occurrence, when the neighbours turned out with their
oxen and logging chains, and, amid the ring of the axe and the shouting
of drivers and men with their handspikes, the great logs were rolled one
upon another into huge heaps, and left for the fire to eat them out of
the way. When the work was done, all hands proceeded to the house, grim
and black as a band of sweeps, where, with copious use of soap and
water, they brought themselves back to their normal condition, and went
in and did justice to the supper prepared for them.

In August the wheat fields were ready for the reapers. This was the
great crop of the year. Other grain was grown, such as rye, oats, peas,
barley and corn, but principally for feeding. Wheat was the farmer's
main dependence, his staff of life and his current coin. A good cradler
would cut about five acres a day, and an expert with a rake would follow
and bind up what he cut. There were men who would literally walk through
the grain with a cradle, and then two men were required to follow. My
father had no superior in swinging the cradle, and when the golden grain
stood thick and straight, he gave two smart men all they could do to
take up what he cut down. Again the younger fry came in for their share
of the work, which was to gather the sheaves and put them in shocks.
These, after standing a sufficient time, were brought into the barn and
mowed away, and again the girls often gave a helping hand both in the
field and the barn. In all these tasks good work was expected. My father
was, as I have said before, a pushing man, and "thorough" in all he
undertook. His mottoes with his men were, "Follow me," and "Anything
that is worth doing, is worth doing well;" and this latter rule was
always enforced. The ploughers had to throw their furrows neat and
straight. When I got to be a strong lad, I could strike a furrow with
the old team across a field as straight as an arrow, and I took pride in
throwing my furrows in uniform precision. The mowers had to shear the
land close and smooth. The rakers threw their winrows straight, and the
men made their hay-cocks of a uniform size, and placed them at equal
distances apart. So in the grain field, the stubble had to be cut clean
and even, the sheaves well bound and shocked in straight rows, with ten
sheaves to the shock. It was really a pleasure to inspect the fields
when the work was done. Skill was required to load well, and also to mow
away, the object being to get the greatest number of sheaves in the
smallest space. About the first of September the crops were in and the
barns were filled and surrounded with stacks of hay and grain.

My father was admitted to be the best farmer in the district. His farm
was a model of good order and neatness. He was one of the first to
devote attention to the improvement of his stock, and was always on the
look-out for improved implements or new ideas, which, if worthy of
attention, he was the first to utilize.

There is always something for a pushing farmer to do, and there are
always rainy days through the season, when out-door work comes to a
stand. At such times my father was almost always found in his workshop,
making pails or tubs for the house, or repairing his tools or making new
ones. At other times he would turn his attention to dressing the flax he
had stowed away, and getting it ready for spinning. The linen for bags,
as well as for the house, was then all home-made. It could hardly be
expected that with such facilities at hand my ingenuity would not
develop. One day I observed a pot of red paint on the workbench, and it
struck me that the tools would look much better if I gave them a coat of
paint. The thought was hardly conceived before it was put into
execution, and in a short time planes, saws, augers, &c., were carefully
coated over and set aside to dry. Father did not see the thing in the
same light as I did. He was very much displeased, and I was punished.
After this I turned my attention to water-wheels, waggons, boats, boxes,
&c., and in time got to be quite an expert with tools, and could make
almost anything out of wood. We children, although we had to drive cows,
feed the calves, bring in wood, and all that, had our amusements, simple
and rustic enough it is true; but we enjoyed them, and all the more
because our parents very often entered into our play.

Sunday was a day of enjoyment as well as rest. There were but few places
of public worship, and those were generally far apart. In most places
the schoolhouse or barn served the purpose. There were two meeting-
houses--this was the term always used then for places of worship--a few
miles from our place on Hay bay. The Methodist meeting-house was the
first place built for public worship in Upper Canada, and was used for
that purpose until a few years ago. It now belongs to Mr. Platt, and is
used as a storehouse. The other, a Quaker meeting-house, built some
years later, is still standing. It was used as a barrack by the
Glengarry regiment in 1812, a part of which regiment was quartered in
the neighbourhood during that year. The men left their bayonet-marks in
the old posts.

[Illustration: QUAKER MEETING HOUSE.]

On Sunday morning the horses were brought up and put to the lumber
waggon, the only carriage known then. The family, all arrayed in their
Sunday clothes, arranged themselves in the spacious vehicle, and drove
away. At that time, and for a good many years after, whether in the
school-house or meeting-house, the men sat on one side and the women on
the other, in all places of worship. The sacred bond which had been
instituted by the Creator Himself in the Garden of Eden, "Therefore
shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife; and
they shall be one flesh," did not seem to harmonize with that custom,
for when they went up to His house they separated at the door. It would
have been thought a very improper thing, even for a married couple, to
take a seat side by side. Indeed I am inclined to think that the good
brothers and sisters would have put them out of doors. So deeply rooted
are the prejudices in matters of religious belief. That they are the
most difficult to remove, the history of the past confirms through all
ages. This custom prevailed for many years after. When meeting was over
it was customary to go to some friend's to dinner, and make, as used to
be said, a visit, or, what was equally as pleasant, father or mother
would ask some old acquaintances to come home with us. Sunday in all
seasons, and more particularly in the summer, was the grand visiting day
with old and young. I do not state this out of any disrespect for the
Sabbath. I think I venerate it as much as anyone, but I am simply
recording facts as they then existed. The people at that time, as a
rule, were not religious, but they were moral, and anxious for greater
religious advantages. There were not many preachers, and these had such
extended fields of labour that their appointments were irregular, and
often, like angels' visits, few and far between. They could not ignore
their social instincts altogether, and this was the only day when the
toil and moil of work was put aside. They first went to meeting, when
there was any, and devoted the rest of the day to friendly intercourse
and enjoyment. People used to come to Methodist meeting for miles, and
particularly on quarterly meeting day. On one of these occasions,
fourteen young people who were crossing the bay in a skiff, on their way
to the meeting, were upset near the shore and drowned. Some years later
the missionary meeting possessed great attraction, when a deputation
composed of Egerton Ryerson and Peter Jones, the latter with his Indian
curiosities, drew the people in such numbers that half of them could not
get into the house.

There were a good many Quakers, and as my father's people belonged to
that body we frequently went to their meeting. The broad brims on one
side, with the scoop bonnets on the other, used to excite my curiosity,
but I did not like to sit still so long. Sometimes not a word would be
said, and after an hour of profound silence, two of the old men on one
of the upper seats would shake hands. Then a general shaking of hands
ensued on both sides of the house, and meeting was out.

Many readers will recall gentle Charles Lamb's thoughtful paper on "A
Quakers' Meeting." [Footnote: See _Essays of Elia_.] Several of his
reflections rise up so vividly before me as I write these lines that I
cannot forbear quoting them. "What," he asks, "is the stillness of the
desert, compared with this place? what the uncommunicating muteness of
fishes?--here the goddess reigns and revels.--'Boreas, and Cesias, and
Argestes loud,' do not with their interconfounding uproars more augment
the brawl--nor the waves of the blown Baltic with their clubbed sounds
--than their opposite (Silence her sacred self) is multiplied and
rendered more intense by numbers, and by sympathy. She too hath her
deeps, that call unto deeps. Negation itself hath a positive more and
less; and closed eyes would seem to obscure the great obscurity of
midnight.

"There are wounds which an imperfect solitude cannot heal. By imperfect
I mean that which a man enjoyeth by himself. The perfect is that which
he can sometimes attain in crowds, but nowhere so absolutely as in a
Quakers' Meeting.--Those first hermits did certainly understand this
principle, when they retired into Egyptian solitudes, not singly, but in
shoals, to enjoy one another's want of conversation. The Carthusian is
bound to his brethren by this agreeing spirit of incommunicativeness. In
secular occasions, what so pleasant as to be reading a book through a
long winter evening, with a friend sitting by--say a wife--he, or she,
too (if that be probable), reading another, without interruption, or
oral communication?--can there be no sympathy without the gabble of
words?--away with this inhuman, shy, single, shade-and-cavern-haunting
solitariness. Give me, Master Zimmerman, a sympathetic solitude.

"To pace alone in the cloisters, or side aisles of some cathedral, time-
stricken;

  Or under hanging mountains,
  Or by the fall of fountains;

is but a vulgar luxury compared with that which those enjoy who come
together for the purposes of more complete, abstracted solitude. This is
the loneliness 'to be felt.' The Abbey-Church of Westminster hath
nothing so solemn, so spirit-soothing, as the naked walls and benches of
a Quakers' Meeting. Here are no tombs, no inscriptions,

  --Sands, ignoble things,
  Dropt from the ruined sides of kings--

but here is something which throws Antiquity herself into the
foreground--SILENCE--eldest of things--language of old Night--primitive
Discourser--to which the insolent decays of mouldering grandeur have but
arrived by a violent, and, as we may say, unnatural progression.

  How reverend is the view of these hushed heads,
  Looking tranquillity!

"Nothing-plotting, nought-caballing, unmischievous synod! convocation
without intrigue! parliament without debate! what a lesson dost thou
read, to council and to consistory!--if my pen treat of you lightly--as
haply it will wander--yet my spirit hath gravely felt the wisdom of your
custom, when sitting among you in deepest peace, which some outwelling
tears would rather confirm than disturb, I have reverted to the times of
your beginnings, and the sowings of the seed by Fox and Dewesbury.--I
have witnessed that which brought before my eyes your heroic
tranquillity inflexible to the rude jests and serious violences of the
insolent soldiery, republican or royalist sent to molest you--for ye
sate betwixt the fires of two persecutions, the outcast and off-scouring
of church and presbytery.

"I have seen the reeling sea-ruffian, who had wandered into your
receptacle with the avowed intention of disturbing your quiet, from the
very spirit of the place receive in a moment a new heart, and presently
sit among ye as a lamb amidst lambs. And I remember Penn before his
accusers, and Fox in the bail-dock, where he was lifted up in spirit, as
he tells us, and the judge and the jury became as dead men under his
feet."

Our old family carriage--the lumbering waggon--revives many pleasant
recollections. Many long rides were taken in it, both to mill and
market, and, sometimes I have curled myself up, and slept far into the
night in it while waiting for my grist to be ground so I could take it
home. But it was not used by the young folks as sleighs were in the
winter. It was a staid, family vehicle, not suited to mirth or love-
making. It was too noisy for that, and on a rough road, no very uncommon
thing then, one was shaken up so thoroughly that there was but little
room left for sentiment. In later times, lighter and much more
comfortable vehicles were used. The elliptic or steel spring did not
come into use until about 1840. I remember my grandfather starting off
for New York in one of these light one-horse waggons. I do not know how
long he was gone, but he made the journey, and returned safely. Long
journeys by land were made, principally in summer, on horseback, both by
men and women. The horse was also the young peoples' only vehicle at
this season of the year. The girls were usually good riders, and could
gallop away as well on the bare back as on the side-saddle. A female
cousin of my father's several times made journeys of from one to two
hundred miles on horseback, and on one occasion she carried her infant
son for a hundred and fifty miles, a feat the women of to-day would
consider impossible.

Then as now, the early fall was not the least pleasant portion of the
Canadian year. Everyone is familiar with the striking beauty of our
woods after the frost begins, and the endless variety of shade and
colour that mingles with such pleasing effect in every landscape. And in
those days, as well as now, the farmers' attention was directed to
preparation for the coming winter. His market staples then consisted of
wheat or flour, pork and potash. The other products of his farm, such as
coarse grain, were used by himself. Butter and eggs were almost
valueless, save on his own table. The skins of his sheep, calves and
beef cattle which were slaughtered for his own use, were sent to the
tanners, who dressed them on shares, the remainder being brought home to
be made up into boots, harness and mittens. Wood, which afterwards came
into demand for steam purposes, was worthless. Sawn lumber was not
wanted, except for home use, and the shingles that covered the buildings
were split and made by the farmer himself.

If the men had logging-bees, and other bees to help them on with their
work, the women, by way of compensation, had bees of a more social and
agreeable type. Among these were quilting bees, when the women and girls
of the neighbourhood assembled in the afternoon, and turned out those
skilfully and often artistically made rugs, so comfortable to lie under
during the cold winter nights. There was often a great deal of sport at
the close of one of these social industrial gatherings. When the men
came in from the field to supper, some luckless wight was sure to be
caught, and tossed up and down in the quilt amid the laughter and shouts
of the company. But of all the bees, the apple-bee was the chief. In
these old and young joined. The boys around the neighbourhood, with
their home-made apple-machines, of all shapes and designs, would come
pouring in with their girls early in the evening. The large kitchen,
with its sanded floor, the split bottomed chairs ranged round the room,
the large tubs of apples, and in the centre the clean scrubbed pine
table filled with wooden trays and tallow-candles in tin candlesticks,
made an attractive picture which had for its setting the mother and
girls, all smiles and good nature, receiving and pleasing the company.
Now the work begins amidst laughter and mirth; the boys toss the peeled
apples away from their machines in rapid numbers, and the girls catch
them, and with their knives quarter and core them, while others string
them with needles on long threads, and tie them so that they can be hung
up to dry. As soon as the work is done the room is cleared for supper,
after which the old folks retire, and the second and most pleasing part
of the performance begins. These after-scenes were always entered into
with a spirit of fun and honest abandonment truly refreshing. Where
dancing was not objected to, a rustic fiddler would be spirited in by
some of the youngsters as the sport began. The dance was not that
languid sort of thing, toned down by modern refinement to a sliding,
easy motion round the room, and which, for the lack of conversational
accomplishments, is made to do duty for want of wit. Full of life and
vigour, they danced for the real fun of the thing. The quick and
inspiriting strains of the music sent them spinning round the room, and
amid the rush and whirl of the flying feet came the sharp voice of the
fiddler as he flourished his bow: "Right and left--balance to your
pardner--cross hands--swing your pardner--up and down the middle," and
so on through reel after reel. Some one of the boys would perform a
_pas seul_ with more energy than grace; but it was all the same--
the dancing master had not been abroad; the fiddler put life into their
heels, and they let them play. Frequently there was no musician to be
had, when the difficulty was overcome by the musical voices of the
girls, assisted with combs covered with paper, or the shrill notes of
some expert at whistling. It often happened that the old people objected
to dancing, and then the company resorted to plays, of which there was a
great variety: "Button, button, who's got the button;" "Measuring Tape;"
"Going to Rome;" "Ladies Slipper;" all pretty much of the same
character, and much appreciated by the boys, because they afforded a
chance to kiss the girls.

Some of our plays bordered very closely on a dance, and when our
inclinations were checked, we approached the margin of the forbidden
ground as nearly as possible. Among these I remember one which afforded
an opportunity to swing around in a merry way. A chair was placed in the
centre of the room, upon which one of the girls or boys was seated. Then
we joined hands, and went dancing around singing the following
refrain:--

  There was a young woman sat down to sleep,
    Sat down to sleep, sat down to sleep;
  There was a young woman sat down to sleep,
    Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho!

  There was a young man to keep her awake,
    To keep her awake, to keep her awake;
  There was a young man to keep her awake,
    Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho-! Heigh-ho!

  Tom Brown his name shall be,
    His name shall be, his name shall be;
  Tom Brown his name shall be,
    Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho!

Whereupon Mr. Brown was expected to step out, take the girl by the hand,
salute her with a kiss, and then take her seat. Then the song went on
again, with variations to suit; and thus the rustic mazurka proceeded
until all had had a chance of tasting the rosy lips, so tempting to
youthful swains. Often a coy maiden resisted, and then a pleasant
scuffle ensued, in which she sometimes eluded the penalty, much to the
chagrin of the claimant.




CHAPTER III.

PROGRESS, MATERIAL AND SOCIAL--FONDNESS OF THE YOUNG FOR DANCING--
MAGISTERIAL NUPTIALS--THE CHARIVARI--COON-HUNTING--CATCHING A TARTAR--
WILD PIGEONS--THE OLD DUTCH HOUSES--DELIGHTS OF SUMMER AND WINTER
CONTRASTED--STILLED VOICES.



As time wore on, and contact with the outer world became easier and more
frequent, the refinements of advancing civilization found their way
gradually into the country, and changed the amusements as well as the
long-established habits of the people. An isolated community like that
which stretched along the frontier of our Province, cut off from the
older and more advanced stages of society, or holding but brief and
irregular communication with it, could not be expected to keep up with
the march of either social or intellectual improvement; and although the
modern may turn up his nose as he looks back, and affect contempt at the
amusements which fell across our paths like gleams of sunlight at the
break of day, and call them rude and indelicate, he must not forget that
we were not hedged about by the conventionalities, nor were we slaves to
the caprice of fashion. We were free sons and daughters of an upright,
sturdy parentage, with pure and honest hearts throbbing under rough
exteriors. The girls who did not blush at a hearty kiss from our lips
were as pure as the snow. They became ornaments in higher and brighter
circles of society, and mothers, the savour of whose virtues and
maternal affection rise before our memory like a perpetual incense.

I am quite well aware of the fact that a large portion of the religious
world is opposed to dancing, nor in this recital of country life as it
then existed do I wish to be considered an advocate of this amusement. I
joined in the sport then with as much eagerness and delight as one could
do. I learned to step off on the light fantastic toe, as many another
Canadian boy has done, on the barn floor, where, with the doors shut, I
went sliding up and down, through the middle, balancing to the pitch-
fork, turning round the old fanning-mill, then double-shuffling and
closing with a profound bow to the splint broom in the corner. These
were the kind of schools in which our accomplishments were learned; and,
whether dancing be right or wrong, it is certain the inclination of the
young to indulge in it is about as universal as the taint of sin.

The young people then, as now, took it into their heads to get married;
but parsons were scarce, and it did not always suit them to wait until
one came along. To remedy this difficulty the Government authorized
magistrates to perform the ceremony for any couple who resided more than
eighteen miles from church. There were hardly any churches, and
therefore a good many called upon the Justice to put a finishing touch
to their happiness, and curious looking pairs presented themselves to
have the knot tied. One morning a robust young man and a pretty,
blushing girl presented themselves at my father's door, and were invited
in. They were strangers, and it was some time before he could find out
what they wanted; but after beating about the bush, the young man
hesitatingly said they wanted to get married. They were duly tied, and,
on leaving, I was asked to join in their wedding dinner. Though it was
to be some distance away, I mounted my horse and joined them. The dinner
was good, and served in the plain fashion of the day. After it came
dancing, to the music of a couple of fiddlers, and we threaded through
reel after reel until nearly daylight. On another occasion a goodly
company gathered at a neighbour's house to assist at the nuptials of his
daughter. The ceremony had passed, and we were collected around the
supper table; the old man had spread out his hands to ask a blessing,
when bang, bang, went a lot of guns, accompanied by horns, whistles, tin
pans and anything and everything with which a noise could be made. A
simultaneous shriek went up from the girls, and for a few moments the
confusion was as great inside as out. It was a horrid din of discordant
sounds. Conversation at the supper table was out of the question, and as
soon as it was over we went out among the boys who had come to charivari
us. There were perhaps fifty of them, with blackened faces and ludicrous
dresses, and after the bride and bridegroom had shown themselves and
received their congratulations, they went their way, and left us to
enjoy ourselves in peace. It was after this manner the young folks
wedded. There was but little attempt at display. No costly trousseau, no
wedding tours. A night of enjoyment with friends, and the young couple
set out at once on the practical journey of life.

One of our favourite sports in those days was coon (short name for
raccoon) hunting. This lasted only during the time of green corn. The
raccoon is particularly fond of corn before it hardens, and if
unmolested will destroy a good deal in a short time. He always visits
the cornfields at night; so about nine o'clock we would set off with our
dogs, trained for the purpose, and with as little noise as possible make
our way to the edge of the corn, and then wait for him. If the field was
not too large he could easily be heard breaking down the ears, and then
the dogs were let loose. They cautiously and silently crept towards the
unsuspecting foe. But the sharp ears and keen scent of the raccoon
seldom let him fall into the clutch of the dogs without a scamper for
life. The coon was almost always near the woods, and this gave him a
chance of escape. As soon as a yelp was heard from the dogs, we knew the
fun had begun, and pushing forward in the direction of the noise, we
were pretty sure to find our dogs baffled and jumping and barking around
the foot of a tree up which Mr. Coon had fled, and whence he was quietly
looking down on his pursuers from a limb or crutch. Our movements now
were guided by circumstances. If the tree was not too large, one of us
would climb it and dislodge the coon. In the other case we generally cut
it down. The dogs were always on the alert, and the moment the coon
touched the ground they were on him. We used frequently to capture two
or three in a night. The skin was dressed and made into caps or robes
for the sleigh. On two or three of these expeditions, our dogs caught a
Tartar by running foul of a _coon_ not so easily disposed of--in
the shape of a bear; and then we were both glad to decamp, as he was
rather too big a job to undertake in the night. Bruin was fond of young
corn, but he and the wolves had ceased to be troublesome. The latter
occasionally made a raid on a flock of sheep in the winter, but they
were watched pretty closely, and were trapped or shot. There was a
government bounty of $4 for every wolf's head. Another, and much more
innocent sport, was netting wild pigeons after the wheat had been taken
off. At that time they used to visit the stubbles in large flocks. Our
mode of procedure was to build a house of boughs under which to hide
ourselves. Then the ground was carefully cleaned and sprinkled with
grain, at one side of which the net was set, and in the centre one stool
pigeon, secured on a perch was placed, attached to which was a long
string running into the house. When all was ready we retired and watched
for the flying pigeons, and whenever a flock came within a seeing
distance our stool pigeon was raised and then dropped. This would cause
it to spread its wings and then flutter, which attracted the flying
birds, and after a circle or two they would swoop down and commence to
feed. Then the net was sprung, and in a trice we had scores of pigeons
under it. I do not remember to have seen this method of capturing
pigeons practised since. If we captured many we took them home, put them
where they could not get away, and took them out as we wanted them.

At the time of which I write Upper Canada had been settled about forty-
five years. A good many of the first settlers had ended their labours,
and were peacefully resting in the quiet grave-yard; but there were many
left, and they were generally hale old people, who were enjoying in
contentment and peace the evening of their days, surrounded by their
children, who were then in their prime, and their grandchildren, ruddy
and vigorous plants, shooting up rapidly around them. The years that had
fled were eventful ones, not only to themselves, but to the new country
which they had founded. "The little one had become a thousand, and a
small one a strong nation." The forest had melted away before the force
of their industry, and orchards with their russet fruit, and fields of
waving corn, gladdened their hearts and filled their cellars and barns
with abundance. The old log house which had been their shelter and their
home for many a year had disappeared, or was converted into an out-house
for cattle, or a place for keeping implements in during the winter; and
now the commodious and well-arranged frame one had taken its place.
Large barns for their increasing crops and warm sheds to protect the
cattle had grown up out of the rude hovels and stables. Everything
around them betokened thrift, and more than an ordinary degree of
comfort. They had what must be pronounced to have been, for the time,
good schools, where their children could acquire a tolerable education.
They also had places in which they could assemble and worship God. There
were merchants from whom they could purchase such articles as they
required, and there were markets for their produce. The changes wrought
in these forty-five years were wonderful, and to no class of persons
could these changes seem more surprising than to themselves. Certainly
no people appreciated more fully the rich ripe fruit of their toil.
Among the pleasantest pictures I can recall are the old homes in which
my boyhood was passed. I hardly know in what style of architecture they
were built; indeed, I think it was one peculiar to the people and the
age. They were strong, substantial structures, erected with an eye to
comfort rather than show. They were known afterwards as Dutch houses,
usually one story high, and built pretty much after the same model; a
parallelogram, with a wing at one end, and often to both. The roofs were
very steep, with a row of dormer windows, and sometimes two rows looking
out of their broad sides, to give light to the chambers and sleeping
rooms up-stairs. The living rooms were generally large, with low
ceilings, and well supplied with cupboards, which were always filled
with blankets and clothing, dishes, and a multitude of good things for
the table. The bed rooms were always small and cramped, but they were
sure to contain a good bed--a bed which required some ingenuity,
perhaps, to get into, owing to its height; but when once in, the great
feather tick fitted kindly to the weary body, and the blankets over you
soon wooed your attention away from the narrowness of the apartment.
Very often the roof projected over, giving an elliptic shape to one
side, and the projection of about six feet formed a cover of what was
then called a long stoop, but which now-a-days would be known as a
veranda. This was no addition to the lighting of the rooms, for the
windows were always small in size and few in number. The kitchen usually
had a double outside door--that is a door cut cross-wise through the
middle, so that the lower part could be kept shut, and the upper left
open if necessary. I do not know what particular object there was in
this, unless to let the smoke out, for chimneys were more apt to smoke
then than now; or, perhaps, to keep the youngsters in and let in fresh
air. Whatever the object was, this was the usual way the outside kitchen
door was made, with a wooden latch and leather string hanging outside to
lift it, which was easily pulled in, and then the door was quite secure
against intruders. The barns and out-houses were curiosities in after
years: large buildings with no end of timber and all roof, like a great
box with an enormous candle extinguisher set on it. But houses and barns
are gone, and modern structures occupy their places, as they succeeded
the rough log ones, and one can only see them as they are photographed
upon the memory.

Early days are always bright to life's voyager, and whatever his
condition may have been at the outset, he is ever wont to look back with
fondness to the scenes of his youth. I can recall days of toil under a
burning sun, but they were cheerful days, nevertheless. There was always
"a bright spot in the future" to look forward to, which moved the arm
and lightened the task. Youth is buoyant, and if its feet run in the way
of obedience, it will leave a sweet fragrance behind, which will never
lose its flavour. The days I worked in the harvest field, or when I
followed the plough, whistling and singing through the hours, are not
the least happy recollections of the past. The merry song of the girls,
mingling with the hum of the spinning-wheel, as they tripped backward
and forward to the cadence of their music, drawing out miles of thread,
reeling it into skeins which the weaver's loom and shuttle was to turn
into thick heavy cloth; or old grandmother treading away at her little
wheel, making it buzz as she drew out the delicate fibres of flax, and
let it run up the spindle a fine and evenly twisted thread, with which
to sew our garments, or to make our linen; and mother, busy as a bee,
thinking of us all, and never wearying in her endeavours to add to our
comfort--these are pictures that stand out, clear and distinct, and are
often reverted to with pleasure and delight. But though summer time in
the country is bright and beautiful with its broad meadows waving before
the western wind like seas of green, and the yellow corn, gleaming in
the field where the sun-burnt reapers are singing; though the flowers
shed their fragrance, and the breeze sighs softly through the branches
overhead in monotones, but slightly varied, yet sweet and soothing;
though the wood is made vocal with the song of birds, and all nature is
jocund and bright--notwithstanding, all this, the winter, strange as it
may seem, was the time of our greatest enjoyment. Winter, when "Old
Gray," who used to scamper with me astride his bare back down the lane,
stood munching his fodder in the stall; when the cattle, no longer
lolling or browsing in the peaceful shade, moved around the barn-yard
with humped backs, shaking their heads at the cold north wind; when the
trees were stripped of their foliage, and the icicles hung in fantastic
rows along the naked branches, glittering like jewels in the sunshine,
or rattling in the northern blast; when the ground was covered deep with
snow, and the wind "driving o'er the fields," whirled into huge drifts,
blocking up the doors and paths and roads; when

  "The whited air
  Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
  And veils the farm-house at the garden's end;"

when the frost silvered over the window-panes, or crept through the
cracks and holes, and fringed them with its delicate fret-work; when the
storm raged and howled without, and

  "Shook beams and rafters as it passed!"

Within, happy faces were gathered around the blazing logs in the old
fire-place.

  "Shut in from all the world without,
  We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
  Content to let the north wind roar,
  In baffled rage at pane and door,
  While the red logs before us beat
  The frost line back with tropic heat."

The supper has been cleared away, and upon the clean white table is
placed a large dish of apples and a pitcher of cider. On either end
stands a tallow candle in a bright brass candlestick, with an
extinguisher attached to each, and the indispensable snuffers and tray.
Sometimes the fingers are made use of in the place of the snuffers; but
it is not always satisfactory to the snuffer, as he sometimes burns
himself, and hastens to snap his fingers to get rid of the burning wick.
One of the candles is appropriated by father, who is quietly reading his
paper; for we had newspapers then, though they would not compare very
favourably with those of to-day, and we got them only once a week.
Mother is darning socks. Grandmother is making the knitting needles fly,
as though all her grandchildren were stockingless. The girls are sewing
and making merry with the boys, and we are deeply engaged with our
lessons, or what is more likely, playing fox and geese.

  "What matters how the night behaved;
  What matter how the north-wind raved;
  Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
  Could quench our ruddy hearth-fire's glow.

       *       *       *       *       *

  O time and change! with hair as gray
  As was my sire's that winter day,
  How strange it seems, with so much gone
  Of life and love, to still live on!

  Ah brother! only I and thou
  Are left of all the circle now--
  The dear home faces whereupon
  The fitful fire-light paled and shone,
  Henceforth, listen as we will,
  The voices of that hearth are still."




CHAPTER IV

THE EARLY SETTLERS IN UPPER CANADA--PROSPERITY, NATIONAL AND INDIVIDUAL
--THE OLD HOMES, WITHOUT AND WITHIN--CANDLE-MAKING--SUPERSTITIONS AND
OMENS--THE DEATH-WATCH--OLD ALMANACS--BEES--THE DIVINING ROD--THE U. E.
LOYALISTS--THEIR SUFFERINGS AND HEROISM--AN OLD AND A NEW PRICE LIST--
PRIMITIVE HOROLOGES--A JAUNT IN ONE OF THE CONVENTIONAL "CARRIAGES" OF
OLDEN TIMES--THEN AND NOW--A NOTE OF WARNING.



The settlement of Ontario, known up to the time of Confederation as the
Province of Upper Canada, or Canada West, began in 1784, so that at the
date I purpose to make a brief survey of the condition and progress of
the country, it had been settled forty-six years. During those years--no
insignificant period in a single life, but very small indeed in the
history of a country--the advance in national prosperity and in the
various items that go to make life pleasant and happy had been
marvellous. The muscular arm of the sturdy pioneer had hewn its way into
the primeval forest, and turned the gloomy wilderness into fruitful
fields.

It is well known that the first settlers located along the shores of the
River St. Lawrence, the Bay of Quinte, Lake Ontario, and Lake Erie, and
that, at the time of which I speak, this coastline of a few hundred
miles, extending back but a very short distance--a long narrow strip cut
from the serried edge of the boundless woods--comprised the settlement
of Canada West as it then existed. Persistent hard work had placed the
majority in circumstances of more than ordinary comfort. Good houses had
taken the place of log cabins, and substantial frame barns that of rude
hovels. Hard fare and scanty raiment had given place to an abundance of
the necessaries of life, and no people, perhaps, ever appreciated these
blessings with more sincere thankfulness or more hearty contentment. The
farmer was a strong, hardy man, the wife a ruddy, cheerful body, careful
of the comforts of her household. One table sufficed for themselves and
their servants or hired help. Meat was provided twice and often thrice a
day; it being more a matter of taste than economy as to the number of
times it was served. Fruit was abundant, and every matron prided herself
upon preserving and putting away quantities of it for home use. So that
at this time the world was moving smoothly with the people. An immense
track of wilderness had been reclaimed, and waving fields and fruitful
orchards occupied its place. It may have seemed to them, and indeed I
think it did to many, that the sum of all they could expect or even
desire in this world had been attained; while we, who remember those
days, and look back over the changes of fifty years, wonder how they
managed to endure life at all.

It is true that the father, more from the force of habit than necessity,
perhaps continued to toil in the field, and the mother, moved by the
same cause, and by her maternal anxiety for the well-being of her
family, still spent many a long hour at the loom. The son, brought up to
work, followed the plough, or did battle with the axe, making the woods
ring with his rapid strokes. And as he laboured he pictured to himself
the building of a nest in the unbroken forest behind the homestead,
wherein the girl of his choice figured as the central charm. The
daughter who toiled through the long summer's day to the monotonous hum
of the spinning wheel, drawing out and twisting the threads that should
enter into the make-up of her wedding outfit, was contented and happy.
The time and circumstances in which they were placed presented nothing
better, and in their estimation the world had little more to offer than
they already possessed.

It is more than probable that if we, with our modern notions and habits,
could to-day be carried back into a similar condition of life, we would
feel that our lines had fallen in anything but pleasant places. The
flying years, with their changes and anxieties, like the constant
dripping of water on a stone, have worn off the rough edges that wounded
and worried during their progress, and only the sunny spots, burned in
the plastic memory of younger days, remain.

The old homes, as I remember them in those days, were thought palatial
in their proportions and conveniences, and so they were as compared with
the old log houses. The latter often still remained as relics of other
days, but they had been converted into the base use of a cow stable, or
a shelter for waggons and farm implements during the winter. Their
successors were, with very few exceptions, wooden structures, clap-
boarded, and painted either yellow or red. The majority, however, never
received any touching up from the painter's brush, and as the years
rolled on became rusty and gray from the beating of winter's storms and
the heat of summer's sun. The interior rarely displayed any skill in
arrangement or design. The living rooms were generally of goodly size,
with low ceilings, but the sleeping rooms were invariably small, with
barely room enough for a large high-posted bedstead, and a space to
undress in. The exterior was void of any architectural embellishment,
with a steep roof pierced by dormer windows. The kitchen, which always
seemed to me like an after-thought, was a much lower part of the
structure, welded on one end or the other of the main body of the house,
and usually had a roof projecting some distance over one side, forming
"the stoop." In very many cases, the entrance to the spacious cellar,
where the roots, apples, cider, and other needs of the household were
kept, was from this through a trap door, so that in summer or winter the
good wife had actually to go out of doors when anything was required for
the table, and that was very often. It really seemed as though the old
saying of "the longest way round is the shortest way home" entered not
only into the laying out of highways, but into all the domestic
arrangements. Economy of time and space, convenience, or anything to
facilitate or lighten labour, does not appear to have occupied the
thoughts of the people. Work was the normal condition of their being,
and, as we see it now, everything seems to have been so arranged as to
preclude the possibility of any idle moments. At the end of the kitchen
was invariably a large fire-place, with its wide, gaping mouth, an iron
crane, with a row of pothooks of various lengths, from which to suspend
the pots over the fire, and on the hearth a strong pair of andirons,
flanked by a substantial pair of tongs and a shovel. During the winter,
when the large back-log, often as much as two men could handle, was
brought in and fixed in its place, and a good forestick put on the
andirons, with well-split maple piled upon it and set ablaze with dry
pine and chips, the old fire-place became aglow with cheerful fire, and
dispensed its heat through the room. But in extremely cold weather it
sometimes happened that while one side was being roasted the other was
pinched with cold. At one side of the fire-place there was usually a
large oven, which, when required, was heated by burning dry wood in it,
and then the dough was put into tin pans and pushed in to be baked.
Sometimes the ovens were built on frames in the yard, and then in wind
or storm the baking had to be carried out doors and in. Every kitchen
had one or more spacious cupboards; whatever need there was for other
conveniences, these were always provided, and were well filled. The
other rooms of the house were generally warmed by large box stoves. The
spare bedrooms were invariably cold, and on a severe night it was like
undressing out of doors and jumping into a snowbank. I have many a time
shivered for half an hour before my body could generate heat enough to
make me comfortable. The furniture made no pretensions to artistic
design or elegance. It was plain and strong, and bore unmistakable
evidence of having originated either at the carpenter's bench or at the
hands of some member of the family, in odd spells of leisure on rainy
days. Necessity is axiomatically said to be the mother of invention, and
as there were no furniture makers with any artistic skill or taste in
the country, and as the inclination of the people ran more in the
direction of the useful than the ornamental, most of the domestic needs
were of home manufacture. I have a clear recollection of the pine
tables, with their strong square legs tapering to the floor, and of how
carefully they were scrubbed. Table covers were seldom used, and only
when there was company, and then the cherry table with its folding
leaves was brought out, and the pure white linen cloth, most likely the
production of the good wife's own hands, was carefully spread upon it.
Then came the crockery. Who can ever forget the blue-edged plates, cups
and saucers, and other dishes whereon indigo storks and mandarins, or
something approaching a representation of them, glided airily over sky-
blue hills in their pious way from one indigo pagoda to another. These
things I have no doubt, would be rare prizes to Ceramic lovers of the
present day. The cutlery and silver consisted mostly of bone-handled
knives and iron forks, and iron and pewter spoons. On looking over an
old inventory of my grandfather's personal effects not long since, I
came upon these items: "two pair of spoon moulds," and I remembered
melting pewter and making spoons with these moulds when I was very
young. Cooking was done in the oven, and over the kitchen fire, and the
utensils were a dinner pot, teakettle, frying-pan and skillet. There
were no cooking stoves. The only washing machines were the ordinary wash
tubs, soft soap, and the brawny arms and hands of the girls; and the
only wringers were the strong wrists and firm grip that could give a
vigorous twist to what passed through the hands. Water was drawn from
the wells with a bucket fastened to a long slender pole attached to a
sweep suspended to a crotch. Butter, as has already been intimated, was
made in upright churns, and many an hour have I stood, with mother's
apron pinned around me to keep my clothes from getting spattered,
pounding at the stubborn cream, when every minute seemed an hour,
thinking the butter would never come. When evening set in, we were wont
to draw around the cheerful fire on the hearth, or perhaps up to the
kitchen table, and read and work by the dim light of "tallow dips,"
placed in tin candlesticks, or, on extra occasions, in brass or silver
ones, with their snuffers, trays and extinguishers. Now, we sit by the
brilliant light of the coal oil lamp or of gas. Then, coal oil was in
the far-off future, and there was not a gas jet in Canada, if indeed in
America. The making of tallow candles, before moulds were used, was a
slow and tiresome task. Small sticks were used, about two feet long,
upon each of which six cotton wicks, made for the purpose, were placed
about two inches apart, each wick being from ten to twelve inches long.
A large kettle was next partly filled with hot water, upon which melted
tallow was poured. Then, two sticks were taken in the right hand, and
the wick slowly dipped up and down through the melted tallow. This
process was continued until the candles had attained sufficient size,
when they were put aside to harden, and then taken off the sticks and
put away. It required considerable practical experience to make a smooth
candle which would burn evenly; and a sputtering candle was an
abomination. The cloth with which the male members of the family were
clad, as well as the flannel that made the dresses and underclothing for
both, was carded, spun, and often woven at home, as was also the flax
that made the linen. There were no sewing or knitting machines, save the
deft hands that plied the needle. Carpets were seldom seen. The floors
of the spare rooms, as they were called, were painted almost invariably
with yellow ochre paint, and the kitchen floor was kept clean and white
with the file, and sanded. The old chairs, which, in point of comfort,
modern times have in no way improved upon, were also of home make, with
thin round legs and splint-bottomed seats, or, what was more common, elm
bark evenly cut and plaited. Many a time have I gone to the woods in the
spring, when the willow catkins in the swamp and along the side of the
creek turned from silver to gold, and when the clusters of linwort
nodded above the purple-green leaves in the April wind, and taken the
bark in long strips from the elm trees to reseat the dilapidated chairs.

If the labour-saving appliances were so scanty indoors, they were not
more numerous outside. The farmer's implements were rude and rough. The
wooden plough, with its wrought-iron share, had not disappeared, but
ploughs with cast-iron mould-boards, land-sides and shares, were rapidly
coming into use. These had hard-wood beams, and a short single handle
with which to guide them. They were clumsy, awkward things to work with,
as I remember full well, and though an improvement, it was impossible to
do nice work with them. Indeed, that part of the question did not
receive much consideration, the principal object being to get the ground
turned over. They were called patent ploughs. Drags were either tree
tops or square wooden frames with iron teeth. The scythe for hay and the
cradle for grain, with strong backs and muscular arms to swing them,
were the only mowers and reapers known. The hand rake had not been
superseded by the horse rake, nor the hoe by the cultivator; and all
through the winter, the regular thump, thump of the flails on the barn
floor could be heard, or the trampling out of the grain by the horses'
feet. The rattle of the fanning mill announced the finishing of the
task. Threshing machines and cleaners were yet to come.

It will be seen from what I have said that both in the house and out of
it work was a stern and exacting master, whose demands were incessant,
satisfied only by the utmost diligence. It was simply by this that so
much was accomplished. It is true there were other incentives that gave
force to the wills and nerves to the arms which enabled our forefathers
to overcome the numberless arduous tasks that demanded attention daily
throughout the year. All the inventions that have accumulated so rapidly
for the last twenty years or more, to lighten the burden and facilitate
the accomplishment of labour and production, as well as to promote the
comfort of all classes, were unknown fifty years ago. Indeed many of the
things that seem so simple and uninteresting to us now, as I shall have
occasion to show further on, were then hidden in the future. Take for
example the very common and indispensable article, the lucifer match, to
the absence of which allusion has already been made. Its simple method
of producing fire had never entered the imagination of our most gifted
sires. The only way known to them was the primitive one of rubbing two
sticks together and producing fire by friction--a somewhat tedious
process--or with a flint, a heavy jackknife, and a bit of punk, a
fungous growth, the best of which for this purpose is obtained from the
beech. Gun flints were most generally used. One of these was placed on a
bit of dry punk, and held firmly in the left hand, while the back of the
closed blade of the knife thus brought into contact with the flint by a
quick downward stroke of the right hand produced a shower of sparks,
some of which, falling on the punk, would ignite; and thus a fire was
produced. In the winter, if the fire went out, there were, as I have
already stated, but two alternatives--either the flint and steel, or a
run to a neighbour's house for live coals.

There were many superstitious notions current among the people in those
days. Many an omen both for good and evil was sincerely believed in,
which even yet in quiet places finds a lodgement where the schoolmaster
has not been much abroad. But the half century that has passed away has
seen the last of many a foolish notion. A belief in omens was not
confined to the poor and ignorant, for brave men have been known to
tremble at seeing a winding-sheet in a candle, and learned men to gather
their little ones around them, fearing that one would be snatched away,
because a dog outside took a fancy to howl at the moon. And who has not
heard the remark when a sudden shiver came over one; that an enemy was
then walking over the spot which would be his grave? Or who has not
noticed the alarm occasioned by the death watch--the noise, resembling
the ticking of a watch, made by a harmless little insect in the wall--or
the saying that if thirteen sit down to table, one is sure to die within
a year? Somebody has said there is one case when he believed this omen
to be true, and that is when thirteen sit down to dinner and there is
only enough for twelve. There was no end to bad omens. It was bad luck
to see the new moon for the first time over the left shoulder, but if
seen over the right it was the reverse. It is well known that the moon
has been supposed to exercise considerable influence over our planet,
among the chief of which are the tides, and it was believed also to have
a great deal to do with much smaller matters. There are few who have not
seen on the first page of an almanac the curious picture representing a
nude man with exposed bowels, and surrounded with the zodiacal signs.
This was always found in the old almanacs, and indeed they would be
altogether unsaleable without it and the weather forecast. How often
have I seen the almanac consulted as to whether it was going to be fair
or stormy, cold or hot; how often seen the mother studying the pictures
when she wished to wean her babe. If she found the change of the moon
occurred when the sign was in Aries or Gemini or Taurus, all of which
were supposed to exercise a baneful influence on any part of the body
above the heart, she would defer the matter until a change came, when
the sign would be in Virgo or Libra, considering it extremely dangerous
to undertake the operation in the former case. The wife was not alone in
this, for the husband waited for a certain time in the moon to sow his
peas--that is, if he wished to ensure a good crop. He also thought it
unlucky to kill hogs in the wane of the moon, because the pork would
shrink and waste in the boiling. The finding of an old horseshoe was a
sure sign of good luck, and it was quite common to see one nailed up
over the door. It is said that the late Horace Greeley always kept a
rusty one over the door of his sanctum. To begin anything on Friday was
sure to end badly. I had an esteemed friend, the late sheriff of the
county of ----, who faithfully believed this, and adhered to it up to
the time of his death. May was considered an unlucky month to marry in,
and when I was thinking of this matter a number of years later, and
wished the event to occur during the month, my wish was objected to on
this ground, and the ceremony deferred until June in consequence.

It is said that the honey bee came to America with the Pilgrim Fathers.
Whether this be so or not I am unprepared to say. If it be true, then
there were loyalists among them, for they found their way to Canada with
the U. E.'s, and contributed very considerably to the enjoyment of the
table. Short-cake and honey were things not to be despised in those
days, I remember. There was a curious custom that prevailed of blowing
horns and pounding tin pans to keep the bees from going away when
swarming. The custom is an Old Country one, I fancy. The reader will
remember that Dickens, in "Little Dorrit," makes Ferdinand Barnacle say:
"You really have no idea how the human bees will swarm to the beating of
any old tin kettle."

Another peculiar notion prevailed with respect to discovering the proper
place to dig wells. There were certain persons, I do not remember what
they were called, whether water doctors or water witches, who professed
to be able, with the aid of a small hazel crotched twig, which was held
firmly in both hands with the crotch inverted, to tell where a well
should be sunk with a certainty of finding water. The process was simply
to walk about with the twig thus held, and when the right place was
reached, the forked twig would turn downwards, however firmly held; and
on the strength of this, digging would be commenced in the place
indicated. A curious feature about this was that there were but very few
in whose hands the experiment would work, and hence the water discoverer
was a person of some repute. I never myself witnessed the performance,
but it was of common occurrence. [Footnote: The reader will remember the
occult operations of Dousterswivel in the seventeenth chapter of Scott's
_Antiquary._ "In truth, the German was now got to a little copse-
thicket at some distance from the ruins, where he affected busily to
search for such a wand as should suit the purpose of his mystery; and
after cutting off a small twig of hazel terminating in a forked end,
which he pronounced to possess the virtue proper for the experiment that
he was about to exhibit, holding the forked ends of the wand each
between the finger and the thumb, and thus keeping the rod upright, he
proceeded to pace the ruined aisles," &c. So it will be seen that we had
Canadian successors of Dousterswivel in my time, but we had no
Oldbucks.]

The people of to-day will no doubt smile at these reminiscences of a
past age, and think lightly of the life surroundings of these early
pioneers of the Province. But it must not be forgotten that their
condition of life was that of the first remove from the bush and the log
cabin. There was abundance, without luxury, and it was so widely
different from the struggle of earlier years that the people were
contented and happy. "No people on earth," says Mr. Talbot, in 1823,
"live better than the Canadians, so far as eating and drinking justify
the use of the expression, for they may be truly said to fare
sumptuously every day. Their breakfast not unfrequently consists of
twelve or fourteen different ingredients, which are of the most
heterogeneous nature. Green tea and fried pork, honeycomb and salted
salmon, pound cake and pickled cucumbers, stewed chickens and apple-
tarts, maple molasses and pease-pudding, gingerbread and sour-crout, are
to be found at almost every table. The dinner differs not at all from
the breakfast, and the afternoon repast, which they term supper, is
equally substantial."

The condition of the Province in 1830 could not be otherwise than pre-
eminently satisfactory to its inhabitants. That a people who had been
driven from their homes, in most cases destitute of the common needs of
ordinary life, should have come into a vast wilderness, and, in the
course of forty-six years, have founded a country, and placed themselves
in circumstances of comfort and independence, seems to me to be one of
the marvels of the century. The struggles and trials of the first
settlers must ever be a subject of deepest interest to every true
Canadian, and, as an illustration of the power of fixed principles upon
the action of men, there are few things in the world's history that
surpass it. It must be remembered that many, nay most, of the families
who came here had, prior to and during the Revolutionary war, been men
of means and position. All these advantages they were forced to abandon.
They came into this country with empty hands, accepted the liberality of
the British Government for two years, and went to work. Providence
smiled upon their toils, and in the year of which I speak they had grown
into a prosperous and happy people.

The social aspect of things had changed but little. The habits and
customs of early days still remained. The position of the inhabitants
was one of exigency. The absorbing desire to succeed kept them at home.
They knew but little of what was passing in the world outside, and as a
general thing they cared less. Their chief interest was centred in the
common welfare, and each contributed his or her share of intelligence
and sagacity to further any plans that were calculated to promote the
general good. Every day called for some new expedient in which the
comfort or advantage of the whole was concerned, for there were no
positions save those accorded to worth and intellect. The sufferings or
misfortunes of a neighbour, as well as his enjoyments, were participated
in by all. Knowledge and ability were respectfully looked up to, yet
those who possessed these seemed hardly conscious of their gifts. The
frequent occasions which called for the exercise of the mind, sharpened
sagacity, and gave strength to character. Avarice and vanity were
confined to narrow limits. Of money there was little. Dress was coarse
and plain, and was not subject to the whims or caprices of fashion. The
girls, from the examples set them by their mothers, were industrious and
constantly employed. Pride of birth was unknown, and the affections
flourished fair and vigorously, unchecked by the thorns and brambles
with which our minds are cursed in the advanced stage of refinement of
the present day.

The secret of their success, if there was any secret in it, was the
economy, industry and moderate wants of every member of the household.
The clothing and living were the outcome of the farm. Most of the
ordinary implements and requirements for both were procured at home. The
neighbouring blacksmith made the axes, logging-chains and tools. He
ironed the waggons and sleighs, and received his pay from the cellar and
barn. Almost every farmer had his work-bench and carpenter's tools,
which he could handle to advantage, as well as a shoemaker's bench; and
during the long evenings of the fall and winter would devote some of his
time to mending boots or repairing harness. Sometimes the old log-house
was turned into a blacksmith shop. This was the case with the first home
of my grandfather, and his seven sons could turn their hands to any
trade, and do pretty good work. If the men's clothes were not made by a
member of the household, they were made in the house by a sewing girl,
or a roving tailor, and the boots and shoes were made by cobblers of the
same itinerant stripe. Many of the productions of the farm were
unsaleable, owing to the want of large towns for a market. Trade, such
as then existed, was carried on mostly by a system of barter. The refuse
apples from the orchard were turned into cider and vinegar for the
table. The skins of the cattle, calves and sheep that were slaughtered
for the wants of the family, were taken to the tanners, who dressed
them, and returned half of each hide. The currency of the day was flour,
pork and potash. The first two were in demand for the lumbermen's
shanties, and the last went to Montreal for export. The ashes from the
house and the log-heaps were either leached at home, and the lye boiled
down in the large potash kettles--of which almost every farmer had one
or two--and converted into potash, or became a perquisite of the wife,
and were carried to the ashery, where they were exchanged for crockery
or something for the house. Wood, save the large oak and pine timber,
was valueless, and was cut down and burned to get it out of the way.

I am enabled to give a list of prices current at that time of a number
of things, from a domestic account-book, and an auction sale of my
grandfather's personal estate, after his death in 1829. The term in use
for an auction then was vendue.

                               1830             1880

A good horse                  $80.00          $120.00
Yoke of oxen                   75.00           100.00
Milch cow                      16.00            30.00
A hog                           2.00            5.00
A sheep                         2.00            5.00
Hay, per ton                    7.00           12.00
Pork, per bbl.                 15.00           12.00
Flour, per cwt.                 3.00            3.00
Beef,    "                      3.50            6.00
Mutton,  "                      3.00            6.00
Turkeys, each                                   1.50
Ducks, per pair                                 1.00
Geese, each                                      .80
Chickens, per pair                               .40
Wheat, per bushel               1.00            1.08
Rye,     "                       .70             .85
Barley,  "                       .50            1.00
Peas,    "                       .40             .70
Oats,    "                       .37             .36
Potatoes,"                       .40             .35
Apples,  "                       .50             .50
Butter, per pound                .14             .25
Cheese,  "                                       .17
Lard,    "                       .05             .12
Eggs, per dozen                  .10             .25
Wood, per cord                  1.00            5.00
Calf skins, each                                1.00
Sheep skins, each                               1.00
West India molasses              .80             .50
Tea, per pound                   .80             .60
Tobacco                          .25             .50
Honey                            .10             .25
Oysters, per quart               .80             .40
Men's strong boots, per pair    3.00
Port wine, per gallon            .80            2.75
Brandy,      "                  1.50            4.00
Rum,         "                  1.00            3.00
Whisky,      "                   .40            1.40
Grey cotton, per yard            .14             .10
Calico,      "                   .20             .12
Nails, per pound                 .14             .04

Vegetables were unsaleable, and so were many other things for which the
farmer now finds a ready market. The wages paid to a man were from eight
to ten dollars, and a girl from two to three dollars, per month. For a
day's work, except in harvest time, from fifty to seventy-five cents was
the ordinary rate. Money was reckoned by L. s. d. Halifax currency, to
distinguish it from the pound sterling. The former was equal to $4.00,
and the latter, as now, to $4.87.

Clocks were not common. It is true in most of the better class of old
homes a stately old time-piece, whose face nearly reached the ceiling,
stood in the hall or sitting-room, and measured off the hours with slow
and steady beat. But the most common time-piece was a line cut in the
floor, and when the sun touched his meridian height his rays were cast
along this mark through a crack in the door; and thus the hour of noon
was made known. A few years later the irrepressible Yankee invaded the
country with his wooden clocks, and supplied the want. My father bought
one which is still in existence (though I think it has got past keeping
time), and paid ten pounds for it; a better one can be had now for as
many shillings.

The kitchen door, which, as I have already mentioned, was very often
divided in the middle, so that the upper part could be opened and the
lower half kept closed, was the general entrance to the house, and was
usually provided with a wooden latch, which was lifted from the outside
by a leather string put through the door. At night, when the family
retired, the string was pulled in and the door was fastened against any
one from the outside. From this originated the saying that a friend
would always find the string on the latch.

Carriages were not kept, for the simple reason that the farmer seldom
had occasion to use them. He rarely went from home, and when he did he
mounted his horse or drove in his lumber-waggon to market or to meeting.
He usually had one or two waggon-chairs, as they were called, which
would hold two persons very comfortably. These were put in the waggon
and a buffalo skin thrown over them, and then the vehicle was equipped
for the Sunday drive. There was a light waggon kept for the old people
to drive about in, the box of which rested on the axles. The seat,
however, was secured to wooden springs, which made it somewhat more
comfortable to ride in. A specimen of this kind of carriage was shown by
the York Pioneers at the Industrial Exhibition in this city. I have a
clear recollection of the most common carriage kept in those days, and
of my first ride in one. I was so delighted that I have never forgotten
it. One Saturday afternoon, my father and mother determined to visit
Grandfather C---, some six miles distant. We were made ready--that is
to say, my sister and self--and the "yoke" was put to. Our carriage had
but two wheels, the most fashionable mode then, and no steel springs;
neither was the body hung upon straps. There was no cover to the seat,
which was unique in its way, and original in its get-up. Neither was
there a well-padded cushion to sit on, or a back to recline against. It
was nothing more or less than a limber board placed across from one side
of the box to the other. My father took his seat on the right, the place
invariably accorded to the driver--we did not keep a coachman then--my
mother and sister, the latter being an infant, sat on the opposite side,
while I was wedged in the middle to keep me from tumbling out. My father
held in his hand a long slender whip (commonly called a "gad") of blue
beech, with which he touched the off-side animal, and said, "Haw Buck,
gee 'long." The "yoke" obeyed, and brought us safely to our journey's
end in the course of time. Many and many a pleasant ride have I had
since in far more sumptuous vehicles, but none of them has left such a
distinct and pleasing recollection.

The houses were almost invariably inclosed with a picket or board fence,
with a small yard in front. Shade and ornamental trees were not in much
repute. All around lay the "boundless contiguity of shade;" but it
awakened no poetic sentiment. To them it had been a standing menace,
which had cost the expenditure of their best energies, year after year,
to push further and further back. The time had not come for ornamenting
their grounds and fields with shrubs and trees, unless they could
minister to their comfort in a more substantial way. The gardens were
generally well supplied with currant and gooseberry bushes. Pear, plum
and cherry trees, as well as the orchard itself, were close at hand.
Raspberries and strawberries were abundant in every new clearing. The
sap-bush furnished the sugar and maple molasses. So that most of the
requisites for good living were within easy hail.

The first concern of a thrifty farmer was to possess a large barn, with
out-houses or sheds attached for his hay and straw, and for the
protection of his stock during the cold and stormy weather of fall and
winter. Lumber cost him nothing, save the labour of getting it out.
There was, therefore, but little to prevent him from having plenty of
room in which to house his crops, and as the process of threshing was
slow it necessitated more space than is required now. The granary, pig-
pen and corncrib were usually separate. The number and extent of
buildings on a flourishing homestead, inclosed with strong board fences,
covered a wide area, but the barns, with their enormous peaked roofs,
and the houses, with their dormer windows looking out from their steep
sides, have nearly all disappeared, or have been transformed into more
modern shape.

It would be difficult to find much resemblance between the well-ordered
house of the thriving farmer of to-day and that of half a century ago:
In the first place the house itself is designed with an eye to
convenience and comfort. There is more or less architectural taste
displayed in its external appearance. It is kept carefully painted. The
yawning fireplace in the kitchen, with its row of pots, has disappeared,
and in its place the most approved cooking-stove or range, with its
multifarious appendages, is found. On the walls hang numberless
appliances to aid in cooking. Washing-machines, wringers, improved
churns, and many other labour saving arrangements render the task of the
house-wife comparatively easy, and enable her to accomplish much more
work in a shorter time than the dear old grandmother ever dreamed of in
the highest flights of her imagination. Her cupboards are filled with
china and earthenware of the latest pattern. Pewter plates and buck-
handled knives have vanished, and ivory-handled cutlery has taken their
places. Britannia metal and pewter spoons have been sent to the melting-
pot, and iron forks have given place to nickel and silver ones. The old
furniture has found its way to the garret, and the house is furnished
from the ware-rooms of the best makers. Fancy carpets cover the floor of
every room. The old high-posted bedsteads, which almost required a
ladder to get into, went to the lumber heap long ago, and low, sumptuous
couches take their places. The great feather tick has been converted
into the more healthy mattress, and the straw tick and cords have been
replaced by spring bottoms. It used to be quite an arduous undertaking,
I remember, to put up one of those old beds. One person took a wrench,
kept for that purpose, and drew up the cord with it as tight as he could
at every hole, and another followed with a hammer and pin, which was
driven into the hole through which the end passed to hold it; and so you
went on round the bed, until the cord was all drawn as tight as it could
possibly be. Now a bedstead can be taken down and put up in a few
moments by one person with the greatest ease. The dresses of both mother
and daughters are made according to the latest styles, and of the best
material. The family ride in their carriage, with fine horses, and
richly-plated harness. The boys are sent to college, and the girls are
polished in city boarding-schools. On the farm the change is no less
marked. The grain is cut and bound with reaping machines, the grass with
mowing machines, and raked with horse rakes. Threshing machines thresh
and clean the grain. The farmer has machines for planting and sowing.
The hoe is laid aside, and his corn and root crops are kept clean with
cultivators. His ploughs and drags do better work with more ease to
himself and his team. He has discovered that he can keep improved stock
at less expense, and at far greater profit. In fact, the whole system of
farming and farm labour has advanced with the same rapid strides that
everything else has done; and now one man can accomplish more in the
same time, and do it better, than half a dozen could fifty years ago.

Musical instruments were almost unknown except by name. A stray fiddler,
as I have said elsewhere, was about the only musician that ever
delighted the ear of young or old in those days. I do not know that
there was a piano in the Province. If there were any their number was so
small that they could have been counted on the fingers of one hand. Now,
every house in the land with any pretension to the ordinary comforts of
life has either a piano or a melodeon, and every farmer's daughter of
any position can run over the keys with as much ease and effect as a
city belle. Passing along one of our streets not long since, I heard
some one playing in a room adjoining a little grocery store. My
attention was arrested by the skill of the player, and the fine tone of
the instrument. While I was listening, a couple of ladies passed, one of
whom said, "I do wonder if they have got a piano here." "Why not," said
the other, "the pea-nut-man on ---- Street has one, and I don't see why
every one else shouldn't have."

I think all who have marked the changes that have taken place during the
half century which is gone, will admit that we are a much faster people
than our fathers were. We have jumped from change to change with
marvellous rapidity. We could never endure the patient plodding way they
travelled, nor the toil and privation they went through; and it is a
good thing for us, perhaps, that they preceded us. Would it not be well
for us occasionally to step aside from the bustle and haste which
surrounds us, and look back. There are many valuable lessons to be
gathered from the pages of the past, and it might be well, perhaps, were
we to temper our anxiety to rise in the social scale with some of the
sterling qualities that characterized our progenitors. Our smart boys
now-a-days are far too clever to pursue the paths which their fathers
trod, and in too many cases begin the career of life as second or third-
rate professional men or merchants, while our daughters are too
frequently turned into ornaments for the parlour. We know that fifty
years ago the boys had to work early and late. West of England
broadcloths and fine French fabrics were things that rarely, indeed,
adorned their persons. Fashionable tailors and young gentlemen,
according to the present acceptation of the term, are comparatively
modern institutions in Canada. Fancy for a moment one of our young
swells, with his fashionable suit, gold watch, chain, and rings, patent
leather boots and kid gloves, and topped off with Christie's latest
headgear, driving up to grandfather's door in a covered buggy and plated
harness, fifty years ago! What would have been said, think you? My
impression is that his astonishment would have been too great to find
expression. The old man, no doubt, would have scratched his head in
utter bewilderment, and the old lady would have pushed up her specs in
order to take in the whole of the new revelation, and possibly might
have exclaimed, "Did you ever see the beat?" The girls, I have no doubt,
would have responded to their mother's ejaculation; and the boys, if at
hand, would have laughed outright.

My remarks, so far, have been confined altogether to the country
settlements, and fifty years ago that was about all there was in this
Province. Kingston was, in fact, the only town. The other places, which
have far outstripped it since, were only commencing, as we shall see
presently. Kingston was a place of considerable importance, owing to its
being a garrison town; and its position at the foot of lake navigation
gave promise of future greatness. The difference between town and
country life as yet was not very marked, except with the few officers
and officials. Clothes of finer and more expensive materials were worn,
and a little more polish and refinement were noticeable. The
professional man's office was in his house, and the merchant lived over
his store. He dealt in all kinds of goods, and served his customers
early and late. He bartered with the people for their produce, and
weighed up the butter and counted out the eggs, for which he paid in
groceries and dry goods. Now he has his house on a fashionable street,
or a villa in the vicinity of the city, and is driven to his counting
house in his carriage. His father, and himself, perhaps, in his boyhood,
toiled in the summer time under a burning sun, and now he and his family
take their vacation during hot weather at fashionable watering places,
or make a tour in Europe.

We have but little to complain of as a people. Our progress during the
last fifty years has been such as cannot but be gratifying to every
Canadian, and if we are only true to ourselves and the great principles
that underlie real and permanent success, we should go on building up a
yet greater and more substantial prosperity, as the avenues of trade
which are being opened up from time to time become available. But let us
guard against the enervating influences which are too apt to follow
increase of wealth. The desire to rise in the social scale is one that
finds a response in every breast; but it often happens that, as we
ascend, habits and tastes are formed that are at variance not only with
our own well-being, but with the well-being of those who may be
influenced by us. One of the principal objects, it would seem, in making
a fortune in these days, is to make a show. There are not many families
in this Province, so far, fortunately, whose children can afford to lead
a life of idleness. Indeed, if the truth must be told, the richest heir
in our land cannot afford it. Still, when children are born with silver
spoons in their mouths, the necessity to work is removed, and it
requires some impulse to work when there is no actual need. But,
fortunately, there are higher motives in this world than a life of
inglorious ease. Wealth can give much, but it cannot make a man in the
proper and higher sense, any more than iron can be transmuted into gold.
It is a sad thing, I think, to find many of our wealthy farmers bringing
up their children with the idea that a farmer is not as respectable as a
counter-jumper in a city or village store, or that the kitchen is too
trying for the delicate organization of the daughter, and that her
vocation is to adorn the drawing-room, to be waited on by mamma, and to
make a brilliant match.




CHAPTER V.

JEFFERSON'S DEFINITION OF "LIBERTY"--HOW IT WAS ACTED UPON--THE CANADIAN
RENAISSANCE--BURNING POLITICAL QUESTIONS IN CANADA HALF A CENTURY AGO--
LOCOMOTION--MRS. JAMESON ON CANADIAN STAGE COACHES--BATTEAUX AND DURHAM
BOATS.



The American Revolution developed two striking pictures of the
inconsistency of human nature. The author of the Declaration of
Independence lays down at the very first this axiom: "We hold this truth
to be self-evident, that all men are created _equal_; that among
these, are life, _liberty_, and the pursuit of happiness." And yet
this man, with members of others who signed the famous document, was a
slave-holder, and contributed to the maintenance of a system which was a
reproach and a stain upon the fair fame of the land, until it was wiped
out with the blood of tens of thousands of its sons. The next picture
that stands out in open contradiction to the declaration of equality of
birth and liberty of action appears at the end of every war. The very
men who had clamoured against oppression, and had fought for and won
their freedom, in turn became the most intolerant oppressors. The men
who had differed from them, and had adhered to the cause of the mother
land, had their property confiscated, and were expelled from the
country. Revolutions have ever been marked by cruelty. Liberty in France
inaugurated the guillotine. The fathers of the American Revolution cast
out their kindred, who found a refuge in the wilderness of Canada, where
they endured for a time the most severe privations and hardships. This
was the first illustration or definition of "liberty and the pursuit of
happiness," from an American point of view.

The result was not, perhaps, what was anticipated. The ten thousand or
more of their expatriated countrymen were not to be subdued by acts of
despotic injustice. Their opinions were dear to them, and were as fondly
cherished as were the opinions of those who had succeeded in wrenching
away a part of the old Empire under a plea of being oppressed. They
claimed only the natural and sacred right of acting upon their honest
convictions; and surely no one will pretend to say that their position
was not as just and tenable, or that it was less honourable than that of
those who had rebelled. I am not going to say that there was no cause of
complaint on the part of those who threw down the gage of war. The truth
about that matter has been conceded long ago. The enactments of the Home
Government which brought about the revolt are matters with which we have
nothing to do at this time. But when the war terminated and peace was
declared, the attitude of the new Government toward those of their
countrymen who had adhered to the Old Land from a sense of duty, was
cruel, if not barbarous. It has no parallel in modern history, unless it
be the revocation of the Edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. The refugees,
however, did not, like the Huguenots, find a home in an old settled
country, but in the fastness of a Canadian forest; and it is wonderful
that so many men and women, out of love for a distant land whose
subjects they had been, and whose cause they had espoused, should have
sacrificed everything, and passed from comfortable homes and dearly-
loved kindred to desolation and poverty. It shows of what unbending
material they were made. With their strong wills and stronger arms they
laid the foundation of another country that yet may rival the land
whence they were driven. This act no doubt occasioned the settlement of
the Western Province many years earlier than it would have occurred
under other circumstances; and notwithstanding the attempts that were
made to subdue the country, our fathers proved, when the struggle came,
that they had lost none of their patriotic fire, and though they were
comparatively few in number, they were not slow to shoulder their
muskets and march away in defence of the land of their adoption. There
were no differences of opinion on this point. A people who had first
been robbed of their worldly goods and then driven from the homes of
their youth, were not likely soon to forget either their wrongs or their
sufferings, nor to give up, without a struggle, the new homes they had
made for themselves under the keenest privations and severest toils. As
our fathers successfully resisted the one, so have their children
treated the threats and blandishments that have been used from time to
time to bring them under the protecting aegis of the stars and stripes.
The wounds that were inflicted nearly a century ago have happily
cicatrized, and we can now look with admiration on the happy progress of
the American people in all that goes to make up a great and prosperous
country. We hope to live in peace and unity with them. Still, we like
our own country and its system of government better, and feel that we
have no reason either to be discontented with its progress, or to doubt
as to its future.

The year 1830 may be taken as the commencement of a new order of things
in Canada. The people were prosperous; immigration was rapidly
increasing. A system of Government had been inaugurated which, if not
all that could be desired, was capable of being moulded into a shape fit
to meet the wants of a young and growing country. There were laws to
protect society, encourage education, and foster trade and commerce. The
application of steam in England and the United States, not only to
manufacturing purposes but to navigation, which had made some progress,
rapidly increased after this date, and the illustration given by
Stephenson, in September of this year, of its capabilities as a motor in
land transit, completely revolutionized the commerce of the world. It
assailed every branch of industry, and in a few years transformed all.
The inventive genius of mankind seemed to gather new energy. A clearer
insight was obtained into the vast results opening out before it and
into the innumerable inventions which have succeeded; for the more
uniform and rapid production of almost every conceivable thing used by
man has had its origin in this Nineteenth Century Renaissance. Our
Province, though remote from this "new birth," could not but feel a
touch of the pulsation that was stirring in the world, and, though but
in its infancy, it was not backward in laying hold of these discoveries,
and applying them as far as its limited resources would admit. As early
as 1816 we had a steamer--the _Frontenac_--running on Lake
Ontario, and others soon followed. The increase was much more rapid
after the date referred to, and the improvement in construction and
speed was equally marked. Owing to our sparse and scattered population,
as well as our inability to build, we did not undertake the construction
of railroads until 1853, when the Northern Railroad was opened to
Bradford; but after that, we went at it in earnest, and we have kept at
it until we have made our Province a network of railways. In order more
fully to realize our position at this time, it must be borne in mind
that our population only reached 210,437.

Those whose recollection runs back to that time have witnessed changes
in this Province difficult to realize as having taken place during the
fifty years which have intervened. The first settlers found themselves
in a position which, owing to the then existing state of things, can
never occur again. They were cut off from communication, except by very
slow and inadequate means, with the older and more advanced parts of
America, and were, therefore, almost totally isolated. They adhered to
the manners and customs of their fathers, and though they acquired
property and grew up in sturdy independence, their habits and modes of
living remained unchanged. But now the steamboat and locomotive brought
them into contact with the world outside. They began to feel and see
that a new state of things had been inaugurated; that the old paths had
been forsaken; that the world had faced about and taken up a new line of
march. And, as their lives had theretofore been lives of exigency, they
were skilled in adapting themselves to the needs of the hour. Men who
have been trained in such a school are quick at catching improvements
and turning them to their advantage. It matters not in what direction
these improvements tend, whether to agriculture, manufactures,
education, or government; and we shall find that in all these our
fathers were not slow to move, or unequal to the emergency when it was
pressed upon them.

One of the dearest privileges of a British subject is the right of free
discussion on all topics, whether sacred or secular--more especially
those of a political character--and of giving effect to his opinions at
the polls. No people have exercised these privileges with more practical
intelligence than the Anglo-Canadian. It must be confessed that half a
century ago, and even much later, colonial affairs were not managed by
the Home Government altogether in a satisfactory manner. At the same
time there can hardly be a doubt that the measures emanating from the
Colonial Office received careful consideration, or that they were
designed with an honest wish to promote the well-being of the colonists,
and not in the perfunctory manner which some writers have represented.
The great difficulty has been for an old country like the mother land,
with its long established usages, its time-honoured institutions, its
veneration for precedent, its dislike to change, and its faith in its
own wisdom and power, either to appreciate the wants of a new country,
or to yield hastily to its demands. British statesmen took for granted
that what was good for them was equally beneficial to us. Their system
of government, though it had undergone many a change, even in its
monarchical type, was the model on which the colonial governments were
based; and when the time came we were set up with a Governor appointed
by the Crown, a Council chosen by the Governor, and an Assembly elected
by the people. They had an Established Church, an outcome of the
Reformation, supported by the State. It was necessary for the welfare of
the people and for their future salvation that we should have one, and
it was given us, large grants of land being made for its support. A
hereditary nobility was an impossibility, for the entire revenue of the
Province in its early days would not have been a sufficient income for a
noble lord. Still, there were needy gentlemen of good families, as there
always have been, and probably ever will be, who were willing to
sacrifice themselves for a government stipend. They were provided for
and sent across the sea to this new land of ours, to fill the few
offices that were of any importance. There was nothing strange or
unnatural in all this, and if these newcomers had honestly applied
themselves to the development of the country instead of to advancing
their own interests, many of the difficulties which afterwards sprang up
would have been avoided. The men who had made the country began to feel
that they knew more about its wants than the Colonial Office, and that
they could manage its affairs better than the appointees of the Crown,
who had become grasping and arrogant. They began to discuss the
question. A strong feeling pervaded the minds of many of the leading men
of the day that a radical change was necessary for the well-being of the
country, and they began to apply the lever of public opinion to the
great fulcrum of agitation, in order to overturn the evils that had
crept into the administration of public affairs. They demanded a
government which should be responsible to the people, and not
independent of them. They urged that the system of representation was
unjust, and should be equalized. They assailed the party in power as
being corrupt, and applied to them the epithet of the "Family Compact"--
a name which has stuck to them ever since, because they held every
office of emolument, and dispensed the patronage to friends, to the
exclusion of every man outside of a restricted pale. Another grievance
which began to be talked about, and which remained a bone of contention
for years, was the large grants of lands for the support of the Church
of England. As the majority of the people did not belong to that body,
they could not see why it should be taken under the protecting care of
the State, while every other denomination was left in the cold. Hence a
clamour for the secularization of the Clergy Reserves began to be heard
throughout the land. These, with many other questions, which were termed
abuses, raised up a political party the members whereof came to be known
as Radicals, and who, later, were stigmatized by the opposing party as
Rebels. The party lines between these two sides were soon sharply drawn
and when Parliament met at York, early in January, 1830, it was
discovered that a breach existed between the Executive Council and the
House of Assembly which could not be closed up until sweeping changes
had been effected.

The Province at this time was divided into eleven districts, or twenty-
six counties, which returned forty-one members to the Assembly, and the
towns of York, Kingston, Brockville and Niagara returned one member
each, making in all forty-five representatives. Obedient to the command
of the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir John Colborne, the members of the
different constituencies were finding their way with sleighs (the only
means of conveyance in those days) through snow-drifts, on the first of
the year, to the capital--the Town of York. The Province had not yet
reached the dignity of possessing a city, and indeed the only towns were
the four we have named, of which Kingston was the largest and most
important. It had a population of 3,635, and York 2,860. A member from
Winnipeg could reach Ottawa quicker, and with much more comfort now,
than York could be reached from the Eastern and Western limits of the
Province in those days. [Footnote: Fancy such an announcement as the
following appearing in our newspapers in these days, prior to the
opening of the House of Assembly:--

"To the proprietors and editors of the different papers in the Eastern
part of the Province. Gentlemen: Presuming that the public will desire
to be put in possession of His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor's
speech at the approaching Session of Parliament at an early date, and
feeling desirous to gratify a public to which we are so much indebted,
we shall make arrangements for having it delivered, free of expense, at
Kingston, the day after it is issued from the press at York, that it may
be forwarded to Montreal by mail on the Monday following.

"We are, Gentlemen,

"Your obedient servants,

"H. NORTON & Co., Kingston,

"W. WELLER, York.

"January 2nd, 1830."

The foregoing is clipped from an old number of the _Christian
Guardian_.]

Marshall Spring Bidwell was Speaker to the Assembly, and the following
formed the Executive Council:--J. Baby, Inspector-General; John H. Dunn,
Receiver-General; Henry John Boulton, Attorney-General; and Christopher
A. Hagerman, Solicitor-General. On the opening of the House, the address
was replied to by the Governor in one of the briefest speeches ever
listened to on the floor of the Legislative Assembly: "Gentlemen of the
House of Assembly, I thank you for your Address." The expense of
Hansards would not be very considerable if the legislators of the
present day followed the example of such brevity as this.

Any one looking over the Journals of the Second Session of the Tenth
Parliament will see that there was a liberal bill of fare provided.
Every member had at least one petition to present, and altogether there
were one hundred and fifty-one presented, some of which read strangely
in the light of the present day. Among them was one from Addington,
praying that means might be adopted "to secure these Provinces the trade
of the West Indies, free from the United States competition." Another
was from the Midland District, praying that an Act be passed to prevent
itinerant preachers from coming over from the United States and
spreading sedition, &c.; and another from Hastings, to dispose of the
Clergy Reserves. "Mr. McKenzie gives notice that he will to-morrow move
for leave to bring in a bill to establish finger posts;" and a few years
later these "finger posts" could be seen at all the principal cross-
roads in the Province. Among the bills there was a tavern and shop
license bill; a bill establishing the Kingston Bank with a capital of
L100,000; a bill authorizing a grant of L57,412 10s, for the relief of
sufferers in the American War; and one authorizing a grant to the
Kingston Benevolent Society, and also to the York Hospital and
Dispensary established the year before. Among the one hundred and
thirty-seven bills passed by the House of Assembly, nearly one hundred
were rejected by the Legislative Council, which shows how near the two
Houses had come to a dead-lock. In other respects there was nothing
remarkable about the session. The really most important thing done was
the formation of Agricultural Societies, and the aid granted them. But
in looking over the returns asked for, and the grievance motions brought
forward from time to time, one can see the gathering of the storm that
broke upon the country in 1837-8, and, however much that outbreak is to
be deplored, it hastened, no doubt, the settlement of the vexed
questions which had agitated the public mind for years. The union of the
two Provinces, Upper and Lower Canada, followed in 1841, and in 1867
Confederation took place, when our Province lost its old appellation,
and has ever since been known as the Province of Ontario--the keystone
Province of the Confederation.

It was in 1830 that the name of Robert Baldwin first appeared in the
list of members, and of the forty-five persons who represented the
Province at that time I do not know that one survives. The death of
George IV. brought about a dissolution, and an election took place in
October. There was considerable excitement, and a good many seats
changed occupants, but the Family Compact party were returned to power.

A general election in those days was a weighty matter, because of the
large extent of the constituencies, and the distance the widely-
scattered electors had to travel--often over roads that were almost
impassable--to exercise their franchise. There was but one polling place
in each county, and that was made as central as possible for the
convenience of the people. Often two weeks elapsed before all the votes
could be got in, and during the contest it was not an uncommon thing for
one side or the other to make an effort to get possession of the poll,
and keep their opponents from voting. This frequently led to disgraceful
fights, when sticks and stones were used with a freedom that would have
done no discredit to Irish faction fights in their palmiest days.
Happily, this is all changed now. The numerous polling places prevent a
crowd of excited men from collecting together. Voters have but a short
distance to go, and the whole thing is accomplished with ease in a day.
Our representation, both for the Dominion and Provincial Parliaments, is
now based upon population, and the older and more densely-populated
counties are divided into ridings, so that the forty-eight counties and
some cities and towns return to the Ontario Government eighty-eight
members.

Fifty years ago the Post Office Department was under the control of the
British Government, and Thomas A. Stayner was Deputy Postmaster General
of British North America. Whatever else the Deputy may have had to
complain of, he certainly could not grumble at the extent of territory
under his jurisdiction. The gross receipts of the Department were L8,029
2s 6d. [Footnote: I am indebted to W.H. Griffin, Esq., Deputy Postmaster
General, for information, kindly furnished, respecting the Post Office
Department, &c.] There were ninety-one post offices in Upper Canada. On
the main line between York and Montreal the mails were carried by a
public stage, and in spring and fall, owing to the bad roads, and even
in winter, with its storms and snow-drifts, its progress was slow, and
often difficult. There are persons still living who remember many a
weary hour and trying adventure between these points. Passengers, almost
perished with cold or famished with hunger, were often forced to trudge
through mud and slush up to their knees, because the jaded horses could
barely pull the empty vehicle through the mire or up the weary hill.
They were frequently compelled to alight and grope around in
impenetrable darkness and beating storm for rails from a neighbouring
fence, with which to pry the wheels out of a mud-hole, into which they
had, to all appearance, hopelessly sunk, or to dig themselves out of
snow banks in which both horses and stage were firmly wedged. If they
were so fortunate as to escape these mishaps, the deep ruts and corduroy
bridges tried their powers of endurance to the utmost, and made the old
coach creak and groan under the strain. Sometimes it toppled over with a
crash, leaving the worried passengers to find shelter, if they could, in
the nearest farm-house, until the damage was repaired. But with good
roads and no break-downs they were enabled to spank along at the rate of
seventy-five miles in a day, which was considered rapid travelling.
Four-and-a-half days were required, and often more; to reach Montreal
from York. A merchant posting a letter from the latter place, under the
most favourable circumstances, could not get a reply from Montreal in
less than ten days, or sometimes fifteen; and from Quebec the time
required was from three weeks to a month. The English mails were brought
by sailing vessels. Everything moved in those days with slow and uneven
pace. The other parts of the Province were served by couriers on
horseback, who announced their approach with blast of tin horn. That the
offices were widely separated in most cases may be judged from their
number. I recently came upon an entry made by my father in an old
account book against his father's estate: "To one day going to the post
office, 3s 9d." The charge, looked at in the light of these days,
certainly is not large, but the idea of taking a day to go to and from a
post office struck me as a good illustration of the inconveniences
endured in those days. The correspondent, at that time, had never been
blessed with a vision of the coming envelope, but carefully folded his
sheet of paper into the desired shape, pushed one end of the fold into
the other, and secured it with a wafer or sealing-wax. Envelopes, now
universally used, were not introduced until about 1845-50, and even
blotting paper, that indispensable requisite on every writing-table, was
unknown. Every desk had its sand-box, filled with fine dry sand, which
the writer sprinkled over his sheet to absorb the ink. Sometimes, at a
pinch, ashes were used. Goose quill was the only pen. There was not such
a thing, I suppose, as a steel pen in the Province. Gillott and Perry
had invented them in 1828; but they were sold at $36 a gross, and were
too expensive to come into general use. Neither was there such a thing
as a bit of india rubber, so very common now. Erasures had to be made
with a knife. Single rates of letter postage were, for distances not
exceeding 60 miles, 4 1/2 d; not exceeding 100 miles, 7d; and not over
200 miles, 9d, increasing 2 1/4 d on every additional 100 miles. Letters
weighing less than one ounce were rated as single, double or treble, as
they consisted of one, two or more sheets. If weighing an ounce, or
over, the charge was a single rate for every quarter of an ounce in
weight.

How is it now? The Post Office Department has been for many years under
the control of our Government. There are in Ontario 2,353 Post-Offices,
with a revenue of $914,382. The mails are carried by rail to all the
principal points, and to outlying places and country villages by stage,
and by couriers in light vehicles, with much greater despatch, owing to
the improved condition of the highways. A letter of not over half an
ounce in weight can be sent from Halifax to Vancouver for three cents. A
book weighing five pounds can be sent the same distance for twenty
cents, and parcels and samples at equally low rates. To England the rate
for half an ounce is five cents, and for every additional half-ounce a
single rate is added. Postage stamps and cards, the money order system,
and Post Office savings banks have all been added since 1851. The
merchant of Toronto can post a letter to-day, and get a reply from
London; England, in less time than he could in the old days from Quebec.
In 1830 correspondence was expensive and tedious. Letters were written
only under the pressure of necessity. Now every one writes, and the
number of letters and the revenue have increased a thousand fold. The
steamship, locomotive and telegraph, all the growth of the last half
century, have not only almost annihilated time and space, but have
changed the face of the world. It is true there were steamboats running
between York and Kingston on the Bay of Quinte and the St. Lawrence
prior to 1830; but after that date they increased rapidly in number, and
were greatly improved. It was on the 15th of September of that year that
George Stephenson ran the first locomotive over the line between
Liverpool and Manchester--a distance of thirty miles--so that fifty
years ago this was the only railway with a locomotive in the world--a
fact that can hardly be realised when the number of miles now in
operation, and the vast sums of money expended in their construction,
are considered. What have these agents done for us, apart from the
wonderful impetus given to trade and commerce? You can post to your
correspondent at Montreal at 6 p.m., and your letter is delivered at 11
a.m., and the next day at noon you have your answer. You take up your
morning's paper, and you have the news from the very antipodes every
day. The merchant has quotations placed before him, daily and hourly,
from every great commercial centre in the world; and even the sporting
man can deposit his money here, and have his bet booked in London the
day before.

From the first discovery of the country up to 1800, a period of about
three hundred years, the bark canoe was the only mode of conveyance for
long distances. Governor Simcoe made his journeys from Kingston to
Detroit in a large bark canoe, rowed by twelve chasseurs, followed by
another containing the tents and provisions. The cost of conveying
merchandise between Kingston and Montreal before the Rideau and St.
Lawrence canals were built is hardly credible to people of this day. Sir
J. Murray stated in the House of Commons, in 1828, that the carriage of
a twenty-four pound cannon cost between L150 and L200 sterling. In the
early days of the Talbot Settlement (about 1817), Mr. Ermatinger states
that eighteen bushels of wheat were required to pay for one barrel of
salt, and that one bushel of wheat would no more than pay for one yard
of cotton.

Our fathers did not travel much, and there was a good reason, as we have
seen, why they did not. The ordinary means of transit was the stage,
which Mrs. Jameson describes as a "heavy lumbering vehicle, well
calculated to live in roads where any decent carriage must needs
founder." Another kind, used on rougher roads, consisted of "large
oblong wooden boxes, formed of a few planks nailed together, and placed
on wheels, in which you enter by the window, there being no door to open
or shut, and no springs." On two or three wooden seats, suspended in
leather straps, the passengers were perched. The behaviour of the better
sort, in a journey from Niagara to Hamilton, is described by this writer
as consisting of a "rolling and tumbling along the detestable road,
pitching like a scow among the breakers of a lake storm." The road was
knee-deep in mud, the "forest on either side dark, grim, and
impenetrable." There were but three or four steamboats in existence, and
these were not much more expeditious. Fares were high. The rate from
York to Montreal was about $24. Nearly the only people who travelled
were the merchants and officials, and they were not numerous. The former
often took passage on sailing vessels or batteaux, and if engaged in the
lumber trade, as many of them were, they went down on board their rafts
and returned in the batteaux. "These boats were flat-bottomed, and made
of pine boards, narrowed at bow and stern, forty feet by six, with a
crew of four men and a pilot, provided with oars, sails, and iron-shod
poles for pushing. They continued to carry, in cargoes of five tons, all
the merchandise that passed to Upper Canada. Sometimes these boats were
provided with a makeshift upper cabin, which consisted of an awning of
oilcloth, supported on hoops like the roof of an American, Quaker, or
gipsy waggon. If further provided with half a dozen chairs and a table,
this cabin was deemed the height of primitive luxury. The batteaux went
in brigades, which generally consisted of five boats. Against the
swiftest currents and rapids the men poled their way up; and when the
resisting element was too much for their strength, they fastened a rope
to the bow, and, plunging into the water, dragged her by main strength
up the boiling cataract. From Lachine to Kingston, the average voyage
was ten to twelve days, though it was occasionally made in seven; an
average as long as a voyage across the Atlantic now. The Durham boat,
also then doing duty on this route, was a flat-bottomed barge, but it
differed from the batteaux in having a slip-keel and nearly twice its
capacity. This primitive mode of travelling had its poetic side. Amid
all the hardships of their vocation, the French Canadian boatmen were
ever light of spirit, and they enlivened the passage by carolling their
boat songs; one of which inspired Moore to write his immortal ballad."
[Footnote: Trout's Railways of Canada, 1870-1.]

The country squire, if he had occasion to go from home, mounted his
horse, and, with his saddle-bags strapped behind him, jogged along the
highway or through the bush at the rate of forty or fifty miles a day. I
remember my father going to New York in 1839. He crossed by steamboat
from Kingston to Oswego; thence to Rome, in New York State, by canal-
boat, and thence by rail and steamer to New York.




CHAPTER VI.

ROAD-MAKING--WELLER'S LINE OF STAGES AND STEAMBOATS--MY TRIP FROM
HAMILTON TO NIAGARA--SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES--PIONEER METHODIST PREACHERS
--SOLEMNIZATION OF MATRIMONY--LITERATURE AND LIBRARIES--WEEKLY NEWSPAPERS
--PRIMITIVE EDITORIAL ARTICLES.



The people were alive at a very early date to the importance of
improving the roads; and as far back as 1793 an Act was passed at
Niagara, then the seat of government, placing the roads under overseers
or road-masters, as they were called, appointed by the ratepaying
inhabitants at their annual town meetings. Every man was required to
bring tools, and to work from three to twelve days. There was no
property distinction, and the time was at the discretion of the
roadmaster. This soon gave cause for dissatisfaction, and reasonably,
for it was hardly fair to expect a poor man to contribute as much toward
the improvement of highways as his rich neighbour. The Act was amended,
and the number of days' work determined by the assessment roll. The
power of opening new roads, or altering the course of old ones, was
vested in the Quarter Sessions. This matter is now under the control of
the County Councils. The first government appropriation for roads was
made in 1804, when L1,000 was granted; but between 1830-33, $512,000 was
provided for the improvement and opening up of new roads. The road from
Kingston to York was contracted for by Dantford, an American, in 1800,
at $90 per mile, two rods wide. The first Act required that every man
should clear a road across his own lot, but it made no provision for the
Clergy Reserves and Crown Lands, and hence the crooked roads that
existed at one time in the Province. Originally the roads were marked
out by blazing the trees through the woods as a guide for the
pedestrian. Then the boughs were cut away, so that a man could ride
through on horseback. Then followed the sleighs; and finally the trees
were cleared off, so that a waggon could pass. "The great leading roads
of the Province had received little improvement beyond being graded, and
the swamps [had been] made passable by laying the round trunks of trees
side by side across the roadway. Their supposed resemblance to the
king's corduroy cloth gained for these crossways the name of corduroy
roads. The earth roads were passably good when covered with the snows of
winter, or when dried up in the summer sun; but even then a thaw or rain
made them all but impassable. The rains of autumn and the thaws of
spring converted them into a mass of liquid mud, such as amphibious
animals might delight to revel in. Except an occasional legislative
grant of a few thousand pounds for the whole Province, which was ill-
expended, and often not accounted for at all, the great leading roads,
as well as all other roads, depended, in Upper Canada, for their
improvement on statute labour." [Footnote: II.]

[Illustration: THE OLD SCHOOL HOUSE.]

The Rev. Isaac Fidler, writing in 1831, says: "On our arrival at Oswego,
I proceeded to the harbour in quest of a trading vessel bound for York,
in Canada, and had the good fortune to find one that would sail in an
hour. I agreed with the captain for nine dollars, for myself, family,
and baggage, and he on his part assured me that he would land me safe in
twenty-four hours. Our provision was included in the fare. Instead of
reaching York in one day, we were five days on the lake. There were two
passengers, besides ourselves, equally disappointed and impatient. The
cabin of the vessel served for the sitting, eating, and sleeping room of
passengers, captain and crew. I expostulated strongly on this usage, but
the captain informed me he had no alternative. The place commonly
assigned to sailors had not been fitted up. We were forced to tolerate
this inconvenience. The sailors slept on the floor, and assigned the
berths to the passengers, but not from choice. The food generally placed
before us for dinner was salt pork, potatoes, bread, water and salt;
tea, bread and butter, and sometimes salt pork for breakfast and tea;"
to which he adds, "no supper." One would think, under the circumstances,
this privation would have been a cause for thankfulness.

The same writer speaks of a journey to Montreal the following year:
"From York to Montreal, we had three several alterations of steamboats
and coaches. The steamboat we now entered was moored by a ledge of ice,
of a thickness so great as to conceal entirely the vessel, till we
approached close upon it. We embarked by steps excavated in the ice, for
the convenience of the passengers."

The following advertisement, from the _Christian Guardian_ of 1830,
may prove not uninteresting as an evidence of the competition then
existing between the coach and steamboat, and is pretty conclusive that
at that date the latter was not considered very much superior or more
expeditious:

"NEW LINE OF STAGES AND STEAMBOATS FROM YORK TO PRESCOTT.

"The public are respectfully informed that a line of stages will run
regularly between YORK and the CARRYING PLACE, [Footnote: The Carrying
Place is at the head of the Bay of Quinte.] twice a week, the remainder
of the season, leaving YORK every MONDAY and THURSDAY morning at 4
o'clock; passing through the beautiful townships of Pickering, Whitby,
Darlington and Clark, and the pleasant villages of Port Hope; Cobourg
and Colborne, and arriving at the CARRYING PLACE the same evening. Will
leave the CARRYING PLACE every TUESDAY and FRIDAY morning at 4 o'clock,
and arrive at York the same evening.

"The above arrangements are made in connection with the steamboat _Sir
James Kempt_, so that passengers travelling this route will find a
pleasant and speedy conveyance between York and Prescott, the road being
very much repaired, and the line fitted up with good horses, new
carriages, and careful drivers. Fare through from York to Prescott, L2
10s, the same as the lake boats. Intermediate distances, fare as usual.
All baggage at the risk of the owner. N.B.--Extras furnished at York,
Cobourg, or the Carrying Place, on reasonable terms.

"WILLIAM WELLER.

"York, June 9th. 1830."

I remember travelling from Hamilton to Niagara in November, 1846. We
left the hotel at 6 p.m. Our stage, for such it was called, was a lumber
waggon, with a rude canvas cover to protect us from the rain, under
which were four seats, and I have a distinct recollection that long
before we got to our journey's end we discovered that they were not very
comfortable. There were seven passengers and the driver. The luggage was
corded on behind in some fashion, and under the seats were crowded
parcels, so that when we got in we found it difficult to move or to get
out. One of our passengers, a woman with a young child, did not
contribute to our enjoyment, or make the ride any more pleasant, for the
latter poor unfortunate screamed nearly the whole night through.
Occasionally it would settle down into a low whine, when a sudden lurch
of the waggon or a severe jolt would set it off again with full force.
The night was very dark, and continued so throughout, with dashes of
rain. The roads were very bad, and two or three times we had to get out
and walk, a thing we did not relish, as it was almost impossible for us
to pick our way, and the only thing for it was to push on as well as we
could through the mud and darkness. We reached Niagara just as the sun
was rising. Our appearance can readily be imagined.

"In 1825, William L. Mackenzie described the road between York and
Kingston as among the worst that human foot ever trod, and down to the
latest day before the railroad era, the travellers in the Canadian stage
coach were lucky if, when a hill had to be ascended, or a bad spot
passed, they had not to alight and trudge ankle deep through the mud.
The rate at which it was possible to travel in stage coaches depended on
the elements. In spring, when the roads were water-choked and rut-
gullied, the rate might be reduced to two miles an hour for several
miles on the worst sections. The coaches were liable to be embedded in
the mud, and the passengers had to dismount and assist in prying them
out by means of rails obtained from the fences." [Footnote: Trout's
_Railways of Canada_]

Such was the condition of the roads up to, and for a considerable time
after, 1830, and such were the means provided for the public who were
forced to use them. It can easily be conceived, that the inducements for
pleasure trips were so questionable that the only people who journeyed,
either by land or water, were those whose business necessities compelled
them to do so. Even in 1837, the only road near Toronto on which it was
possible to take a drive was Y'onge Street, which had been macadamized a
distance of twelve miles. But the improvements since then, and the
facilities for quick transit, have been very great. The Government has
spent large sums of money in the construction of roads and bridges. A
system of thorough grading and drainage has been adopted. In wet swampy
land, the corduroy has given place to macadamized or gravel roads, of
which there are about 4,000 miles in the Province. [Footnote: In order
to ascertain the number of miles of macadamized roads in the Province,
after hunting in vain in other quarters, I addressed a circular to the
Clerk of the County Council in each county, and received thirty replies,
out of thirty-seven. From these I gathered that there were about the
number of miles, above stated. Several replied that they had no means of
giving the desired information, and others thought there were about so
many miles. I was forced to the conclusion that the road accounts of the
Province were not very systematically kept.] Old log bridges have been
superseded by stone, iron, and well-constructed wooden ones, so that in
the older sections the farmer is enabled to reach his market with a
well-loaded waggon during the fall and spring. The old system of tolls
has been pretty much done away with, and even in the remote townships
the Government has been alive to the importance of uninterrupted
communication, and has opened up good central highways. The batteaux and
sailing vessels, as a means of travel, with the old steamer and its
cramped up cabin in the hold, and its slow pace, have decayed and rotted
in the dockyard, and we have now swift boats, with stately saloons
running from bow to stern, fitted in luxurious style, on either sides
rows of comfortable sleeping rooms, and with a _table d'hote_
served as well as at a first class modern hotel. Travelling by steamer
now is no longer a tediously drawn out vexation, but in propitious
weather a pleasure. A greater change has taken place in our land travel,
but it is much more recent. The railroad has rooted out the stage,
except to unimportant places, and you can now take a Pullman at Toronto
at 7 p.m., go to bed at the proper time, and get up in Montreal at 10.30
a.m. the next day. The first railroad on which a locomotive was run was
the Northern, opened in 1853, to Bradford. Since that time up to the
present we have built, and now have in operation, 3,478 miles, in
addition to 510 under construction or contract. [Footnote: This is
exclusive of the C.P.R.]

Washington, in his farewell address, says: "Promote then, as an object
of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of
knowledge. In proportion as the structure of a government gives force to
public opinion, it is essential that public opinion should be
enlightened." Fifty years ago, education, even in the older and more
enlightened countries, did not receive that attention which its
importance to the well-being of society and the state demanded, and it
is only during recent years, comparatively speaking, that the education
of the masses has been systematically attempted. Indeed, it used to be
thought by men of birth and culture that to educate the poor would lead
to strife and confusion--that ignorance was their normal condition, and
that any departure therefrom would increase their misery and discontent.
Those notions have, happily, been exploded, and it is found that
education is the best corrective to the evils that used to afflict
society and disturb the general peace. It goes hand in hand with
religion and good order, and so convinced have our rulers become of its
importance to the general weal, that not only free but compulsory
education has become the law of the land. It is not to be wondered at
that half a century ago our school system--if we could be said to have
one--was defective. Our situation and the circumstances in which we were
placed were not favourable to the promotion of general education. The
sparseness of the population and the extent of territory over which it
was scattered increased the difficulty; but its importance was not
overlooked, and in the early days of the Province grants of land were
made for educational purposes. The first classical school--indeed the
first school of any kind--was opened in Kingston, by Dr. Stuart, in
1785, and the first common school was taught by J. Clark, in
Fredericksburg, 1786. In 1807 an Act was passed to establish grammar
schools in the various districts, with a grant of L100 to each. But it
was not until 1816 that the government took any steps towards
establishing common schools. The Lieutenant-Governor, in his Speech from
the Throne on opening the House, in January, 1830, said:--

"The necessity of reforming the Royal Grammar School was evident from
your Report at the close of the session. By the establishing of a
college at York, under the guidance of an able master, the object which
we have in view will, I trust, be speedily attained. The delay that may
take place in revising the charter of the university, or in framing one
suitable to the Province and the intention of the endowment, must, in
fact, under present circumstances, tend to the advancement of the
institution; as its use depended on the actual state of education in the
Province. Dispersed as the population is over an extensive territory, a
general efficiency in the common schools cannot be expected,
particularly whilst the salaries of the masters will not admit of their
devoting their whole time to their profession."

As far as my recollection goes, the teachers were generally of a very
inferior order, and rarely possessed more than a smattering of the
rudiments of grammar and arithmetic. As the Governor points out, they
were poorly paid, and "boarded around" the neighbourhood. But it is not
improbable that they generally received all their services were worth.
In those days most of the country youth who could manage to get to
school in winter were content if they learned to read and write, and to
wade through figures as far as the Rule of Three. Of course there were
exceptions, as also with the teachers, but generally this was the extent
of the aspiration of the rising generation, and it was not necessary for
the teacher to be profoundly learned to lead them as far as they wished
to go. I knew an old farmer of considerable wealth who would not allow
his boys to go to school, because, he said, if they learned to read and
write they might forge notes. He evidently considered "a little learning
a dangerous thing," and must have had a very low estimate of the moral
tone of his offspring, if he had any conception of morality at all.
However, the safeguard of ignorance which the old man succeeded in
throwing around his family did not save them, for they all turned out
badly.

The books in use were Murray's Grammar, Murray's English Reader,
Walker's Dictionary, Goldsmith's and Morse's Geography, Mayor's Spelling
Book; Walkingame's and Adam's Arithmetic. The pupil who could master
this course of study was prepared, so far as the education within reach
could fit him, to undertake the responsibilities of life; and it was
generally acquired at the expense of a daily walk of several miles
through deep snow and intense cold, with books and dinner-basket in
hand.

The school-houses where the youth were taught were in keeping with the
extent of instruction received within them. They were invariably small,
with low ceilings, badly lighted, and without ventilation. The floor was
of rough pine boards laid loose, with cracks between them that were a
standing menace to jackknives and slate pencils. [Footnote: Atlantic
Monthly.] The seats and desks were of the same material, roughly planed
and rudely put together. The seats were arranged around the room on
three sides, without any support for the back, and all the scholars sat
facing each other, the girls on one side and the boys on the other. The
seats across the end were debatable ground between the two, but finally
came to be monopolized by the larger boys and girls who, by some strange
law of attraction, gravitated together. Between was an open space in
which the stove stood, and when classes were drawn up to recite, the
teacher's desk stood at the end facing the door, and so enabled the
teacher to take in the school at a glance. But the order maintained was
often very bad. In fact it would be safe to say the greatest disorder
generally prevailed. The noise of recitations, and the buzz and drone of
the scholars at their lessons, was sometimes intolerable, and one might
as well try to study in the noisy caw-caw of a rookery. Occasionally
strange performances were enacted in those country school-rooms. I
remember a little boy between seven and eight years old getting a severe
caning for misspelling a simple word of two syllables, and as I happened
to be the little boy I have some reason to recollect the circumstance.
The mistake certainly did not merit the castigation, the marks of which
I carried on my back for many days, and it led to a revolt in the school
which terminated disastrously to the teacher. Two strong young men
attending the school remonstrated with the master, who was an irascible
Englishman, during the progress of my punishment, and they were given to
understand that if they did not hold their peace they would get a taste
of the same, whereupon they immediately collared the teacher. After a
brief tussle around the room, during which some of the benches were
overturned, the pedagogue was thrown on the floor, and then one took him
by the nape of the neck, and the other by the heels, and he was thrown
out of doors in the snow. There were no more lessons heard that day. On
the next an investigation followed, when the teacher was dismissed, and
those guilty of the act of insubordination were admonished.

Dr. Thomas Rolph thus refers to the state of schools two years later:
"It is really melancholy to traverse the Province and go into many of
the common schools; you find a brood of children, instructed by some
Anti-British adventurer, instilling into the young and tender mind
sentiments hostile to the parent State; false accounts of the late war
in which Great Britain was engaged with the United States; geography
setting forth New York, Philadelphia, Boston, &c., as the largest and
finest cities in the world; historical reading books describing the
American population as the most free and enlightened under heaven,
insisting on the superiority of their laws and institutions to those of
all the world, in defiance of the agrarian outrages and mob supremacy
daily witnessed and lamented; and American spelling books, dictionaries,
and grammars, teaching them an Anti-British dialect and idiom, although
living in a British Province and being subjects to the British Crown."

There was a Board of Education consisting of five members appointed to
each district, who had the over-sight of the schools. Each school
section met annually at what was called the School meeting, and
appointed three trustees, who engaged teachers, and superintended the
general management of the schools in their section. The law required
that every teacher should be a British subject, or that he should take
the oath of allegiance. He was paid a fee of fifteen shillings per
quarter for each scholar, and received a further sum of $100 from the
Government if there were not fewer than twenty scholars taught in the
school.

Upper Canada College, the only one in the Province, began this year
(1830), under the management of Dr. Harris. Grantham Academy, in the
Niagara District, was incorporated, and the Methodist Conference
appointed a Committee to take up subscriptions to build an academy and
select a site. The last named, when built, was located at Cobourg, and
the building which was begun in 1832 was completed in 1836, when the
school was opened. There were 11 district and 132 common schools, with
an attendance of 3,677, and an expenditure of L3,866 11s 61/2 d.

There was very little change in our school laws for several years.
Grants were annually made in aid of common schools, but there was no
system in the expenditure; consequently the good effected was not very
apparent. The first really practical school law was passed in 1841, the
next year when the union of the Provinces went into effect; and in 1844
Dr. Ryerson was appointed Chief Superintendent of Education for Upper
Canada, which office he held for thirty-two years. During that time,
through his indefatigable labours, our school laws have been moulded and
perfected, until it is safe to say we have the most complete and
efficient school system in the world. The influence it has exercised on
the intellectual development of the people has been very great, and it
is but reasonable to expect that it will continue to raise the standard
of intelligence and high moral character throughout the land. Our
Government has, from the very first, manifested an earliest desire to
promote education in the Province. During Dr. Ryerson's long term of
office, it liberally supplied him with the necessary means for maturing
his plans and introducing such measures as would place our educational
system on the best footing that could be devised. This has been
accomplished in a way that does honour, not only to the head that
conceived it, but to the enlightened liberality of the Government that
seconded the untiring energy of the man who wrought it out.

The advantages which the youth of Ontario to-day possess in acquiring an
education over the time when I was first sent to school with dinner
basket in hand, trudging along through mud or snow, to the old school-
house by the road side, where I was perched upon a high pine bench
without a back, with a Mavor's spelling book in hand, to begin the
foundation of my education, are so many and great that it is difficult
to realize the state of things that existed, or that men of intelligence
should have selected such a dry and unattractive method of imparting
instruction to children of tender years. It is to be feared that there
are many of our Canadian youth who do not appreciate the vantage ground
they occupy, nor the inviting opportunities that lie within the reach of
all to obtain a generous education. There is absolutely nothing to
prevent any young person possessing the smallest spark of ambition from
acquiring it, and making himself a useful member of society. "It is the
only thing," says Milton, in his "Literary Musings," "which fits a man
to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, all the offices both
private and public of peace and war."

There seems to be a growing disposition in the public mind to do away
with the first important educational landmark established in the
Province. Why this should be, or why its influence for good should at
any time have been so much crippled as even to give occasion to call its
usefulness in question seems strange. One would think that its intimate
connection with our early history; the good work accomplished by it, and
the number of men who have passed out of it to fill the highest public
positions in the gift of the Province, would save it from violent hands,
and furnish ample reasons for devising means to resuscitate it, if it
needs resuscitation, and to place it in a position to hold its own with
the various institutions that have come into existence since its doors
were first thrown open to the young aspirants for a higher education
half a century ago.

The opening of Upper Canada College in 1830 gave an impetus to education
which soon began to be felt throughout the Province. It was impossible,
in the nature of things, that with increasing population and wealth
there should be no advance in our educational status. If the forty-six
years that had passed had been almost exclusively devoted to clearing
away the bush and tilling the land, a time had now arrived when matters
of higher import to future success and enjoyment pressed themselves upon
the attention of the people. The farm could not produce all the
requirements of life, nor furnish congenial employment to many active
minds. The surplus products of the field and forest, in order to become
available as a purchasing power, had to be converted into money, and
this set in motion the various appliances of commerce. Vessels were
needed to carry their produce to market, and merchants to purchase it,
who, in turn, supplied the multifarious wants of the household. Then
came the mechanic and the professional man, and with the latter
education was a necessity. It was not to be expected that the tastes of
the rising generation would always run in the same groove with the
preceding, and as wealth and population increased, so did the openings
for advancement in other pursuits; and scores of active young men
throughout the Province were only too anxious to seize upon every
opportunity that offered to push their way up in life. Hence it happened
that when Upper Canada College first threw open its doors, more than a
hundred young men enrolled their names. In a comparatively short time
the need for greater facilities urged the establishment of other
educational institutions, and this led to still greater effort to meet
the want. Again, as the question pressed itself more and more upon the
public mind, laws were enacted and grants made to further in every way
so desirable an object. Hence, what was a crude and inadequate school
organization prior to 1830, at that time and afterwards began to assume
a more concrete shape, and continued to improve until it has grown into
a system of which the country may well be proud.

The contrast we are enabled to present is wonderful in every respect.
Since the parent college opened its doors to the anxious youths of the
Province, five universities and the same number of colleges have come
into existence. The faculties of these several institutions are presided
over by men of learning and ability. They are amply furnished with
libraries, apparatus and all the modern requirements of first-class
educational institutions. Their united rolls show an attendance of about
1,500 students last year. There are 10 Collegiate Institutes and 94 High
Schools, with an attendance of 12,136 pupils; 5,147 Public Schools, with
494,424 enrolled scholars; and the total receipts for school purposes
amounted to $3,226,730. Besides these, there are three Ladies' Colleges,
and several other important educational establishments devoted entirely
to the education of females, together with private and select schools in
almost every city and town in the Province, many of which stand very
high in public estimation. There are two Normal Schools for the training
of teachers. The one in Toronto has been in existence for 29 years, and
is so well known that it is unnecessary for me to attempt any
description of it. The total number of admissions since its foundation
have been 8,269. The Ottawa school, which has been in operation about
two years, has admitted 433. Three other important educational
institutions have been established by the Government in different parts
of the Province. The Deaf and Dumb Institute at Belleville is pleasantly
situated on the shore of the Bay of Quinte, a little west of the city.
The number in attendance is 269, and the cost of maintenance for the
past year $38,589. The Institute for the Blind at Brantford numbers 200
inmates, and the annual expenditure is about $30,000. These
institutions, erected at a very large outlay, are admirably equipped,
and under the best management, and prove a great boon to the unfortunate
classes for whom they were established. The Agricultural College at
Guelph, for the training of young men in scientific and practical
husbandry, though in its infancy, is a step in the right direction, and
must exercise a beneficial influence upon the agricultural interests of
the country. Of medical corporations and schools, there are the Council
of the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario; the Faculty of the
Toronto School of Medicine; Trinity Medical School; Royal College of
Physicians and Surgeons; Canada Medical Association; Ontario College of
Pharmacy; Royal College of Dental Surgeons; and Ontario Veterinary
College. There is also a School of Practical Science, now in its fourth
year. This, though not a complete list of the educational institutions
and schools of the Province, will nevertheless give a pretty correct
idea of the progress made during the fifty years that are gone.

The accommodation furnished by the school sections throughout the
country has kept pace with the progress of the times. As a rule the
school-houses are commodious, and are built with an eye to the health
and comfort of the pupils. The old pine benches and desks have
disappeared before the march of improvement--my recollection of them is
anything but agreeable--and the school-rooms are furnished with
comfortable seats and desks combined. The children are no longer crowded
together in small, unventilated rooms. Blackboards, maps and apparatus
are furnished to all schools. Trained teachers only are employed, and a
uniform course of study is pursued, so that each Public School is a
stepping-stone to the High School, and upward to the College or
University. Great attention has been paid by the Education Department to
the selection of a uniform series of text books throughout the course,
adapted to the age and intelligence of the scholars; and if any fault
can be found with it, I think it should be in the number. The variety
required in a full course--even of English study--is a serious matter.
The authorities, however, have laboured earnestly to remove every
difficulty that lies in the student's path, and to make the way
attractive and easy. That they have succeeded to a very great extent is
evident from the highly satisfactory report recently presented by the
Minister of Education. With the increasing desire for a better education
there seems to be a growing tendency on the part of young men to avail
themselves of such aids as shall push them towards the object in view
with the smallest amount of work; and instead of applying themselves
with energy and determination to overcome the difficulties that face
them in various branches of study, they resort to the keys that may be
had in any bookstore. It is needless to repeat what experience has
proved, in thousands of instances, that the young man who goes through
his mathematical course by the aid of these, or through his classical
studies by the use of translations, will never make a scholar. Permanent
success in any department of life depends on earnest work, and the more
arduous the toil to secure an object, so much the more is it prized when
won. Furthermore, it is certain to prove more lasting and beneficial.

The same causes that hindered the progress of education also retarded
the advance of religion. The first years of a settler's life are years
of unremitting toil; a struggle, in fact, for existence. Yet, though
settlers had now in a measure overcome their greater difficulties, the
one absorbing thought that had ground its way into the very marrow of
their life still pressed its claims upon their attention. The paramount
question with them had been how to get on in the world. They were cut
off, too, from all the amenities of society, and were scattered over a
new country, which, prior to their coming, had been the home of the
Indian--where all the requirements of civilization had to be planted and
cultivated anew. They had but barely reached a point when really much
attention could be devoted to anything but the very practical aim of
gaining their daily bread. It will readily be admitted that there is no
condition in life that can afford to put away religious instruction, and
there is no doubt that the people at first missed these privileges, and
often thought of the time when they visited God's House with regularity.
But the toil and moil of years had worn away these recollections, and
weakened the desire for sacred things. There can be no doubt that prior
to, and even up to 1830, the religious sentiment of the greater portion
of the people was anything but strong. The Methodists were among the
first, if not actually the first, to enter the field and call them back
to the allegiance they owed to the God who had blessed and protected
them. [Footnote: Dr. Stuart, of Kingston, Church of England, was the
first minister in Upper Canada, Mr. Langworth, of the same denomination,
in Bath; and Mr. Scamerhorn, Lutheran minister at Williamsburgh, next.]
Colonels Neal and McCarty began to preach in 1788, but the latter was
hunted out of the country. [Footnote: Playter.] Three years later,
itinerant preachers began their work and gathered hearers, and made
converts in every settlement. But these men, the most of whom came from
the United States, were looked upon with suspicion [Footnote: I have in
my possession an old manuscript book, written by my grandfather in 1796,
in which this point is brought out. Being a Quaker, he naturally did not
approve of the way those early preachers conducted services. Yet he
would not be likely to exaggerate what came under his notice. This is
what he says of one he heard: "I thought he exerted every nerve by the
various positions in which he placed himself to cry, stamp and smite,
often turning from exhortation to prayer. Entreating the Almighty to
thunder, or rather to enable him to do it. Also, to smite with the
sword, and to use many destroying weapons, at which my mind was led from
the more proper business of worship or devotion to observe, what
appeared to me inconsistent with that quietude that becometh a messenger
sent from the meek Jesus to declare the glad tidings of the gospel. If I
compared the season to a shower, as has heretofore been done, it had
only the appearance of a tempest of thunder, wind and hail, destitute of
the sweet refreshing drops of a gospel-shower."] by many who did not
fall in with their religious views; and it is not surprising that some
even went so far as to petition the Legislature to pass an Act which
should prevent their coming into the country to preach. It was said, and
truly, when the matter about this was placed before the Government, that
the connection existing between the Methodist Episcopal Church of the
United States and Canada was altogether a spiritual and not a political
connection; that the Methodists of Canada were as loyal to the British
Crown as any of its subjects, and had proved it again and again in the
time of trouble. Yet, looking back and remembering the circumstances
under which the people came, it does not seem so very strange to us that
they should have looked very doubtfully upon evangelists from a land
which not only stripped them and drove them away, but a little later
invaded their country. Neither do we wonder that some of them were
roughly treated, nor that unpleasant epithets were thrown out against
their followers. This was the outcome, not only of prejudice, but the
recollection of injuries received. There were a good many angularities
about Christian character in those days, and they frequently stood out
very sharply. They were not friends or enemies by halves. Their
prejudices were deeply seated, and if assailed were likely to be
resisted, and if pressed too closely in a controversy, were more
disposed to use the _argumentum baculinum_, as being more effectual
than the _argumentum ad judicicium_. But time gradually wore away
many of those asperities, and now few will deny that the position our
Province holds to-day is to a considerable extent owing to this large
and influential body of Christians. They built the first house devoted
to public worship in the Province; through their zeal and energy, the
people were stirred up to a sense of their religious obligation; their
activity infused life and action into other denominations. The people
generally throughout the country had the bread of life broken to them
with regularity, so that in the year of Grace 1830 a new order of things
was inaugurated. But with all this, a vastly different state of affairs
existed then from that now prevailing. No one could accuse the preachers
of those days of mercenary motives, for they were poorly paid, and
carried their worldly possessions on their backs. Their labour was
arduous and unremitting. They travelled great distances on foot and on
horseback, at all seasons and in all weathers, to fill appointments
through the bush--fording rivers, and enduring hardships and privations
that seem hardly possible to be borne. A circuit often embraced two or
three districts. The places of worship were small and far apart, and
fitted up with rude pine benches, the men sitting on the one side and
the women on the other. Often forty or fifty miles would have to be
traversed from one appointment to another, and when it was reached,
whether at a neighbour's house, a school-house, a barn or a meeting
house, the people assembled to hear the word, and then the preacher took
his way to the next place on his circuit.

Mr. Vanest says: "In summer we crossed ferries, and in winter we rode
much on ice. Our appointment was thirty-four miles distant, without any
stopping-place. Most of the way was through the Indian's land--otherwise
called the Mohawk Woods. In summer I used to stop half-way in the woods
and turn my horse out where the Indians had had their fires. In winter I
would take some oats in my saddle-bags, and make a place in the snow to
feed my horse. In many places there were trees fallen across the path,
which made it difficult to get around in deep snow. I would ask the
Indians why they did not cut out the trees. One said, 'Indian like deer;
when he no cross under he jump over.' There was seldom any travelling
that way, which made it bad in deep snow. At one time when the snow was
deep, I went on the ice till I could see clear water, so I thought it
time to go ashore. I got off my horse and led him, and the ice cracked
at every step. If I had broken through, there would have been nothing
but death for us both. I got to the woods in deep snow, and travelled up
the shore till I found a small house, when I found the course of my
path, keeping a good look-out for the marked trees. I at last found my
appointment about seven o'clock. If I had missed my path I do not know
what would have become of me. At my stopping-place the family had no
bread or meal to make any of, till they borrowed some of a neighbour; so
I got my dinner and supper about eleven o'clock on Saturday night. On
Sabbath I preached. On Monday I rode about four miles, crossed the Bay
(Quinte), and then rode seventeen miles through the woods without seeing
a house, preached and met a class for a day's work."

Another writer says: "We had to go twenty miles without seeing a house,
and were guided by marked trees, there being no roads. At one time my
colleague was lost in getting through the woods, when the wolves began
to howl around him, and the poor man felt much alarmed; but he got
through unhurt." [Footnote: Dr. Carroll.]

These incidents occurred some years before the date of which I speak,
but the same kind of adventures were happening still. It did not take
long to get away from the three or four concessions that stretched
along the bay and lakes, and outside of civilization. I remember going
with my father and mother, about 1835, on a visit to an uncle who had
settled in the bush [Footnote: This was in the oldest settled part of
the Province--the Bay of Quinte.] just ten miles away, and in that
distance, we travelled a wood road for more than five miles. The snow
was deep and the day cold. We came out upon the clearing of a few acres,
and drove up to the door of the small log house, the only one then to be
seen. The tall trees which environed the few acres carved out of the
heart of the bush waved their naked branches as if mocking at the
attempt to put them away. The stumps thrust their heads up through the
snow on every hand, and wore their winter caps with a jaunty look, as if
they too did not intend to give up possession without a struggle. The
horses were put in the log stable, and after warming ourselves we had
supper, and then gathered round the cheerful fire. When bed-time came,
we ascended to our sleeping room by a ladder, my father carrying me up
in his arms. We had not been long in bed when a pack of wolves gathered
round the place and began to howl, making through all the night a most
dismal and frightful noise. Sleep was out of the question, and for many
a night after that I was haunted by packs of howling wolves. On our
return the next day I expected every moment to see them come dashing
down upon us until we got clear of the woods. This neighbourhood is now
one of the finest in the Province, and for miles fine houses and
spacious well-kept barns and outhouses are to be seen on every farm.

I have been unable to get at any correct data respecting the number of
adherents of the various denominations in the Province for the year
1830. The total number of ministers did not reach 150, while they now
exceed 2,500. [Footnote: The number of ministers, as given in the
Journals of the House of Assembly for 1831, are 57 Methodist, 40
Baptist, 14 Presbyterian, and 32 Church of England. For the last I am
indebted to Dr. Scadding.] There were but three churches in Toronto,
then called York. One of these was an Episcopalian Church, occupying the
present site of St. James's Cathedral. It was a plain wooden structure,
50 by 40, with its gables facing east and west; the entrance being by a
single door off Church Street. [Footnote: _Toronto of Old._] The
others were a Presbyterian and a Methodist church. The latter was built
in 1818, and was a long, low building, 40 by 60. In the gable end,
facing King Street, were two doors, one for each sex, the men occupying
the right and the women the left side of the room. It was warmed in
winter by a rudely constructed sheet-iron stove. The usual mode of
lighting it for night services was by tallow candles placed in sconces
along the walls, and in candlesticks in the pulpit. I am sure I shall be
safe in saying that there were not 150 churches or chapels all told in
the Province. All of them were small, and many of them were of the most
humble character. There are probably as many clergymen and more than
half as many churches in Toronto now, as there were in all Upper Canada
fifty years ago. The difference does not consist in the number of the
latter alone but in the size and character of the structures. The
beautiful and commodious churches, with their lofty spires and richly
arranged interiors, that meet the gaze on every hand in Toronto, have
not inappropriately given it the proud title of "the city of churches,"
and there are several of them, any one of which would comfortably seat
the entire population of York in the days of which I have spoken. There
were no organs, and I am not sure that there were any in America.
Indeed, if there had been the good people of those days would have
objected to their use. Those who remember the three early churches I
have mentioned--and those who do not can readily picture them with their
fittings and seating capacity--will recall the dim, lurid light cast on
the audience by the flickering candles. Turn, now, for example, to the
Metropolitan Church on an evening's service. Notice the long carpeted
aisles, the rich upholstery, the comfortable seats, the lofty ceilings,
the spacious gallery and the vast congregation. An unseen hand touches
an electric battery, and in a moment hundreds of gas jets are aflame,
and the place is filled with a blaze of light. Now the great organ
heaves its thrilling thunders, compressing air into music, and rolling
it forth upon the soul. Surely the contrast is almost incredible, and
what we have said on this point in regard to Toronto may be said of
every city, town, village or country place in the Province.

It will be proper to notice here that from the settlement of the country
up to 1831, marriage could only be legally solemnized by a minister of
the Church of England, or of the established Church of Scotland. There
was a provision which empowered a justice of the peace or a commanding
officer to perform the rite in cases where there was no minister, or
where the parties lived eighteen miles from a church. In 1831, an Act
was passed making it lawful for ministers of other denominations to
solemnize matrimony, and to confirm marriages previously contracted.
This act of tardy justice gave great satisfaction to the people.

The day for cheap books, periodicals and newspapers had not then
arrived. There were but few of any kind in the country, and those that
were to be found possessed few attractions for either old or young. The
arduous lives led by the people precluded the cultivation of a taste for
reading. Persons who toil early and late, week in and week out, have
very little inclination for anything in the way of literary recreation.
When the night came, the weary body demanded rest, and people sought
their beds early. Consequently the few old volumes piled away on a shelf
remained there undisturbed. Bacon says: "Some books are to be tasted,
others to be swallowed, and some to be chewed and digested;" and he
might have added--"others still to be left alone." At all events the
last was the prevailing sentiment in those days. I do not know that the
fault was altogether with the books. It is true that those generally to
be seen were either doctrinal works, or what might be termed heavy
reading, requiring a good appetite and strong digestive powers to get
through with them. They were the relics of a past age, survivors of
obsolete controversies that had found their way into the country in its
infancy; and though the age that delighted in such mental pabulum had
passed away, these literary pioneers held their ground because the time
had not arrived for the people to feel the necessity of cultivating the
mind as well as providing for the wants of the body. Seneca says:
"Leisure without books is the sepulchre of the living soul;" but books
without leisure are practically valueless, and hence it made but little
difference with our grandfathers what the few they possessed contained.
[Footnote: From an inventory of my grandfather's personal effects I am
enabled to give what would have been considered a large collection of
books in those days. As I have said before, he was a Quaker, which will
account for the character of a number of the books; and by changing
these to volumes in accord with the religious tenets of the owner, the
reader will get a very good idea of the kind of literature to be found
in the houses of intelligent and well-to-do people:--1 large Bible, 3
Clarkson's works, 1 Buchan's Domestic Medicine, 1 Elliot's Medical
Pocket Book, 1 Lewis's Dispensatory, 1 Franklin's Sermons, 1
Stackhouse's History of the Bible, 2 Brown's Union Gazetteer, 1 16th
Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society, 1 History United
States, 1 Elias Hicks's Sermons, 2 Newton's Letters, 1 Ricketson on
Health, 1 Jessy Kerzey, 1 Memorials of a Deceased Friend, 1 Hervey's
Meditations, 1 Reply to Hibard, 1 Job's Scot's Journal, 1 Barclay on
Church Government, 1 M. Liver on Shakerism, 1 Works of Dr. Franklin, 1
Journal of Richard Davis, 1 Lessons from Scripture, 1 Picket's Lessons,
1 Pownal, 1 Sequel to English Reader, Maps of United States, State of
New York, England, Ireland and Scotland, and Holland Purchase.] Some
years had to pass away before the need of them began to be felt. In a
country, as we have already said, where intelligence commanded respect
but did not give priority; where the best accomplishment was to get on
in the world; where the standard of education seldom rose higher than to
be able to read, write, and solve a simple sum in arithmetic, the
absence of entertaining and instructive books was not felt to be a
serious loss. But with the rapidly increasing facilities for moving
about, and the growth of trade and commerce, the people were brought
more frequently into contact with the intelligence and the progress of
the world outside. And with the increase of wealth came the desire to
take a higher stand in the social scale. The development of men's minds
under the political and social changes of the day, and the advance in
culture and refinement which accompanies worldly prosperity, quickened
the general intelligence of the people, and created a demand for books
to read. This demand has gone on increasing from year to year, until we
have reached a time when we may say with the Ecclesiast: "Of making of
books there is no end." If there was an excuse for the absence of books
in our Canadian homes half a century ago, and if the slight draughts
that were obtainable at the only fountains of knowledge that then
existed were not sufficient to create a thirst for more, there is none
now. Even the wealth that was to a certain extent necessary to gratify
any desire to cultivate the mind is no longer required, for the one can
be obtained free, and a few cents will procure the works of some of the
best authors who have ever lived.

But little had been done up to 1830 to establish libraries, either in
town or village. Indeed the limited number of these, and the pursuits of
the people, which were almost exclusively agricultural--and that too in
a new country where during half of the year the toil of the field, and
clearing away the bush the remaining half, occupied their constant
attention--books were seldom thought of. Still, there was a mind here
and there scattered through the settlements which, like the "little
leaven," continued to work on silently, until a large portion of the
"lump" had been leavened. The only public libraries whereof I have any
trace were at Kingston, Ernesttown and Hallowell. The first two were in
existence in 1811-13, and the last was established somewhere about 1821.
In 1824, the Government voted a sum of L150 to be expended annually in
the purchase of books and tracts, designed to afford moral and religious
instruction to the people. These were to be equally distributed
throughout all the Districts of the Province. It can readily be
conceived that this small sum, however well intended, when invested in
books at the prices which obtained at that time, and distributed over
the Province, would be so limited as to be hardly worthy of notice.
Eight years prior to this, a sum of L800 was granted to establish a
Parliamentary Library. From these small beginnings we have gone on
increasing until we have reached a point which warrants me, I think, in
saying that no other country with the same population is better supplied
with the best literature of the day than our own Province. Independent
of the libraries in the various colleges and other educational
institutions, Sunday schools and private libraries, there are in the
Province 1,566 Free Public Libraries, with 298,743 volumes, valued at
$178,282; and the grand total of books distributed by the Educational
Department to Mechanics' Institutes, Sunday school libraries, and as
prizes, is 1,398,140. [Footnote: The number of volumes in the principal
libraries are, as nearly as I can ascertain, as follows:--Parliamentary
Library, Ottawa, 100,000; Parliamentary Library, Ontario, 17,000;
Toronto University, 23,000; Trinity College, 5,000; Knox College,
10,000; Osgoode Hall, 20,000; Normal School, 15,000; Canadian Institute,
3,800.] There are also upwards of one hundred incorporated Mechanics'
Institutes, with 130,000 volumes, a net income of $59,928, and a
membership of 10,785. These, according to the last Report, received
legislative grants to the amount of $22,885 for the year 1879--an
appropriation that in itself creditably attests the financial and
intellectual progress of the Province. [Footnote: Report of the Minister
of Education, 1879.]

It is a very great pity that a systematic effort had not been made years
ago to collect interesting incidents connected with the early settlement
of the Province. A vast amount of information that would be invaluable
to the future compiler of the history of this part of the Dominion has
been irretrievably lost. The actors who were present at the birth of the
Province are gone, and many of the records have perished. But even now,
if the Government would interest itself, much valuable material
scattered through the country might be recovered. The Americans have
been always alive to this subject, and are constantly gathering up all
they can procure relating to the early days of their country. More than
that, they are securing early records and rare books on Canada wherever
they can find them. Any one who has had occasion to hunt up information
respecting this Province, even fifty years ago, knows the difficulty,
and even impossibility in some cases, of procuring what one wants. It is
hardly credible that the important and enterprising capital city of
Toronto, with its numerous educational and professional institutions, is
without a free public library in keeping with its other advantages.
[Footnote: This want has since been supplied by an excellent Free Public
Library.] This is a serious want to the well-being of our intellectual
and moral nature. The benefits conferred by free access to a large
collection of standard books is incalculable, and certainly if there is
such a thing as retributive justice, it is about time it showed its
hand.

The first printing office in the Province was established by Louis Roy,
in April, 1793, [Footnote: Mr. Bourinot, in his _Intellectual
Development of Canada_, says this was in 1763, which is no doubt a
typographical error.] at Newark (Niagara), and from it was issued the
_Upper Canada Gazette_, or _American Oracle_ [Footnote:
_Toronto of Old_], a formidable name for a sheet 15 in. x 9. It was
an official organ and newspaper combined, and when a weekly journal of
this size could furnish the current news of the day, and the Government
notices as well, one looking at it by the light of the present day
cannot help thinking that publishing a paper was up-hill work. Other
journals were started, and, after running a brief course, expired. When
one remembers the tedious means of communication in a country almost
without roads, and the difficulty of getting items of news, it does not
seem strange that those early adventures were short-lived. But as time
wore on, one after another succeeded in getting a foothold, and in
finding its way into the home of the settler. They were invariably
small, and printed on coarse paper. Sometimes even this gave out, and
the printer had to resort to blue wrapping paper in order to enable him
to present his readers with the weekly literary feast. In 1830, the
number had increased from the humble beginning in the then capital of
Upper Canada, to twenty papers, and of these the following still
survive: _The Chronicle and News_, of Kingston, established 1810;
_Brockville Recorder_, 1820; St. Catharines _Journal_, 1824;
_Christian Guardian_, 1829. There are now in Ontario 37 daily
papers, 4 semi-weeklies; 1 tri-weekly, 282 weeklies, 27 monthlies, and 2
semi-monthlies, making a total of 353. The honour of establishing the
first daily paper belongs to the late Dr. Barker, of Kingston, founder
of the _British Whig_, in 1834.

There is perhaps nothing that can give us a better idea the progress the
Province has made than a comparison of the papers published now with
those of 1830. The smallness of the sheets, and the meagreness of
reading matter, the absence of advertisements, except in a very limited
way, and the typographical work, makes us think that our fathers were a
good-natured, easy-going kind of people, or they would never have put up
with such apologies for newspapers. Dr. Scadding, in _Toronto of
Old_, gives a number of interesting and amusing items respecting the
"Early Press." He states that the whole of the editorial matter of the
_Gazette and Oracle_, on the 2nd January, 1802, is the following:
"The Printer presents his congratulatory compliments to his customers on
the new year." If brevity is the soul of wit, this is a _chef
d'oeuvre_. On another occasion the publisher apologises for the non-
appearance of his paper by saying: "The Printer having been called to
York last week upon business, is humbly tendered to his readers as an
apology for the _Gazette's_ not appearing." This was another entire
editorial, and it certainly could not have taken the readers long to get
at the pith of it. What would be said over such an announcement in these
days?

We have every reason to feel proud of the advance the Press has made,
both in number and influence, in Ontario. The leading papers are ably
conducted and liberally supported, and they will compare favourably with
those of any country. Various causes have led to this result. The
prosperous condition of the people, the increase of immigration, the
springing up of railway communication, the extension and perfecting of
telegraphy, and, more than all, the completeness and efficiency of our
school system throughout the Province, have worked changes not to be
mistaken. These are the sure indices of our progress and enlightenment;
the unerring registers that mark our advancement as a people.




CHAPTER VII.

BANKS--INSURANCE--MARINE-TELEGRAPH COMPANIES--ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE
--MILLING AND MANUFACTURES--RAPID INCREASE OF POPULATION IN CITIES AND
TOWNS--EXCERPTS FROM ANDREW PICKEN.



The only bank in the Province in 1830 was the Bank of Upper Canada, with
a capital of L100,000. There are now nine chartered banks owned in
Ontario, with a capital of $17,000,000, and there are seven banks owned,
with one exception, in the Province of Quebec, having offices in all the
principal towns. There are also numbers of private banks and loan
companies, the latter representing a capital of over $20,000,000. This
is a prolific growth in half a century, and a satisfactory evidence of
material success.

Insurance has been the growth of the last fifty years. During the
session of the House of Assembly in 1830, a bill was introduced to make
some provision against accidents by fire. Since then the business has
grown to immense proportions. According to the returns of the Dominion
Government for the 31st December, 1879, the assets of Canadian Life,
Fire, Marine, Accident, and Guarantee Companies were $10,346,587.
British, doing business in Canada, $6,838,309. American, ditto,
$1,685,599. Of Mutual Companies, there are 94 in Ontario, with a total
income for 1879 of $485,579, and an expenditure of $455,861. [Footnote:
Inspector of Insurance Report, 1880.]

Fifty years ago the revenue of Upper Canada was L112,166 13s 4d; the
amount of duty collected L9,283 19s. The exports amounted to L1,555,404,
and the imports to L1,555,404. There were twenty-seven ports of entry
and thirty-one collectors of customs. From the last published official
reports we learn that the revenue for Ontario in 1879 was $4,018,287,
and that for the fiscal year ending June 30th, 1880, the exports were
$28,063,980, and imports $27,869,444; amount of duty collected,
$5,086,579; also that there are fifty-six ports of entry and thirty-
eight outposts, with seventy-three collectors.

One of the most interesting features in the progress of Canada is the
rapid growth of its marine. It is correctly stated to rank fourth as to
tonnage among the maritime powers of the world. The United States, with
its fifty-four millions of people and its immense coast-line, exceeds us
but by a very little, while in ocean steamers we are ahead. In fact, the
Allan Line is one of the first in the world. This is something for a
country with a population of only five-and-a-half millions to boast of,
and it is not by any means the only thing. We have been spoken of as a
people wanting enterprise--a good-natured, phlegmatic set--but it is
libel disproved by half a century's progress. We have successfully
carried out some of the grandest enterprises on this continent. At
Montreal we have the finest docks in America. Our canals are unequalled;
our country is intersected by railroads; every town and village in the
land is linked to its neighbour by telegraph wires, and we have probably
more miles of both, according to population, than any other people.

The inland position of the Province of Ontario, although having the
chain of great lakes lying along its southern border, never fostered a
love for a sea-faring life. This is easily accounted for by the pursuits
of the people, who as has been said before, were nearly all
agriculturists. But the produce had to be moved, and the means were
forthcoming to meet the necessities of the case. The great water-course
which led to the seaports of Montreal and Quebec, owing to the rapids of
the St. Lawrence, could only be navigated by the batteaux and Durham
boats; and the navigator, after overcoming these difficulties, and
laying his course through the noble lake from which our Province takes
its name, encountered the Falls of Niagara. This was a huge barrier
across his path which he had no possible means of surmounting. When the
town of Niagara was reached, vessels had to be discharged, and the
freight carted round the falls to Chippawa. This was a tedious matter,
and a great drawback to settlement in the western part of the Province.
Early in the century, the Hon. William Hamilton Merritt conceived the
plan of connecting Lakes Erie and Ontario by a canal, and succeeded in
getting the Government to assume the project in 1824. It was a great
work for a young country to undertake, but it was pushed on, and
completed in 1830. From that time to the present vessels have been
enabled to pass from one lake to the other. This, with the Sault Ste.
Marie canal, and those of the St. Lawrence, enables a vessel to pass
from the head of Lake Superior to the ocean. The Ridean Canal undertaken
about the same time as the Welland Canal, was also completed in the same
year. It was constructed principally for military purposes, though at
one time a large amount of freight came up the Ottawa, and thence by
this canal to Kingston. The St. Lawrence was the only channel for
freight going east. All the rapids were navigable with the batteaux
except the Lachine, and up to 1830 there was a line of these boats
running from Belleville to Montreal. [Footnote: The reader may be
interested in learning the amount of produce shipped from the Province
in 1830, via the St. Lawrence, and the mode of its conveyance. It is
certainly a marked contrast, not only to the present facilities for
carrying freight, but to the amount of produce, etc., going east and
coming west. Statement of produce imported into Lower Canada through the
Port of Coteau du Lac, to December 30th, 1830, in 584 Durham boats and
731 batteaux; 183,141 Bls. flour; 26,084 Bls. ashes; 14,110 Bls pork;
1,637 Bls. beef; 4,881 bus. corn and rye; 280,322 bus. wheat; 1,875 Bls.
corn meal; 245 Bls. and 955 kegs lard; 27 Bls. and 858 kegs butter; 263
Bls. and 29 hds. tallow; 625 Bls. apples; 216 Bls. Raw hides; 148 hds.
and 361 kegs tobacco; 1,021 casks and 3 hds. whiskey and spirits; 2,636
hogs. Quantity of merchandise brought to Upper Canada in the same year,
8,244 tons.--_Journal of the House of Assembly_, 1831.] Our canal
system was completed fifty years ago, and all that has been done since
has consisted of enlarging and keeping them in repair. The total number
of miles of canal in the Province is 136.

The number of vessels composing our marine in 1830 was 12 steamers and
110 sailing vessels, with a tonnage of 14,300; and it is worthy of
remark that at that date the tonnage on the lakes was about equal to
that of the United States. The number of steam vessels now owned by the
Province is 385, with 657 [Footnote: Report Marine and Fisheries, 1880.]
sailing vessels, having a total tonnage of 137,481, which at $30 per ton
would make our shipping interest amount to $4,124,430.

A great deal has been done these last few years to protect the sailor
from disaster and loss. Independent of marine charts that give the
soundings of all navigable waters, buoys mark the shoals and
obstructions to the entrance of harbours or the windings of intricate
channels; and from dangerous rocks and bold headlands, jutting out in
the course of vessels, flash out through the storm and darkness of the
long dreary night the brilliant lights from the domes of the
lighthouses, warning the sailor to keep away. By a system of revolving
and parti-coloured lights the mariner is enabled to tell where he is,
and to lay his course so as to avoid the disaster that might otherwise
overtake him. There are now 149 [Footnote: Ib.] lighthouses in the
Ontario division. In 1830 there were only four. Another great boon to
the mariners of the present day is the meteorological service, by which
he is warned of approaching storms. It is only by the aid of telegraphy
that this discovery has been made practically available; and the system
has been so perfected that weather changes can be told twenty-four hours
in advance, with almost positive certainty. We have fourteen drum
stations, eight of which are on Lake Ontario, four on Lake Huron, and
two on the Georgian Bay.

The Montreal Telegraph Company, the first in Canada, was organized in
1847. It has 1,647 offices in the Dominion, 12,703 miles of poles, and
21,568 of wire. Number of messages for current year, 2,112,161;
earnings, $550,840. The Dominion Company reports 608 offices, 5,112
miles of poles, and 11,501 of wire. Number of messages, 734,522; gross
earnings, $229,994. This gives a total of 17,845 miles of telegraph,
2,282 offices, 2,846,623 messages, and gross earnings amounting to
$780,834. [Footnote: Annual Report of Montreal and Dominion Telegraph
Companies, 1881.]

The administration of justice cost the Province in 1830, $23,600, and
according to the latest official returns $274,013--a very striking proof
that our propensity to litigate has kept pace with the increase of
wealth and numbers. There were four Superior Court Judges, of whom the
Hon. John Beverley Robinson was made Chief Justice in 1829 at a salary
of $6,000. The remaining judges received $3,600 each. Besides these
there were eleven District Judges, and in consequence of the extent of
country embraced in these sections, and the distance jurors and others
had to travel, the Court of Sessions was held frequently in alternate
places in the district. In the Midland District, this court was held in
Kingston and Adolphustown. The latter place has been laid out for a town
by some farseeing individual, but it never even attained to the dignity
of a village. There was, besides the courthouse, a tavern, a foundry, a
Church of England--one of the first in the Province--the old homestead
of the Hagermans, near the wharf; a small building occupied for a time
by the father of Sir John A. Macdonald as a store, and where the future
statesman romped in his youth, and four private residences close at
hand. When the court was held there, which often lasted a week or more,
judge, jury, lawyers and litigants had to be billeted around the
neighbourhood. As a rule they fared pretty well, for the people in that
section were well off and there was rarely any charge for board. The
courts comprised the Court of King's Bench, the Quarter Sessions, and
Court of Requests. The latter was similar to our Division Court, and was
presided over by a commissioner or resident magistrate. The Quarter
Sessions had control of nearly all municipal affairs, but when the
Municipal Law came into force these matters passed into the hands of the
County Councils. The machinery in connection with the administration of
justice has been largely augmented for, beside the additional courts, we
have six Superior Court Judges, one Chancellor, two Vice-Chancellors,
one Chief-Justice, three Queen's Bench, three Common Pleas, three Court
of Appeal Judges, and thirty-eight County Court Judges.

The manufacturing interests of the Province in 1830 were very small
indeed. I have been unable to put my hand on any trustworthy information
respecting this matter at that time, but from my own recollection at a
somewhat later period, I know that very little had been done to supply
the people with even the most common articles in use. Everything was
imported, save those things that were made at home.

From the first grist mill, built below Kingston by the Government for
the settlers--to which my grandfather carried his first few bushels of
wheat in a canoe down the Bay of Quinte, a distance of thirty-five
miles--the mills in course of time increased to 303. They were small,
and the greater proportion had but a single run of stones. The constant
demand for lumber for building purposes in every settlement necessitated
the building of saw-mills, and in each township, wherever there was a
creek or stream upon which a sufficient head of water could be procured
to give power, there was a rude mill, with its single upright saw.
Getting out logs in the winter was a part of the regular programme of
every farmer who had pine timber, and in spring, for a short time, the
mill was kept going, and the lumber taken home. According to the returns
made to the Government, there were 429 of these mills in the Province at
that time. [Footnote: Journals, House of Assembly, 1831.] There were
also foundries where ploughs and other implements were made, and a few
fulling mills, where the home-made flannel was converted into the thick
coarse cloth known as full cloth, a warm and serviceable article, as
many no doubt remember. Carding machines, which had almost entirely
relieved the housewife from using hand cards in making rolls, were also
in existence. There were also breweries and distilleries, and a paper
mill on the Don, at York. This was about the sum total of our
manufacturing enterprises at that date.

There are now 508 grist and flour mills--not quite double the number,
but owing to the great improvement in machinery the producing capacity
has largely increased. Very few mills, at the present time, have fewer
than two run of stones, and a great many have fewer, and even more, and
the same may be said of the saw mills, of which there are 853. There are
many in the Province capable of turning out nearly as much lumber in
twelve months as all the mills did fifty years ago.

It is only within a few years that we have made much progress in
manufactures of any kind. Whatever the hindrances were, judging from the
numerous factories that are springing into existence all over the
Dominion, they seem to have been removed, and capitalists are embarking
their money in all kinds of manufacturing enterprises. There is no way,
as far as I know, of getting at the value annually produced by our mills
and factories, except from the Trade and Navigation Returns for 1880,
and this only gives the exports, which are but a fraction of the grand
total. Our woolen mills turned out last year upwards of $4,000,000,
[Footnote: Monetary Times, December 17, 1881.] of which we exported
$222,425. This does not include the produce of what are called custom
mills. There are 224 foundries, 285 tanneries, 164 woollen mills, 74
carding and fulling mills, 137 cheese factories, 127 agricultural and
implement factories, 92 breweries, 8 boot and shoe factories, 5 button
factories, 1 barley mill, 2 carpet factories, 4 chemical works, 9 rope
and twine factories, 9 cotton mills, 3 crockery kilns, 11 flax mills, 4
glass works, 11 glove factories, 7 glue factories, 9 hat factories, 12
knitting factories, 9 oatmeal mills, 9 organ factories, 10 piano
factories, 25 paper mills, 4 rubber factories, 6 shoddy mills, 3 sugar
refineries; making, with the flour and saw mills, 2,642. Besides these
there are carriage, cabinet and other factories and shops, to the number
of 3,848. The value of flour exported was $1,547,910; of sawn lumber,
$4,137,062; of cheese, $1,199,973; of flax, $95,292; of oatmeal,
$215,131; and of other manufactures, $1,100,605.

We may further illustrate the progress we have made by giving the
estimated value of the trade in Toronto in 1880, taken from an
interesting article on this subject which appeared in the Globe last
January. The wholesale trade is placed at $30,650,000; produce,
$23,000,000; a few leading factories, $1,770,000; live stock, local
timber trade, coal, distilling and brewing, $8,910,000; in all,
$64,330,000--a gross sum more than ten times greater than the value of
the trade of the whole Province fifty years ago.

Another interesting feature in our growth is the rapid increase in the
cities and towns. Some of these were not even laid out in 1830, and
others hardly deserved the humble appellation of village. The difference
will be more apparent by giving the population, as far as possible, then
and in 1881, when the last census was taken, of a number of the
principal places:--

                                           1830.    1881.
Toronto                                    2,860    86,445
Kingston                                   3,587    14,093
Hamilton, including township               2,013    35,965
London, including township                 2,415    ----
Brantford, laid out in 1830                ----      9,626
Guelph, including township                   778     9,890
St. Catharines (Population in 1845, 3,000) ----     ----
Ottawa contained 150 houses                ----     ----
Belleville, incorporated 1835              ----      9,516
Brockville                                 1,130     7,608
Napanee (Population in 1845, 500)          ----      3,681
Cobourg                                    ----      4,957
Port Hope                                  ----      5,888
Peterboro', laid out in 1826               ----      6,815
Lindsay,          "     1833               ----      5,081
Barrie,           "     1832               ----      ----
Ingersoll,        "     1831               ----      4,322
Woodstock (Population in 1845, 1,085)      ----      5,373
Chatham, settled in 1830                   ----      7,881
Stratford, laid out in 1833                ----      8,240
Sarnia, laid out in 1833                   ----      3,874

I hope the humble effort I have made to show what we Upper Canadians
have done during the fifty years that are gone will induce some one
better qualified to go over the same ground, and put it in a more
attractive and effective shape. It is a period in our history which must
ever demand attention, and although our Province had been settled for
nearly half a century prior to 1830, it was not until after that date
that men of intelligence began to look around them, and take an active
interest in shaping the future of their country. There were many
failures, but the practical sense of the people surmounted them, and
pushed on. All were awake to the value of their heritage, and
contributed their share to extend its influence; and so we have gone on
breasting manfully political, commercial and other difficulties, but
always advancing; and whatever may be said about the growth of other
parts of America, figures will show that Canada is to the front. At the
Provincial Exhibition in Ottawa, in 1879, the Governor of Vermont, in
his address, stated (what we already knew), that Canada had outstripped
the United States in rapidity of growth and development during recent
years, and the Governors of Ohio and Maine endorsed the statement. We
have a grand country, and I believe a grand future.

  "Fair land of peace! to Britain's rule and throne
  Adherent still, yet happier than alone,
  And free as happy, and as brave as free,
  Proud are thy children, justly proud of thee.
  Few are the years that have sufficed to change
  This whole broad land by transformation strange.
  Once far and wide the unbroken forests spread
  Their lonely waste, mysterious and dread--
  Forest, whose echoes never had been stirred
  By the sweet music of an English word;
  Where only rang the red-browed hunter's yell,
  And the wolf's howl through the dark sunless dell.
  Now fruitful fields and waving orchard trees
  Spread their rich treasures to the summer breeze.
  Yonder, in queenly pride, a city stands,
  Whence stately vessels speed to distant lands;
  Here smiles a hamlet through embow'ring green,
  And there the statelier village spires are seen;
  Here by the brook-side clacks the noisy mill,
  There the white homestead nestles on the hill;
  The modest school-house here flings wide its door
  To smiling crowds that seek its simple lore;
  There Learning's statelier fane of massive walls
  Wooes the young aspirant to classic halls,
  And bids him in her hoarded treasure find
  The gathered wealth of all earth's gifted minds."
--PAMELA S. VINING.

Since writing the foregoing, I accidentally came across _The Canadas,
&c._, by Andrew Picken, published in London in 1832, a work which I
had never previously met with. It is written principally for the benefit
of persons intending to emigrate to Canada, and contains notices of the
most important places in both Provinces. I have made the following
extracts, thinking that they would prove interesting to those of my
readers who wish to get a correct idea of our towns and villages fifty
years ago.

"The largest and most populous of the towns in Upper Canada, and called
the key to the Province, is Kingston, advantageously situated at the
head of the St. Lawrence, and at the entrance of the great Lake Ontario.
Its population is now about 5,500 souls; it is a military post of
importance, as well as a naval depot, and from local position and
advantages is well susceptible of fortification. It contains noble
dockyards and conveniences for ship-building. Its bay affords, says
Howison, so fine a harbour, that a vessel of one hundred and twenty guns
can lie close to the quay, and the mercantile importance it has now
attained as a commercial entrepot between Montreal below and the western
settlements on the lakes above, may be inferred, among other things from
the wharfs on the river and the many spacious and well-filled warehouses
behind them, as well as the numerous stores and mercantile employes
within the town. The streets are regularly formed upon the right-angular
plan which is the favourite in the new settlements, but they are not
paved; and though the houses are mostly built of limestone,
inexhaustible quarries of which lie in the immediate vicinity of the
town, and are of the greatest importance to it and the surrounding
neighbourhood, there is nothing in the least degree remarkable or
interesting in the appearance of either the streets or the buildings.
The opening of the Rideau Canal there, which, with the intermediate
lakes, forms a junction between the Ontario and other lakes above, the
St. Lawrence below, and the Ottawa, opposite Hull, in its rear, with all
the intervening districts and townships, will immensely increase the
importance of this place; and its convenient hotels already afford
comfortable accommodation to the host of travellers that are continually
passing between the Upper and Lower Provinces, as well as to and from
the States on the opposite side of the river.

"York is well situated on the north side of an excellent harbour on the
lake. It contains the public buildings of the Province, viz., the House
of Assembly, where the Provincial Parliament generally holds its
sittings; the Government House; the Provincial Bank; a College; a Court
House; a hall for the Law Society; a gaol; an Episcopal Church; a
Baptist Chapel (Methodist); a Scots' Kirk; a Garrison near the town,
with barracks for the troops usually stationed here, and a battery which
protects the entrance of the harbour. Regularly laid out under survey,
as usual, the streets of the town are spacious, the houses mostly built
of wood, but many of them of brick and stone. The population amounts now
to between four and five thousand.

"By-Town, situated on the southern bank of the Ottawa, a little below
the Chaudiere Falls, and opposite to the flourishing Village of Hull, in
Lower Canada, stands upon a bold eminence, surrounding the bay of the
grand river, and occupies both banks of the canal, which here meets it.
Laid out in the usual manner with streets crossing at right angles, the
number of houses is already about 150, most of which are wood, and many
built with much taste. Three stone barracks and a large and commodious
hospital, built also of stone, stand conspicuous on the elevated banks
of the bay; and the elegant residence of Colonel By, the commanding
Royal Engineer of that station.

"The town-plot of Peterborough is in the northeast angle of the Township
of Monaghan. It is laid out in half acres, the streets nearly at right
angles with the river; park lots of nine acres each are reserved near
the town. The patent fee on each is L8, Provincial currency, and office
fees and agency will increase it 15s or 20s more.

"The settlement commenced in 1825, at which time it formed a depot of
the emigration under Hon. P. Robinson. The situation is most favourable,
being an elevated sandy plain, watered by a creek, which discharges into
the river below the turn. The country round is fertile, and there is
great water-power in the town-plot, on which mills are now being built
by Government. These mills are on an extensive scale, being calculated
to pack forty barrels of flour, and the saw-mill to cut 3,000 feet of
boards _per diem_.

"The situation of Cobourg is healthy and pleasant. It stands immediately
on the shore of Lake Ontario. In 1812, it had only one house; it now
contains upwards of forty houses, an Episcopal church, a Methodist
chapel, two good inns, four stores, a distillery, an extensive grist
mill; and the population may be estimated at about 350 souls.

"The two projected towns of most consideration in this district (London
district), however, are London-on-the-Thames, further inland, and
Goderich, recently founded by the Canada Company, on Lake Huron. London
is yet but inconsiderable, but from its position, in the heart of a
fertile country, is likely to become of some importance hereafter, when
the extreme wilds become more settled. The town is quite new, not
containing above forty or fifty houses, all of bright boards and
shingles. The streets and gardens full of black stumps &c. They were
building a church, and had finished a handsome Gothic court-house, which
must have been a costly work.

"Guelph. Much of this tract belongs to the Canada Company, who have
built, nearly in its centre, the town of Guelph, upon a small river,
called the Speed, a remote branch of the Ouse, or Grand River. This
important and rapidly rising town, which is likely to become the capital
of the district, was founded by Mr. Galt, for the Company, on St.
George's day, 1827, and already contains between 100 and 200 houses,
several shops, a handsome market house near the centre, a schoolhouse, a
printing office, and 700 or 800 inhabitants.

"The Bay of Quinte settlement is the oldest in Upper Canada, and was
begun at the close of the Revolutionary War. We crossed over the mouth
of the River Trent, which flows from the Rice Lake, and it is said can
be made practicable for steamboats, though at much expense; thence to
Belleville, a neat village of recent date, but evidently addicted too
much to lumbering.

"Brockville is a most thriving new town, with several handsome stone
houses, churches, court-house, &c., and about 1,500 souls."




SKETCHES OF EARLY HISTORY.

[Footnote: This paper was read before the Mechanics' Institute in
Picton, twenty-six years ago. Soon afterwards, the then Superintendent
of Education, Dr. Ryerson, requested me to send it to him, which I did,
and a copy was taken of it. An extract will be found in his work, "The
Loyalists of America," Vol. ii; page 219. Subsequently, in 1879, I made
up two short papers from it which appeared in _The Canadian Methodist
Magazine._ The paper is now given, with a few exceptions, as it was
first written.]

EARLY SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS--BIRTH OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC--LOVE
OF COUNTRY--ADVENTURES OF A U. E. LOYALIST FAMILY NINETY YEARS AGO--THE
WILDS OF UPPER CANADA--HAY BAY--HARDSHIPS OF PIONEER LIFE--GROWTH OF
POPULATION--DIVISION OF THE CANADIAN PROVINCES--FORT FRONTENAC--THE
"DARK DAYS"--CELESTIAL FIREWORKS--EARLY STEAM NAVIGATION IN CANADA--THE
COUNTRY MERCHANT--PROGRESS--THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.


After having consented to read a paper on the subject which has already
been announced, I do not think it would be quite proper for me to begin
with apologies. That they are needed I confess at once, but then they
should have been thought of before. How often have we heard the
expression, "Circumstances alter cases," and this is just why I put in
my plea. If I had not been preceded by gentlemen whose ability and
attainments are far and away beyond mine, I should not have said a word.
But when these persons, some of whom finished their education in British
Universities, who have trodden the classic shores of Italy and mused
over the magnificent monuments of her past greatness, or wandered
through old German towns, where Christian liberty was born and cradled;
who have ranged the spacious halls of Parisian Institutes, or sauntered
in places where many historic scenes have been enacted in grand old
England--when these persons, I repeat, must crave your indulgence, how
much more earnestly should I plead, whose travels are bounded in the
radius of a few hundred miles; and whose collegiate course began, and I
may say ended, in the country school-house with which many of you are
familiar. What wonderful scholars those early teachers were.

  "Amazed _we_, gazing rustics, rang'd around;
  And still _we_ gaz'd, and still our wonder grew
  That one small head could carry all he knew."

It is no wonder that we were often awed by their intellectual
profundity, nor that they gave our youthful brains an impetus which sent
them bounding through the severe curriculum we had to face.

The narrow-minded and unyielding policy of George III., as every one now
admits it to have been, brought about the American Revolution, and gave
birth to the American Republic. As always happens in every great
movement, there were two sides to this question, not only between Great
Britain and her colonists, but among the colonists themselves. One side
clamoured boldly for their rights, and, if need were, separation. The
other side shrank from a contest with the mother land, and preferred a
more peaceful solution of their difficulties. A moderate degree of
liberality on the part of the British Government would have appeased the
demands of the malcontents, and another destiny whether for better or
worse, might have been in store for the American people. But those were
days when the policy of the nation was stern and uncompromising, when
the views of trade were narrow and contracted, when justice was
untempered with mercy, and when men were bigoted and pugnacious.
Protracted wars consumed the revenues and made many draughts on the
national purse, and when the trade of the colonies was laid under
contribution, they refused the demand.

The Government, true to the spirit of the age, would not brook refusal
on the part of its subjects, and must needs force them to comply. The
contest began, and when, after a seven years' struggle, peace was
declared, those who had sided with the old land found themselves
homeless, and rather than swear allegiance to the new _regime_,
abandoned their adopted country and emigrated to the wilds of Canada and
the Eastern Provinces. Two results grew out of this contest: the
establishment of a new and powerful nationality, and the settlement of a
vast country subject to the British Crown, to the north, then an
unbroken wilderness, now the Dominion of Canada, [Footnote: This has
been changed. When the paper was written, the Confederation of the
Provinces, if it had been thought of, had not assumed any definite
shape. It followed eight years after, in 1867.] whose rapid strides in
wealth and power bid fair to rival even those of the great Republic.

The history of our country--I am speaking of Upper Canada--remains to be
written. It is true we have numerous works, and valuable ones too, on
Canada; but I refer to that part of history which gives a picture of the
people, their habits and customs, which takes you into their homes and
unfolds their every-day life. This, it seems to me, is the very soul of
history, and when the coming Canadian Macaulay shall write ours, he will
look in vain for many an argosy, richly freighted with fact and story,
which might have been saved if a helping hand had been given, but which
now, alas! is lost forever.

It can hardly be expected that I should be as familiar with the early
scenes enacted in this part of the Province as those who are very much
older. Yet I have known many of the first settlers, and have heard from
their lips, in the days of my boyhood, much about the hardships and
severe privations they endured, as well as the story of many a rough and
wild adventure. These old veterans have dropped, one by one, into the
grave, until they have nearly all passed away, and we are left to enjoy
many a luxury which their busy hands accumulated for us.

As a Canadian--and I am sure I am giving expression, not so much to a
personal sentiment, as an abiding principle deeply rooted in the heart
of every son of this grand country--I feel as much satisfaction and
pride in tracing my origin to the pioneers of this Province--nay more--
than if my veins throbbed with noble blood. The picture of the log
cabins which my grandfathers erected in the wilderness on the bay shore,
where my father and mother first saw the light, are far more inviting to
me than hoary castle or rocky keep. I know that they were loyal, honest,
industrious, and virtuous, and this is a record as much to be prized by
their descendants as the mere distinction of noble birth.

It has been said that love of country is not a characteristic of
Canadians; that in consequence of our youth there is but little for
affection to cling to; that the traditions that cluster around age and
foster these sentiments are wanting. This may be to a certain extent
true. But I cannot believe but that Canadians are as loyal to their
country as any other people under the sun. The life-long struggle of
those men whom the old land was wont "to put a mark of honour upon," are
too near to us not to warm our hearts with love and veneration; they
were too sturdy a race to be lightly over-looked by their descendants.
Their memory is too sacred a trust to be forgotten, and their lives too
worthy of our imitation not to bind us together as a people, whose home
and country shall ever be first in our thoughts and affection.

  "Breathes there a man with soul so dead
  Who never to himself hath said
  'This is my own, my native land?'
  Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned
  As home his footsteps he hath turned?"

Is there any place in the world where such marvellous changes have taken
place as here? Where among the countries of the earth shall we find a
more rapid and vigorous growth? Ninety years [Footnote: The reader will
bear in mind the date when this was written.] ago this Province was a
dense and unknown forest. We can hardly realize the fact that not a
century has elapsed since these strong-handed and brave-hearted men
pushed their way into the profound wilderness of Upper Canada. Were they
not heroes? See that man whose strong arm first uplifts the threatening
axe. Fix his image in your mind, and tell me if he is not a subject
worthy the genius and chisel of a Chantrey. Mark him as he swings his
axe and buries it deep into a giant tree. Hark! how that first blow
rings through the wood, and echoes along the shores of the bay. The wild
duck starts and flaps her wings; the timid deer bounds away. Yet stroke
follows stroke in measured force. The huge tree, whose branches have
been fanned and tossed by the breeze of centuries, begins to sway.
Another blow, and it falls thundering to the ground. Far and wide does
the crash reverberate. It is the first knell of destruction booming
through the forest of Canada, and as it flies upon the wings of the
wind, from hill-top to hill-top, it proclaims the first welcome sound of
a new-born country. And did these men of whom we have been speaking make
war alone upon the mighty forest? Did they find their way alone to the
wilds of Canada? No: they were accompanied by women as true and brave as
themselves; women who unmurmuringly shared their toils and hardships,
who rejoiced in their success, and cheered them when weary and
depressed. They left kindred and friends far behind, literally to bury
themselves in the deep recesses of a boundless forest. They left
comfortable homes to endure hunger and fatigue in log cabins which their
own delicate hands helped to rear, far beyond the range of civilization.
Let us follow a party of these adventurers to Canada.

In the summer of the year 1795 or thereabouts, a company of six persons,
composed of two men and their wives, with two small children, pushed a
rough-looking and unwieldy boat away from the shore in the neighbourhood
of Poughkeepsie, and turned its prow up the Hudson. A rude sail was
hoisted, but it flapped lazily against the slender mast. The two men
took up the oars and pulled quietly out into the river. They did not
note the morning's sun gradually lifting himself above the eastern
level, and scattering his cheerful rays of light across the river, and
along its shores. All nature seemed rejoicing over the coming day, but
they appeared not to heed it. They pulled on in silence, looking now
ahead, and then wistfully back to the place they had left. Their boat
was crowded with sundry household necessaries carefully packed up and
stowed away. At the stern are the two women; one, ruddy and strong,
steers the boat; the other, small and delicate, minds her children. Both
are plainly and neatly dressed; and they, too, are taking backward
glances through silent tears. Why do they weep, and whither are they
bound? Their oars are faithfully plied, and they glide slowly on. And
thus; day after day, may we follow them on their voyage. Now and then a
gentle breeze fills the sail and wafts them on. When the shades of
evening begin to fall around them they pull to shore and rear a
temporary tent, after which they partake of the plain fare provided for
the evening meal, with a relish which toil alone can give, and then lay
them down to rest, and renew their strength for the labours of the
morrow.

They reach Albany, then a Dutch town on the verge of civilization.
Beyond is a wilderness land but little known. Some necessaries are
purchased here, and again our little company launch away. They reach the
place where the city of Troy now stands, and turn away to the left into
the Mohawk river, and proceed slowly, and often with great difficulty,
up the rapids and windings of the stream. This rich and fertile valley
of the Mohawk was then the home of the Indian. Here the celebrated Chief
Brant had lived but a short time before, but had now withdrawn into the
wilds of Western Canada. The voyageurs, after several days of hard
labour and difficulty, emerge into the little lake Oneida, lying in the
north-western part of the State of New York, through which they pass
with ease and pleasure. The most difficult part of their journey has
been overcome. In due time they reach the Onondaga River, and soon pass
down it to Oswego, then an old fort which had been built by the French,
when they were masters of the country, as a barrier against the
encroachments of the wily Indian. Several bloody frays had occurred
here, but our friends do not tarry to muse over its battle-ground, or to
learn its history.

Their small craft now dances on the bosom of Ontario, but they do not
push out into the lake and across it. Oh no: they are careful sailors,
and they remember, perhaps, that small boats should not venture far from
shore, and so they wind along it until they reach Gravelly Point, now
known by the more dignified name of Cape Vincent. Here they strike
across the channel, and thence around the lower end of Wolfe Island, and
into Kingston Bay, where they come to shore. There were not many streets
or fine stone houses in the Limestone City at this time; a few log
houses composed the town. After resting and transacting necessary
business they again push away, and turn their course up the lovely Bay
of Quinte. What a wild and beautiful scene opens out before them! The
far-reaching bay, with its serried ranks of primeval forest crowding the
shores on either hand. The clear pure water rippling along its beach,
and its bosom dotted with flocks of wild fowl, could not fail to arrest
the attention of the weary voyageurs. Frequently do they pause and rest
upon their oars, to enjoy the wild beauty that surrounds them. With
lighter hearts they coast along the shore, and continue up the bay until
they reach township number four. This township, now known as
Adolphustown, is composed of five points, or arms, which run out into
the bay. They sail round four of these points of land, and turn into Hay
Bay, and, after proceeding about three miles, pull to shore. Their
journey it would seem has come to an end, for they begin to unload their
boat and erect a tent. The sun sinks down in the west, and, weary and
worn, they lay themselves down upon the bed of leaves to rest. Six weeks
have passed since we saw them launch away in quest of this wilderness
home. Look at them, and tell me what you think of their prospects. Is it
far enough away from the busy haunts of men to suit you? Would you not
rather sing--

  "O solitude, where are the charms
  Which sages have seen in thy face?
  Better dwell in the midst of alarms
  Than reign in this horrible place."

With the first glimmer of the morning's light all hands are up and at
work. A small space is cleared away, trees are felled, and in due time a
house is built--a house not large or commodious, with rooms not
numerous or spacious, and with furniture neither elegant nor luxurious.
A pot or two, perhaps a few plates, cups and saucers, with knives and
forks and spoons, a box of linen, a small lot of bedding, etc., with

  "A chest, contrived a double debt to pay--
  A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day."

These constitute pretty nearly the sum total. This is not a fancy
sketch. I have heard the story many a time from the lips of the little
old grandmother [Footnote: The writer is one of her grandsons. The
incident will be found in Dr. Ryerson's book.] who was of the party. She
lived to rear a family of nine children, and to see most of them married
and well settled; to exchange the log house for a large and comfortable
home, and to die peacefully at a good old age.

It is hardly possible for us to conceive the difficulties that beset the
first settlers, nor the hardships and privations which they endured.
They were not infrequently reduced to the very verge of starvation, yet
they struggled on. Tree after tree fell before the axe, and the small
clearing was turned to immediate account. A few necessaries of life were
produced, and even these, limited and meagre as they were, were the
beginnings of comfort. Comfort, indeed! but far removed not only from
them, but from the idea we associate with the term. I have in my younger
days taken grist to the mill, as the farmers say. But I can assure you I
would prefer declining the task of carrying bags of wheat upon my back
for three miles, and then paddling them in a canoe down to the Kingston
Mills, [Footnote: This mill was built by the British Government in the
first settlement of the Province for the benefit of the settlers.] and
back again to Adolphustown--about seventy miles--after which resuming
the pleasing exercise of backing them home. [Footnote: This was an early
experience of my grandfather, which he liked to relate in his old age to
young men.] Such things do not fatigue one much to talk about, but I
fancy the reality would fit closer to the backs of some of our young
exquisites than would be agreeable. Nor do we, when we stick up our
noses at the plainer fare of some of our neighbours, remember often what
a feast our fathers and mothers would have thought even a crust of
bread. How often--alas, how often!--were they compelled to use anything
they could put their hands upon, in order to keep soul and body
together. Could we, the sons of these men, go through this? I am afraid,
with one consent, we would say "No."

But time rolled on. The openings in the forest grew larger and wider.
The log cabins began to multiply, and the curling smoke, rising here and
there above the woods, told a silent but more cheerful tale. There dwelt
a neighbour--miles away, perhaps--but a neighbour, nevertheless. If you
would like an idea of the proximity of humanity, and the luxury of
society in those days, just place a few miles of dense woods between
yourself and your nearest neighbour, and you will have a faint
conception of the delights of a home in the forest.

There are persons still living who have heard their parents or
grandparents tell of the dreadful sufferings they endured the second
year after the settlement of the Bay of Quinte country. The second
year's Government supply, through some bad management, was frozen up in
the lower part of the St. Lawrence, and, in consequence, the people were
reduced to a state of famine. Men were glad, in some cases, to give all
they possessed for that which would sustain life. Farms were given in
exchange for small quantities of flour, but more frequently refused. A
respectable old lady, long since gone to her rest, and whose
grandchildren are somewhat aristocratic, was wont in those days to go
away to the woods early in the morning to gather and eat the buds of the
basswood, and then bring an apronfull home to her family. In one
neighbourhood a beef bone passed from house to house, and was boiled
again and again in order to extract some nutriment from it. This is no
fiction, but a literal fact. Many other equally uninviting bills of fare
might be given, but these no doubt will suffice. Sufficient has been
said to show that our fathers and mothers did not repose upon rose-beds,
nor did they fold their hands in despair, but with strong nerves and
stout hearts, even when famine was in the pot, they pushed on and lived.
The forest melted away before them, and we are now enjoying the happy
results.

The life of the first settler was for a long time one of hardship and
adventure. When this Utopia was reached he frequently had difficulty in
finding his land. He was not always very particular as to this, for land
then was not of very much account, and yet he wished, if possible, to
strike somewhere near his location. This involved sometimes long trips
into the forest, or along the shores. After a day's paddling he would
land, pull up his canoe, and look around. The night coming on, he had to
make some preparation for it. How was it to be done in this howling
wilderness? Where was he to sleep, and how was he to protect himself
against the perils that surrounded him? He takes his axe and goes to
work. A few small trees are cut down. Then he gathers some limbs and
heaps them up together. From his pocket he brings a large knife; then a
flint and a bit of punk. The punk he places carefully under the flint,
holding it in his left hand, and then picks up his knife and gives the
flint a few sharp strokes with the back of the blade, which sends forth
a shower of sparks, some of which fall on the punk and ignite, and soon
his heap is in a blaze. Now, this labour is not only necessary for his
comfort, but for his safety. The smoke drives the flies and mosquitoes
away, and keeps the wolves and bears from encroaching on his place of
rest. But the light which affords him protection subjects him to a new
annoyance.

  "Loud as the wolves in Oroa's stormy steep
  Howl to the roaring of the stormy deep,"

the wolves howled to the fire kindled to affright them away. Watching
the whole night in the surrounding hills, they keep up a concert which
truly "renders night hideous;" and bullfrogs in countless numbers from
adjacent swamps, with an occasional "To-whit, to-whoo!" from the sombre
owl, altogether make a native choir anything but conducive to calm
repose. And yet, amid such a serenade, with a few boughs for a bed, and
the gnarled root of a tree for a pillow, did many of our fathers spend
their first nights in the wilderness of Canada.

The first settlers of Upper Canada were principally American colonists
who adhered to the cause of England. After the capitulation of General
Burgoyne, many of the royalists, with their families, moved into Canada,
and took up land along the shores of the St. Lawrence, the Bay of
Quinte, and the lakes. Upon the evacuation of New York at the close of
the war a still greater number followed, many of whom were soldiers
disbanded and left without employment. Many had lost their property, so
that nearly all were destitute and depending upon the liberality of the
Government whose battles they had fought, and for whose cause they had
suffered. They were not forgotten. The British Government was not tardy
in its movement, and at once decided to reward their loyalty. Immediate
steps were taken to provide for their present wants, and also to provide
means for their future subsistence.

These prompt measures on the part of the Government were not only acts
of justice and humanity, but were sound in policy, and were crowned with
universal success. Liberal grants of land were made free of expense on
the following scale: A field officer received 5,000 acres; a captain,
3,000; a subaltern, 2,000, and a private, 200. Surveyors were sent on to
lay out the land. They commenced their work near Lake St. Francis, then
the highest French settlement, and extended along the shores of the St.
Lawrence up to Lake Ontario, and thence along the lake, and round the
Bay of Quinte. Townships were laid out, and then subdivided into
concessions and lots of 200 acres. These townships were numbered, and
remained without names for many years. Of these numbers there were two
divisions: one, including the townships below Kingston in the line east
to the St. Francis settlement; the other, west from Kingston to the head
of the Bay of Quinte. They were known by the old people as first,
second, third, fourth town, etc. No names were given to the townships by
legal enactment for a long time, and hence the habit of designating them
by numbers became fixed.

The settlement of the surveyed portion of the Midland District, which
then included the present counties of Frontenac, Lennox and Addington,
Hastings, and the county of Prince Edward, commenced in the summer of
1784. The new settlers were supplied with farming implements, building
materials, provisions, and some clothing for the first two years, at the
expense of the nation, "And in order," it was stated, "that the love of
country may take deeper root in the hearts of those true men, the
government determined to put a mark of honour," as the order of the
Council expresses it, "upon the families who had adhered to the unity of
the Empire, and joined the royal standard in America, before the treaty
of separation in the year 1783." A list of such persons was directed in
1789 to be made out and returned, "to the end that their posterity might
be discriminated from the future settlers." From these two emphatic
words--The Unity of the Empire--it was styled the U.E. list, and they
whose names were entered therein were distinguished as U.E. Loyalists.
This, as is well known, was not a mere empty distinction, but was
notably a title of some consequence, for it not only provided for the
U.E. Loyalists themselves, but guaranteed to all their children, upon
arriving at the age of twenty-one years, two hundred acres of land free
from all expense. It is a pleasing task to recall these generous acts on
the part of the British Government towards the fathers of our country,
and the descendants of those true and noble-hearted men who loved the
old Empire so well that they preferred to endure toil and privation in
the wilderness of Canada to ease and comfort under the protection of the
revolted colonies. We should venerate their memory, and foster a love of
country as deep and abiding as theirs.

In order further to encourage the growth of population, and induce other
settlers to come into the country, two hundred acres of land were
allowed, upon condition of actual settlement, and the payment of
surveying and office fees, which amounted in all to about thirty-eight
dollars.

In 1791 the provinces were divided, and styled Upper Canada and Lower
Canada--the one embracing all the French seigneuries; the other all the
newly-settled townships. The first Governor of Upper Canada, John Graves
Simcoe, arrived in 1792, and took up his residence at Newark (Niagara),
then the capital of the Province. Here the first Parliament of Upper
Canada met and held five successive sessions, after which it was moved
to York. Governor Simcoe laboured hard and successfully to promote the
settlement of the Province.

Kingston is the oldest town in Upper Canada by many years. The white man
found his way here more than a century before any settlement in the west
was made or thought of. Small expeditions had from time to time
penetrated the vast wilderness far to the west, either for the purpose
of trading with the Indians, or led by some zealous priest who sought
for the glory of God to bring the wandering tribes into the fold of the
Roman Church. The untiring energy and zeal displayed by these early
Fathers, together with the hardships, dangers and privations they
endured, form one of the most interesting pages of adventure in our
country's history. The crafty and industrious French Governor, De
Courcelles, in order to put a stop to the encroachments of the Five
Nations, despatched a messenger from Quebec to their chief to inform him
that he had some business of great importance to communicate, and wished
them to proceed to Cataraqui, where he would meet them. As soon as the
Indian deputies arrived, a council was held. The Governor informed them
that he was going to build a fort there, to serve principally as a depot
for merchandise; and to facilitate the trade that was springing up
between them. The chiefs, ignorant of the real intention of the wily
Governor readily agreed to a proposition which seemed intended for their
advantage. But the object was far from what the Indians expected, and
was really to create a barrier against them in future wars.

While measures were being completed to build the fort Courcelles was
recalled, and Count de Frontenac sent out in his place. Frontenac
carried out the designs of his predecessor; and in 1672 completed the
fort, which received and for many years retained his name.

Father Charlevoix, who journeyed through Western Canada in the year
1720, thus describes Fort Cataraqui. "This fort is square, with four
bastions built with stone, and the ground it occupies is a quarter of a
league in compass. Its situation is really something very pleasant. The
sides of the view present every way a landscape well varied, and it is
the same at the entrance of Lake Ontario, which is but a small league
distant. It is full of islands of different sizes, all well wooded, and
nothing bounds the horizon on that side. The Lake was sometimes called
St. Louis, afterwards Frontenac, as well as the fort of Cataraqui, of
which the Count de Frontenac was the founder, but insensibly the Lake
has regained its ancient name Ontario, which is Huron or Iroquois, and
the fort that of the place where it is built. The soil from this place
to la Sallette appears something barren, but this is only in the
borders, it being very good further up. There is over against the fort a
very pretty island in the middle of the river. They put some swine into
it, which have multiplied, and given it the name of Isle du Porcs.

"There are two other islands somewhat smaller, which are lower, and half
a league distant from each other. One is called Cedars, the other Hart's
Island. The Bay of Cataraqui is double; that is to say, that almost in
the middle of it there is a point that runs out a great way, under which
there is a good anchorage for large barks. M. de la Salle, so famous for
his discoveries and his misfortunes, who was lord of Cataraqui, and
governor of the fort, had two or three of them, which were sunk in this
place, and remain there still. Behind the fort is a marsh, where there
is a great plenty of wild fowl. This is a benefit to and employment for
the garrison. There was formerly a great trade here, especially with the
Iroquois, and it was to entice them to, as well as to hinder their
carrying their skins to the English and keep these savages in awe, that
the fort was built. But the trade did not last long, and the fort has
not hindered the barbarians from doing us a great deal of mischief. They
have still families here, in the outside of the place, and there are
also some Missisaguas, an Algonquin nation, which still have a village
on the west side of Lake Ontario, another at Niagara, and a third in the
strait." Such is the description we have of Kingston a century and a half
ago. The Mohawk name for it is Gu-doi-o-qui, or, "Fort in the Water."

I am unable, from any information I can get, to give the origin of the
name of our beautiful bay. It seems to have borne its present name at a
very early date in the history of the country. It is supposed by some to
be an Indian name with a French accent. I am disposed, however, to think
that it came from the early French voyageurs, from the fact that not
only the bay, but an island, are mentioned by the name of Quinte. The
usual pronunciation until a few years ago was _Kanty._

In the year 1780, on the 14th day of October, and again in July, 1814, a
most remarkable phenomenon occurred, the like of which was never before
witnessed in the country. "At noonday a pitchy darkness completely
obscured the light of the sun, continuing for about ten minutes at a
time, and being frequently repeated during the afternoon. In the
interval between each mysterious eclipse, dense masses of black clouds
streaked with yellow drove athwart the darkened sky, with fitful gusts
of wind. Thunder, lightning, black rain, and showers of ashes added to
the terrors of the scene, and when the sun appeared its colour was a
bright red." The people were filled with fear, and thought that the end
of the world was at hand. These two periods are known as the "dark
days."

Many years after this, another phenomenon not less wonderful occurred,
which I had the satisfaction of seeing; and although forty-five years
have elapsed, the terrifying scene is as firmly fixed in my memory as
though it had happened but an hour ago. I refer to the meteoric shower
of the 13th of November, 1833. My father had been from home, and on his
return, about midnight, his attention was arrested by the frequent fall
of meteors, or stars, to use the common phrase. The number rapidly
increased; and the sight was so grand and beautiful that he came in and
woke us all up, and then walked up the road and roused some of the
neighbours. Such a display of heaven's fireworks was never seen before.
If the air had been filled with rockets they would have been but match
strokes compared to the incessant play of brilliant dazzling meteors
that flashed across the sky, furrowing it so thickly with golden lines
that the whole heaven seemed ablaze until the morning's sun shut out the
scene. One meteor of large size remained sometime almost stationary in
the zenith, emitting streams of light. I stood like a statue, and gazed
with fear and awe up to the glittering sky. Millions of stars seemed to
be dashing across the blue dome of heaven. In fact I thought the whole
starry firmament was tumbling down to earth. The neighbours were terror
struck: the more enlightened of them were awed at contemplating so vivid
a picture of the Apocalyptic image--that of the stars of heaven falling
to the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is
shaken by a mighty wind; while the cries of others, on a calm night like
that, might have been heard for miles around.

Young and poor as Canada was half a century ago, she was not behind many
of the older and more wealthy countries in enterprize. Her legislators
were sound, practical men, who had the interest of their country at
heart. Her merchants were pushing and intelligent; her farmers frugal
and industrious. Under such auspices her success was assured. At an
early day the Government gave material aid to every project that was
calculated to foster and extend trade and commerce, as well as to open
up and encourage the settlement of the country. Neither was individual
enterprize behind in adopting the discoveries and improvements of the
time, and in applying them not only to their own advantage but to that
of the community at large. Four years after Fulton had made his
successful experiment with steam as a propelling power for vessels on
the Hudson, a small steamer was built and launched at Montreal; and in
1815 the keel of the first steamer that navigated the waters of Upper
Canada was laid at Bath. She was named the _Frontenac_.

The village of Bath, as you all know, is situated on the Bay of Quinte,
about thirteen miles west of Kingston. It was formerly known as
Ernesttown. Those of you who have passed that way will remember that
about a mile west of the village there is a bend in the shore round
which the road leads, and that a short gravelly beach juts out,
inclosing a small pond of water. At the end of this, west, stands an old
frame house, time-worn and dilapidated. Behind this house the steamer
already mentioned was built, and three years later another known as the
_Charlotte_ was launched here. [Footnote: I have often heard my
father tell about going to see the launch of the _Charlotte_. He
went on foot a round distance of over thirty miles.] Thousands of people
were present, and the event was long remembered. They were, no doubt,
marvellous things in those days--much more so, perhaps, than that huge
mammoth of steam craft of later days, the _Great Eastern_, is to
us. I cannot give the dimensions of these boats, but it is safe to say
that they were not large. Their exploits in the way of speed were
considered marvellous, and formed the topic of conversation in many a
home. A trip in one of them down the bay to Kingston was a greater feat
then than a voyage to Liverpool is now; and they went but little faster
than a man could walk.

Early travellers predicted that Ernesttown would be a place of
importance, but their predictions have come to naught. It reached many
years ago the culminating point in its history. Still, in the progress
of our country the above must give it more than a passing interest.
Gourlay speaks of Bath in 1811, and says, "The village contains a
valuable social library"--a thing at that date which could not be found
probably in any other part of the Province.

Previous to the introduction of steamers, which gave a wonderful impetus
to trade, and completely revolutionized it, the traffic of the country
was carried on under great disadvantages. Montreal and Quebec, the one
the depot of merchandise and the other the centre of the lumber trade,
were far away, and could only be reached during six months in the year
by the St. Lawrence, whose navigation, on account of its rapids, was
difficult and dangerous. There was but little money, and business was
conducted on an understood basis of exchange or barter. During the
winter months the farmer threshed his grain and brought it with his pork
and potash to the merchant, who gave him goods for his family in return.
The merchant was usually a lumberman as well, and he busied himself in
the winter time in getting out timber and hauling it to the bay, where
it was rafted and made ready for moving early in the spring. As soon as
navigation was open, barges and batteaux were loaded with potash and
produce, and he set sail with these and his rafts down the river. It was
always a voyage of hardship and danger. If good fortune attended him, he
would, in the course of three or four weeks make Montreal, and Quebec
with his rafts two or three weeks later. Then commenced the labour of
disposing of his stuff, settling up the year's accounts, and purchasing
more goods, with which his boats were loaded and despatched for home.

The task of the country merchant in making his selections then, was much
more difficult than it is now. Moreover, as he could reach his market
but once in the year, his purchases had to be governed by this fact. He
had to cater to the entire wants of his customers, and was in the
letter, as well as the spirit, a general merchant, for he kept dry
goods, groceries, crockery, hardware, tools, implements, drugs--
everything, in fact, from a needle to an anchor. The return trip with
his merchandise was slow and difficult. The smooth stretches of the
river were passed with the oar and sail, the currents with poles, while
the more difficult rapids were overcome by the men, assisted with ox-
teams. Thus he worried his way through, and by the time he got home two
or three months had been consumed. During the winter months, while the
western trader was busy in collecting his supplies for the spring, the
general merchant of Montreal, a veritable nabob in those days, locked up
his shop and set off with a team for Upper Canada, and spent it in
visiting his customers. The world moved slowly then. The ocean was
traversed by sailing ships--they brought our merchandise and mails. In
winter, the only communication with Montreal and Quebec was by stage,
and in the fall and spring it was maintained with no small difficulty.
One of the wonders of swift travelling of the day was the feat of
Weller, the mail contractor and stage proprietor, in sending Lord Durham
through from Toronto to Montreal in thirty-six hours. Many a strange
adventure could be told of stage rides between Toronto and Quebec, and
of the merchants in their annual trips down the St. Lawrence, on rafts
and in batteaux; and it seems a pity that so much that would amuse and
interest readers of the present day has never been chronicled.

There was one thing brought about by those batteaux voyages for which
the farmer is by no means thankful. The men used to fill their beds with
fresh straw on their return, and by this means the Canadian thistle
found its way to Upper Canada.

As Canada had not been behind in employing steam in navigation, so she
was not behind in employing it in another direction. Stephenson built
the first railroad between Liverpool and Manchester in 1829. Some years
later, 1836, we had a railway in Canada, and now we have over 5,000
miles in the Dominion. These two agencies have entirely changed the
character both of our commerce and mail service. The latter, in those
early days, in the Midland district, was a private speculation of one
Huff, who travelled the country and delivered papers and letters at the
houses. This was a very irregular and unsatisfactory state of things,
but was better than no mail at all. Then came the wonderful improvement
of a weekly mail carried by a messenger on horseback; and as time wore
on, the delivery became more frequent, post-offices multiplied, postage
rates were reduced, and correspondence increased. There were two other
enterprises which the country took hold of very soon after their
discovery. I refer to the canals and the telegraph. The first, the
Lachine Canal, was commenced in 1821, and the Welland in 1824. The
Montreal Telegraph Company was organized in 1847. So that in those four
great discoveries which have revolutionized the trade of the world, it
will be seen that our young country kept abreast with the times, and her
advance, not only in those improvements, but in every branch of science
and art, has been marvellous.

The Midland District, so named because of its central position, was one
of the largest districts in the Province; but county after county was
cut away from it on all sides, until it was greatly shorn of its
proportions. Before this clipping had begun, the courts were held
alternately in Kingston and Adolphustown. The old Court-House still
stands [Footnote: It has been taken down since, and a town hall for the
use of the township, erected on its site.] and is as melancholy a
monument of its former importance as one could wish to see. The town
which the original surveyors laid out here, and which early writers
mention, I have never been able to find more of than the plot. It must
have flourished long before my day.

But what about Prince Edward county? Of course you know that it was set
off in 1833, and that the first Court of Assize was held in this town--
then Hallowell--in 1834. I am not able to say much about its early
history; though I am sure there are many incidents of very great
interest connected with it, probably lost for the want of some friendly
hand. Land was taken up in this neighbourhood by Barker, Washburn,
Spencer, Vandusen, and others about the year 1790. Patents were issued
by the Government in 1802-3-4. At a meeting held at Eyre's Inn, on the
14th of February, 1818, at which Ebenezer Washburn, Esq., presided, I
learn that there was in the township of Hallowell at that time but two
brick-houses, one carding, and fulling mill, one Methodist Chapel--now
known as the old Chapel at Conger's Mill--one Quaker Meeting House.
Preparations were being made to build a church. [Footnote: Known as St.
Mary Magdalene. The Rev. W. Macaulay, I think, was the first rector, and
he lived to a good old age.] Orchards were beginning to be planted, and
other improvements. The first settlers paid at the rate of one shilling
per acre for their land. Four-fifths of the entire Midland district, in
1818, was a dense forest. We can hardly realise the fact that seventy
years ago there was probably not a soul living in this fair county.

Let us skip over a period of about forty years from the first
settlement, and have a look at the people and how they lived. The log
houses, in very many cases had been transformed into comfortable and
commodious dwellings. The log barns and hovels, too, had given place to
larger frame barns and sheds, many of which are still to be seen around
the country. The changes wrought in those short years were wonderful,
and having followed the pioneer hither and noted his progress, let us
step into one of these homes and take a seat with the family gathered
around the spacious fire-place, with its glowing fire blazing up
cheerfully through the heaped-up wood, and note the comforts and
amusements of the contented circle. How clearly the picture stands out
to many of us. How well we remember the time when, with young and
vigorous step, we set our feet in the path which has led us farther and
farther away.

  "A thousand fantasies
  Begin to throng into my memory,
  Of calling shapes and beckoning shadows."

Now, please understand me in this matter. We have not a particle of
sympathy with the ordinary grumbler, by which we mean that class of
persons whose noses are not only stuck up at any and every encroachment
on their worn-out ideas of what is right and wrong, but, like crabbed
terriers, snap at the heels of every man that passes. Nor do we wish you
to think that we place our fathers on a higher plane of intellectual
power and worth than we have reached or can reach. The world rolls on,
and decade after decade adds to the accumulative brain force of
humanity. Men of thought and power through all the ages have scattered
seed, and while much of it has come to naught, a kernel here and there,
possessed of vital force, has germinated and grown. You remember what
the great Teacher said about "a rain of mustard seed which a man took
and sowed in his field, which indeed is the least of all seeds, but when
it is grown it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that
the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof." Any man
who looks around him must acknowledge that we are going ahead, but
notwithstanding this, every careful observer cannot fail to see that
there is growing up in our land a large amount of sham, and hence, as
Isaiah tells us, it would be well for us to look more frequently "into
the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are
digged." Let us not only treasure the recollection of the noble example
which our fore-fathers set us, but let us imitate those sterling
qualities which render their names dear to us.

"It is a common complaint perpetually reiterated," remarks a racy
writer, "that the occupations of life are filled to overflowing; that
the avenues to wealth or distinction are so crowded with competitors
that it is hopeless to endeavour to make way in the dense and jostling
masses. This desponding wail was doubtless heard when the young earth
had scarcely commenced her career of glory, and it will be dolefully
repeated by future generations to the end of time. Long before Cheops
had planted the basement-stone of his pyramids, when Sphinx and Colossi
had not yet been fashioned into their huge existence, and the untouched
quarry had given out neither temple nor monument, the young Egyptian, as
he looked along the Nile, may have mourned that he was born too late.
Fate had done him injustice in withholding his individual being till the
destinies of man were accomplished. His imagination exulted at what he
might have been, had his chance been commensurate with his merits, but
what remained for him now in this worn-out, battered, used-up hulk of a
world, but to sorrow for the good times which had exhausted all
resources?

"The mournful lamentation of antiquity has not been weakened in its
transmission, and it is not more reasonable now than when it groaned by
the Nile. There is always room enough in the world, and work waiting for
willing hands. The charm that conquers obstacles and commands success is
strong will and strong work. Application is the friend and ally of
genius. The laborious scholar, the diligent merchant, the industrious
mechanic, the hard-working farmer, are thriving men, and take rank in
the world; while genius by itself lies in idle admiration of a fame that
is ever prospective. The hare sleeps or amuses himself by the wayside,
and the tortoise wins the race."




RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY DAYS.

PATERNAL MEMORIES--A VISIT TO THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD--THE OLD QUAKER
MEETING-HOUSE--FLASHES OF SILENCE--THE OLD BURYING GROUND--"TO THE
MEMORY OF ELIZA"--GHOSTLY EXPERIENCES--HIVING THE BEES--ENCOUNTER WITH
A BEAR--GIVING "THE MITTEN"--A "BOUNDARY QUESTION"--SONG OF THE
BULLFROG--RING--SAGACITY OF ANIMALS--TRAINING DAYS--PICTURESQUE SCENERY
OF THE BAY OF QUINTE--JOHN A. MACDONALD--A PERILOUS JOURNEY--AUNT JANE
AND WILLET CASEY.


More than forty-five years have elapsed since my father departed this
life, and left me a lad, the eldest of six children, to take his place,
and assist my mother as well as I could in the management of affairs.
Twenty years later mother was laid by his side, and before and since all
my sisters have gone. For a number of years the only survivors of that
once happy household, the memory of which is so fresh and dear to me,
have been myself and brother. Upper Canada was a vastly different place
at the time of my father's decease (1840) from what it is now. The
opportunities he had when young were proportionately few. I have been a
considerable wanderer in my day, and have had chances of seeing what the
world has accomplished, and of contrasting it with his time and
advantages. If his lines had fallen in another sphere of action he would
have made his mark. As it was, during his short life--he died at the age
of 42--he had with his own hands acquired an excellent farm of 250
acres, with a good, spacious, well-furnished house, barns, and out-
buildings. His farm was a model of order and thorough tillage, well
stocked with the best improved cattle, sheep, and hogs that could be had
at that time, and all the implements were the newest that could be
procured. He was out of debt, and therefore independent, and had money
at interest. This, it seems to me, was something for a man to accomplish
in twenty years. But this was not all. He was acknowledged to be a man
of intelligence superior to most in those days, and was frequently
consulted by neighbours and friends in matters of importance; a warm
politician and a strict temperance man. He was one of the best speakers
in the district, always in request at public meetings, and especially
during an election campaign. Into political contests he entered with all
his might, and would sometimes be away a week or more at a time,
stumping--as they used to term it--the district. In politics he was a
Reformer, and under the then existing circumstances I think I should
have been one too. But the vexed questions that agitated the public mind
then, and against which he fought and wrote, have been adjusted. An old
co-worker of his said to me many years after at an election: "What a
pity your father could not have seen that you would oppose the party he
laboured so hard to build up. If a son of mine did it I would disinherit
him as quick as I would shove a toad off a stick." I said to my old
friend that I supposed the son had quite as good a right to form his
opinions on certain matters as his father had. Political and religious
prejudices are hard things to remove. I remember a deputation waiting on
my father to get him to consent to be a candidate for an election which
was on the eve of taking place, but he declined, on the ground that he
was not prepared to assume so important a position then, nor did he feel
that he had reached a point which would warrant him in leaving his
business. He added that after a while, if his friends were disposed to
confer such an honour upon him, he might consider it more favourably.
Peter Perry was chosen, and I know my father worked hard for him, and
the Tory candidate, Cartwright, was defeated. This reminds me of a
little bit of banking history, which created some noise in the district
at the time, but which is quite forgotten now. A number of leading
farmers, of whom my father was one, conceived the idea of establishing a
"Farmers' Joint Stock Bank," which was subsequently carried out, and a
bank bearing that name was started in Bath. John S. Cartwright, the then
member, through whom they expected to get a charter, and who was
interested in the Commercial Bank at Kingston, failed to realize their
expectations in that particular, and the new bank had to close its
doors. The opening was premature, and cost the stockholders a
considerable sum of money. This little banking episode helped to defeat
Mr. Cartwright at the next election.

Over thirty years have passed since I left my old home, and change after
change has occurred as the years rolled along, until I have become a
stranger to nearly all the people of the neighbourhood, and feel strange
where I used to romp and play in boyhood.

The houses and fields have changed, the woods have been pushed further
back, and it is no longer the home that is fixed in my memory. My visits
have consequently become less and less frequent. On one of these
occasions I felt a strong inclination one Sabbath morning to visit the
old Quaker Meeting House about three miles away. After making my
toilette and breakfasting, I sallied forth, on foot and alone, through
the fields and woods. The day was such as I would have selected from a
thousand. It was towards the last of May--a season wherein if a man's
heart fail to dance blithely, he must indeed be a victim of dulness. The
sun was moving upward in his diurnal course, and had just acquired
sufficient heat to render the shade of the wood desirable. The heaven
was cloudless, and soft languor rested on the face of nature, stealing
the mind's sympathy, and wooing it to the delights of repose. My mind
was too much occupied with early recollections to do more than barely
notice the splendour and the symphonies around me. The hum of the bee
and the beetle, as they winged their swift flight onwards, the song of
the robin and the meadow lark, as they tuned their throats to the
praises of the risen sun, and the crowing of some distant chanticleer,
moved lazily in the sluggish air. It was a season of general repose,
just such a day, I think, as a saint would choose to assist his fancy in
describing the sunny regions whither his thoughts delight to wander, or
a poet would select to refine his ideas of the climate of Elysium. At
length I arrived at the old meeting-house where I had often gone, when a
lad with my father and mother.

It was a wooden building standing at a corner of the road, and was among
the first places of worship erected in the Province. The effects of the
beating storms of nearly half a century were stamped on the unpainted
clapboards, and the shingles which projected just far enough over the
plate to carry off the water, were worn and partially covered with moss.
One would look in vain, for anything that could by any possibility be
claimed as an ornament. Two small doors gave access to the interior,
which was as plain and ugly as the exterior. A partition, with doors,
that were let down during the time of worship, divided the room into
equal parts, and separated the men and women. It was furnished with
strong pine benches, with backs; and at the far side were two rows of
elevated benches, which were occupied on both sides by leading members
of the society. I have often watched the row of broad-brims on one hand,
and the scoop bonnets on the other, with boyish interest, and wondered
what particular thing in the room they gazed at so steadily, and why
some of them twirled one thumb round the other with such regularity. On
this occasion I entered quietly, and took a seat near the door. There
were a number of familiar faces in the audience. Some whom I had known
when young were growing grey, but many of the well-remembered faces were
gone. The gravity of the audience and the solemn silence were very
impressive; but still recollections of the past crowded from my mind the
sacred object which had brought the people together. Now I looked at the
old bayonet marks in the posts, made by the soldiers who had used it as
a barrack immediately after the war of 1812. Next, the letters of all
shapes and sizes cut by mischievous boys with their jacknives in the
backs of the seats years ago arrested my attention, and brought to mind
how weary I used to get; but as I always sat with my father, I dared not
try my hand at carving. Then, the thought came: Where are those boys
now? Some of them were sober, sedate men sitting before me with their
broad-brimmed hats shadowing their faces; others were sleeping in the
yard outside; and others had left the neighbourhood years ago. Then I
thought of the great Quaker preacher and author, Joseph John Gurney,
whom I had heard in this room, and of J. Pease the philanthropic English
banker. Then another incident of quite a different character came to my
recollection. An old and well known Hicksite preacher was there one
Sunday (always called First Day by the friends), and the spirit moved
him to speak. The Hicksite and orthodox Quakers were something like the
Jews and Samaritans of old--they dealt with one another, but had no
religious fellowship. The old friend had said but a few words, when one
of the leaders of the meeting rose and said very gravely: "Sit thee
down, James;" but James did not seem disposed to be choked off in this
peremptory way, and continued. Again the old friend stood up, and with
stronger emphasis said: "James, I tell thee to sit thee down;" and this
time James subsided. There was nothing more said on the occasion, and
after a long silence, the meeting broke up. On another occasion, a young
friend, who had aspired to become a teacher, stood up, and in that
peculiar, drawling, sing-song tone which used to be a characteristic of
nearly all their preachers, said: "The birds of the air have nests, the
foxes have holes, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head;"
and then sat down, leaving those who heard him to enlarge and apply the
text to suit themselves. There was nothing more said that day. And so my
mind wandered on from one thing to another, until at length my attention
was arrested by a friend who rose and took off his hat (members of the
society always sit with their hats on), and gave us a short and touching
discourse. I have heard some of the most telling and heart-searching
addresses at Quaker meetings. On this occasion there was no attempt--
there could be none from a plain people like this--to tickle the ear
with well-turned periods or rhetorical display. After the meeting was
over, I walked out into the graveyard; my father and mother and two
sisters lie there together, and several members of my father's family.
There is a peculiarity about a Quaker burying-ground that will arrest
the attention of any visitor. Other denominations are wont to mark the
last resting place of loved ones by costly stones and inscriptions; but
here the majority of the graves are marked with a plain board, and many
of them have only the initials of the deceased, and the rank grass
interlocks its spines above the humble mounds. I remember my father
having some difficulty to get consent to place a plain marble slab at
the head of his father and mother's grave. But were those who slumbered
beneath forgotten? Far otherwise. The husband here contemplated the
lowly dwelling place of the former minister to his delight. The lover
recognised the place where she whose presence was all-inspiring reposed,
and each knew where were interred those who had been lights to their
world of love, and on which grave to shed the drop born of affection and
sorrow. Although the pomp, the state, and the pageantry of love were her
ransom, yet hither, in moments when surrounding objects were forgotten,
had retired the afflicted, and poured forth the watery tribute that
bedews the cheek of those that mourn "in spirit and in truth." Hither
came those whose spirits had been bowed down beneath the burden of
distress, and indulged in the melancholy occupation of silent grief,
from which no man ever went forth without benefit. I thought of
Falconer's lines:--

  "Full oft shall memory from oblivion's veil
  Relieve your scenes, and sigh with grief sincere?"

After lingering for some time near the resting place of the dear ones of
my own family, I turned away and threaded my way thoughtfully back.

During another visit to the neighbourhood of my birth, after having tea
with the Rev. H---, Rector of ----, I took a stroll through the
graveyard that nearly surrounds the old church, and spent some time in
reading the inscriptions on the headstones. There were numbers that were
new and strange, but the most of them bore names that were familiar.
Time, of course, had left his mark, and in some cases the lettering was
almost gone. Many of those silent sleepers I remembered well, and had
followed their remains to the grave, and had heard the old Rector
pronounce the last sad rite: "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to
dust," long years ago. As I passed on from grave to grave of former
friends and neighbours,

  "Each in his narrow cell forever laid,"

many curious and pleasing collections were brought to mind. I came at
last to the large vault of the first Rector, who was among the first in
the Province. I recollected well the building of this receptacle for the
dead, and how his family, one after another, were placed in it; and then
the summons came to him, and he was laid there. A few years later, his
wife, the last survivor of the family, was put there too, and the large
slabs were shut down for the last time, closing the final chapter of
this family history, and--as does not often happen in this world--they
were taking their last sleep undivided. But Time, the great destroyer,
had been at work during the years that had fled, and I was sorry to find
that the slabs that covered the upper part of the vault, and which bore
the inscriptions, were broken, and that the walls were falling in. There
were no friends left to interest themselves in repairing the crumbling
structure, and in a few years more the probabilities are that every
vestige of the last resting-place of this united couple will be gone. It
is not a pleasing thought, and yet it is true, that however much we may
be loved, and however many friends may follow us with tears to the
grave, in a few short years they will be gone, and no one left to care
for us, or perhaps know that we ever lived. I have stood of an evening
in the grand cemetery of Pere la Chaise, Paris and watched the people
trooping in with their wreaths of _immortelles_ to be placed on the
tombs of departed friends, and others with cans of water and flowers to
plant around the graves. Here and there could be seen where some loved
one had been sprinkling the delicate flowers, or remained to water them
with their tears. This respect paid to the memory of departed ones is
pleasant, and yet, alas, how very few, after two or three generations
are remembered. The name that meets the eye on one stone after another
might as well be a blank for all we know of them. Anyone who has visited
the old churchyards or ruined abbeys in England must have felt this, as
his gaze has rested on time-worn tablets from which every mark had long
since been obliterated,

  "By time subdued (what will not time subdue)!"

Turning away from the vault, and passing down the yard, I came to a
grave the headstone of which had fallen, and was broken. I turned the
two pieces over, and read: "To the memory of Eliza ----." And is this,
thought I, the end of the only record of the dear friend of my boyhood;
the merry, happy girl whom every one loved? No one left after a score of
years to care for her grave? So it is. The years sweep on. "Friend after
friend departs," still on, and all recollection of us is lost; on still,
and the very stones that were raised as a memorial disappear, and the
place that knew us once knows us no more forever. I turned away, sad and
thoughtful; but after a little my mind wandered back again to the sunny
hours of youth, and I lived them over. Eliza had been in our family for
several years, and was one of the most cheerful, kind-hearted girls one
could wish to see. She had a fine voice, and it seemed as natural for
her to sing as a bird. This, with her happy disposition, made her the
light and life of the house. She was like the little burn that went
dancing so lightly over the pebbles in the meadow--bright, sparkling,
joyous, delighting in pranks and fun as much as a kitten.

  "True mirth resides not in the smiling skin--
  The sweeted solace is to act no sin."
--HERRICK.

I do not think Eliza ever intentionally acted a sin. On one occasion,
however, this excess of spirit led her perhaps beyond the bounds of
maidenly propriety; but it was done without consideration, and when it
was over caused her a good deal of pain. The mischievous little
adventure referred to shall be mentioned presently.

We had some neighbours who believed in ghosts; not an uncommon thing in
those days. Eliza, with myself, had frequently heard from these people
descriptions of remarkable sights they had seen, and dreadful noises
they had heard at one time and another. She conceived the idea of making
an addition to their experiences in this way, and as an experiment made
a trial on me. I had been away one afternoon, and returned about nine
o'clock. It was quite dark. In the meantime she had quietly made her
preparations, and was on the look out for me. When my horse's feet were
heard cantering up the road, she placed herself that I could not fail to
see her. On I came, and, dashing up to the gate, dismounted; and there
before me on the top of the stone wall was something, the height of a
human figure draped in white, moving slowly and noiselessly towards me.
I was startled at first, but a second thought satisfied me what was up,
and that my supernatural visitor was quite harmless. I passed through
the gate, but my pet mare did not seem inclined to follow, until I spoke
to her, and then she bounded through with a snort. After putting her in
the field, and returning, I found the ghost had vanished. But I was
quite sure I had not done with it yet; and as I drew near the house I
was in momentary expectation that it would come out upon me somewhere. I
kept a sharp look-out, but saw nothing, and had reached the porch door
to go in, when, lo, there stood the spectre barring my way! I paused and
glanced at its appearance as well as I could, and I must confess if I
had been at all superstitious, or had come on such an object in a
strange place, I think I should have been somewhat shaken. However, I
knew my spectre, boldly took hold of it, and found I had something
tangible in my grip. After a brief and silent struggle, I thrust open
the door, and brought my victim into the room. My mother and sisters,
who knew nothing of what had been going on, were greatly alarmed to see
me dragging into the house a white object, and, womanlike, began to
scream; but the mystery was soon revealed. She had made up some thick
paste, with which she had covered her face, and had really got up quite
a sepulchral expression, to which the darkness gave effect; and being
enveloped in a white sheet, made, we thought, a capital ghost. This did
not satisfy her, and was only a preliminary to her appearance on the
first suitable occasion to our neighbours. It was not long before they
encountered the ghost on their way home after dark, and were so badly
frightened that in the end I think Eliza was worse frightened than they.
Eliza never had any confidants in these little affairs, and they were
over before any one in the house knew of it. This was the end, so far as
she was concerned, of this kind of amusement.

Some time after this another little episode of a similar nature
happened, but this time Eliza was one of the victims. We had a near
neighbour, an old bachelor, who had a fine patch of melons close at
hand. Eliza and a cousin who was on a visit had had their eyes on them,
and one day declared they were going that night to get some of Tom's
melons. Mother advised them not to do it, and told them there were
melons enough in our own garden without their going to steal Tom's. No,
they didn't want them, they were going to have a laugh on Tom;--and so
when it was dark they set off to commit the trespass. They had been away
but a few minutes when mother--who by the way was a remarkably timid
woman, and I have often wondered how she got up enough courage to play
the trick--put a white sheet under her arm and followed along the road
to a turn, where was a pair of bars, through which the girls had passed
to the field. Here she paused, and when she fancied the girls had
reached their destination she drew the sheet around her, rapped on the
bars with a stick, and called to them. Then, folding up the sheet, she
ran away home. She was not sure whether they had seen her or not. The
sheet was put away, and, taking up her knitting, she sat down quietly to
await their return, which she anticipated almost immediately. A long
time elapsed, and they did not appear. Then mother became alarmed, and
as she happened to be alone she did not know what to do. Though she had
gone out on purpose to frighten the girls, I do not think she could have
been induced to go out again to see what was keeping them. After a while
Mary came in, and then Eliza, both pale, and bearing evidence of having
had a terrible fright. Mother asked them what in the world was the
matter. "O, Aunt Polly!" they both exclaimed, "we have seen such an awful
thing tonight." "What was it?" They could not tell; it was terrible!
"Where did you see it?" "Over by the bars! Just as we had got a melon we
heard an awful noise, and then we saw something white moving about, and
then it was gone!" They were so badly frightened that they dropped down
among the vines, and lay there for some minutes. They then got up, and,
making a detour, walked home; but how, they never could tell. Mother was
never suspected by them, and after a time she told them about it. There
were no more ghosts seen in the neighbourhood after that.

Time passed on, and Eliza's love of mischief drove her into another kind
of adventure. She was a girl of fine presence; fair, with bright black
eyes and soft black hair, which curled naturally, and was usually worn
combed back off the forehead. The general verdict was that she was
pretty. I have no doubt if she had had the opportunity she would have
made a brilliant actress, as she was naturally clever, possessing an
excellent memory and being a wonderful mimic. She would enter into a bit
of fun with the abandon of a child, and if occasion required the
stoicism of a deacon, the whole house might be convulsed with laughter,
but in Eliza's face, if she set her mind to it, you could not discern
the change of a muscle. Her features were regular, and of that peculiar
cast which, when she was equipped in man's attire, made her a most
attractive-looking beau. About half a mile away lived a poor widow with
a couple of daughters, and very nice girls they were, but one was said
to be a bit of a coquette. Eliza conceived the idea of giving this young
lady a practical lesson in the following manner. She dressed herself in
father's clothes, and set about making the girl's acquaintance. She
possessed the necessary _sang-froid_ to carry on a scheme of this
kind with success. The affair was altogether a secret. Well, in due
course a strange young man called about dark one evening at the widow's
to make enquiries respecting a person in the neighbourhood he wished to
find. He gave out that he was a stranger, and was stopping at ----, a
few miles away; asked for a drink of water, and to be allowed to rest
for a few moments; made himself agreeable, chatted with the girls, and
when he was leaving was invited to call again if he passed that way. He
did call again in a short time, and again and again, and struck up a
regular courtship with one of the girls, and succeeded to all appearance
in winning her affection. Now, the question presented itself, when
matters began to take this shape, how she was to break it off, and the
affair was such a novelty that she became quite infatuated with it, and
I have no doubt would have continued her visits if an accident had not
happened which brought them to an abrupt termination. On her return one
night she unexpectedly met father at the door, and as there was no
chance for retreat, she very courteously asked if he could direct her to
Mr. ----. It happened to be raining, and father, of course quite
innocently, asked the stranger in until the shower was over. She
hesitated, but finally came in and took a seat. There was something
about the person, and particularly the clothes, that attracted his
attention, but this probably would have passed if he had not, observed
that the boots were on the wrong feet; that is to say, the right boot
was on the left foot, _et vice versa_. Knowing Eliza's propensities
well, he suspected her, and she was caught. Enjoying a romp now and then
himself he called mother, and after tormenting poor Eliza for a while,
let her go. This cured her effectually. But the poor girl never knew
what became of her lover. He came no more, and she was left to grieve
for a time, and I suppose to forget, for she married a couple of years
after. The secret was kept at Eliza's request, after making a clean
breast of it to mother, for a long time. She married not long after
this, and was beloved by everyone. She was a devoted wife, and had
several children, none of whom are now living. Poor Eliza! I thought of
Hamlet's soliloquy on Yorick as I stood by her unkept grave, with its
headstone fallen and broken. "Those lips that I have kissed I know not
how oft--where be your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment."
All gone, years ago! And they live only in the sweet recollections of
the past.

My father used to keep a large number of bees either in wood or straw
hives, mostly of the former; and indeed most all our neighbours kept
them too, and I remember a curious custom that prevailed of blowing
horns and pounding tin pans when they were swarming, to keep them from
going away. I never knew my father to resort to this expedient, but it
was wonderful to see him work among them. He would go to the hives and
change them from one to another, or go under a swarm, and without any
protection to his face or hands, shake them into the hive, and carry it
away and put it in its place. They never stung him unless by accident.
If one of them got under his clothes and was crowded too much, he might
be reminded that there was something wrong, but the sting only troubled
him for a minute or two. With me it seemed if they got a sight of me
they made a "bee line" for my face. After father's death they soon
disappeared, as I would not have them about. We sometimes found bee
trees in the woods, and on one occasion chopped down a large elm out of
which we got a quantity of choice honey. I remember this well; for I ate
so much that it made me sick, and cured me from wanting honey ever
after.

Another incident connected with the afternoon's work in robbing the
bees. It was quite early in the spring, and though the snow had pretty
much disappeared from the fields, yet there was some along the fences
and in the woods. We left the house after dinner with a yoke of oxen and
wood-sleigh freighted with pails and tubs to bring back our expected
prize, and the afternoon was well spent before John--our hired man--had
felled the tree, and by the time we had got the comb into the vessels it
was growing dark. Just as everything had been got into the sleigh, and
we were about to leave, we were startled by a shrill scream on one side,
something like that made by a pair of quarrelsome tom-cats, only much
louder, which was answered immediately by a prolonged mew on the other.
The noise was so startling and unexpected that John for a moment was
paralyzed. Old Ring, a large powerful dog, bounded away at once into the
woods, and Buck and Bright started for home on the trot. I was too sick
to care much about wild cats, or in fact anything else, and lay on my
back in the straw among the pails and tubs, but I heard the racket, and
what appeared a struggle with the dog. We did not see Ring until next
morning, and felt sure that he had been killed. The poor old fellow
looked as though he had had a hard time of it, and did not move about
much for a day or two. The wild cat or Canadian lynx is a ferocious
animal. The species generally go in pairs. I have frequently heard them
calling to one another at apparently long distances, and then they would
gradually come together. A man would fare very badly with a pair of
them, particularly if he was laid on his back with a fit of colic.

Like most lads, I was fond of shooting, and used frequently to shoulder
my gun and stroll away through the fields in quest of game. On one
occasion, somewhere about the first of September, I was out hunting
black squirrels, and had skirted along the edge of the woods and corn
fields for some distance. I had not met with very good success. The
afternoon was warm, and I was discussing in my mind whether I should go
further on or return home. Looking up the hill, I saw a couple of
squirrels, and started after them at a sharp pace. On my right was a
corn field and as I stepped along the path near the fence, I had a
glimpse of something moving along on the other side of it, but I was so
intent on watching the squirrels that I did not in fact think of
anything else for the moment. As I drew near the tree I saw them go up.
Keeping a sharp look-out for a shot, I chanced to look down, and there
before me, not two rods away, sat a large red-nosed bear. The encounter
was so unexpected that it is hardly necessary to say I was frightened,
and it was a moment or two before I could collect my wits. Bruin seemed
to be examining me very composedly, and when I did begin to realize the
position the question was what to do. I was afraid to turn at once and
run. Having but one charge of small shot in my gun, I knew it would not
do to give him that, so we continued gazing at each other. At length I
brought my gun to full cock, made a step forward, and gave a shout. The
bear quietly dropped on his fore legs and moved off, and so did I, and
as the distance widened I increased my speed. The little dog I had with
me decamped before I did, having no doubt seen the bear. I ran to a
neighbour's who had a large dog. One of the boys got his gun, and we
went back in a somewhat better condition for a fight; but when the dog
struck the scent he put his tail between his legs and trotted home,
showing more sense probably than we did. However, we saw nothing of the
bear, and returned. Some days after a neighbour shot a large bear, no
doubt the same one.

Very early in the history of mankind it was pronounced to be not good
that man should be alone, and ever since then both male and female have
seemed to think so too. At all events there is a certain time in life
when this matter occupies a very prominent place in the minds of both,
and it was no more of a novelty when I was young than now. The same
desires warmed the heart, and the same craving for social enjoyment and
companionship brought the young together, with the difference that then
we were in the rough, while the young of the present have been touched
up by education and polished by the refinements of fashionable society.
I do not think they are any better at the core, or make more attentive
companions. Now, when a young gentleman goes to see a young lady with
other views than that of spending a little time agreeably, he is said to
be paying his addresses, or, as Mrs. Grundy would say: It is an
_affaire d'amour_. When I was young, if a boy went to see a girl
(and they did whenever they could) he was said to be sparking her. If he
was unsuccessful in his suit you would hear it spoken of in some such
way as this: "Sally Jones gave Jim Brown the mitten;" and very often the
unlucky swain was actually presented with a small mitten by the
mischievous fair one whom he had hoped to win, as a broad hint that it
was useless for him to hang around there any longer. Sunday afternoon
was the usual time selected, and in fact it was the only time at their
disposal for visiting the girls. There were favourite resorts in every
neighbourhood, and girls whose attractions were very much more inviting
than others, and thither three or four young gallants, well-mounted and
equipped in their best Sunday gear, might be seen galloping from
different directions of a Sunday evening. Of course it could not in the
nature of things happen that all would be successful, and so after a
while one unfortunate after another would ride away to more propitious
fields, and leave the more fortunate candidate to entertain his lady-
love until near midnight. Sometimes tricks were played on fortunate
rivals by loosing their horses and starting them home, or hiding their
saddles; and it was not a pleasant conclusion to such a delightful visit
to have to trudge through the mud four or five miles of a dark night, or
to ride home barebacked, as the best pants were likely to get somewhat
soiled in the seat. However, these little affairs seldom proved very
serious, and it would get whispered around that Tildy Smith was going to
get married to Pete Robins.

When I had grown to be quite a lad I got a lesson from Grandfather C---
that never required repeating. Those who are acquainted with the Quakers
know that they do not indulge in complimentary forms of speech. A
question is answered with a simple yes or no. My father's people were of
this persuasion, and of course my replies whenever addressed were in the
regular home style. It does not follow, however, that because the
Friends as a people eschew conformity to the world both in dress and
speech, that there is a want of parental respect. Quite the contrary.
Their regular and temperate habits, their kindness and attention to the
comfort and well-being of one another, make their homes the abode of
peace and good-will, and, though their conversation is divested of the
many little phrases the absence of which is thought disrespectful by
very many, yet they have gained a reputation for consistency and
truthfulness which is of more value than ten thousand empty words that
drop smoothly from the lips but have no place in the heart. During a
visit to my grandfather, the old gentleman asked me a number of
questions to which he got the accustomed yes or no. This so displeased
him that he caught me by the ear and gave it a twist that seemed to me
to have deprived me of that member altogether, and said very sharply,
"When you answer me, say SIR." That Sir was so thoroughly twisted into
my head that I do not think the old man ever spoke to me after that it
did not jump to my lips.

Another anecdote, of much the same character as that related above, and
quite as characteristic of the men of those days, was told me by an old
man not long since--one of the very few of the second generation now
living (Paul. C. Petersen, aged 84). Mr. Herman, one of the first
settlers in the 4th Concession of Adolphustown, bought a farm, which
happened to be situated on the boundary line between the above-named
township and Fredericksburgh, in those days known as 3rd and 4th town.
It seems that in the original survey, whether through magnetic
influence, to which it was ascribed in later years, but more probably
through carelessness, or something more potent, there was a wide
variation in the line which should have run nearly directly north from
the starting point on the shore of the Bay of Quinte. However, as time
wore on, and land became more valuable, this question of boundary became
a serious thing, and in after years resulted in a series of law suits
which cost a large sum of money. Mr. Herman held his farm by the first
survey, but if the error which had been made in a direction north was
corrected, he would either lose his farm or would have been shoved over
on to his neighbour west, and so on. He was not disposed to submit to
this, and as he was getting old he took his eldest son one day out to
the original post at the south-east corner of his farm on the north
shore of Hay Bay, and said to him: "My son, this (pointing out the
post), is the post put here by the first survey,--and which I saw
planted--at the corner of my lot, and I wish you to look around and mark
it well." While the son was looking about, the old man drew up his arm
and struck him with the flat of his hand and knocked him over. He at
once picked him up, and said: "My son, I had no intention of hurting
you, but I wanted to impress the thing on your mind." Shortly after he
took the second son out, and administered the same lesson. Not long
after the old man passed away, and I remember well that for years this
matter was a bone of contention.

Most Canadians are familiar with the musical bullfrogs which in the
spring, in a favourable locality, in countless numbers call to each
other all night long from opposite swamps. These nightly concerts become
very monotonous. The listener, however, if he pays attention, will catch
a variety of sounds that he may train into something, and if of a
poetical turn of mind might make a song that would rival some of those
written to bells. I used to fancy I could make out what they were
calling back to one another, and have often been a very attentive
listener. There was an old man in the neighbourhood who very frequently
came home drunk, and we used to wonder he did not fall off his horse and
get badly hurt or killed; but the old horse seemed to understand how to
keep under him and fetch him and his jug home all right. We had a little
song which the frogs used to sing for him as he got near home.

Old Brown--old Brown        1st baritone, last word drawn out.
Been to town--been to town  2nd--answer same key.
With his jug-jug-jug        3rd--high key in which more join.
Coo-chung--coo-chung        4th--baritone in which several join.
Chuck-chuck-chuck.          5th--alto from different quarters.
Chr r r r r r r r.--        6th--chorus, grand, after which
                               there is a pause, and then an old
                               leader will start as before.

Old Brown--old Brown
Get home--get home,
Your drunk, drunk, drunk,
Coo chung-cooo chung
Chuck-chuck-chuck.
Chr r r r r r r r.

Many curious stories are told respecting the sagacity of animals, among
which the dog takes a prominent place. My father had a large dog when I
was a youngster that certainly deserves a place among the remarkable
ones of his race. Ring was a true friend, and never of his own accord
violated the rules of propriety with his kind, but woe to the dog who
attempted to bully him. He possessed great strength, and when driven
into a contest, generally made short work of it, and trotted away
without any show of pride over his defeated contestant. He was in the
habit of following my father on all occasions and although frequently
shut up and driven back, was sure to be on hand at the stopping point to
take charge of the team, etc. On the occasion I am about to mention, my
father and mother were going on a visit to his brothers some twenty-four
miles distant. Before starting in the morning the decree went forth that
Ring must stop at home, and he was accordingly shut up, with
instructions that he was not to be let out until after dinner. It was
necessary to do this before any preparations were made for going away,
for the simple reason that it had been done repeatedly before, and when
there was the least sign of a departure, experience had taught him that
the best plan was to keep out of the way, in which he generally
succeeded until too late to capture him. On this occasion Ring was
outwitted. The horses were put to the sleigh, and away they trotted. On
the journey they stopped at Picton for a time, when the team was driven
into the tavern yard and fed, during which time other teams were coming
and going. After about an hour they started again, driving through the
village, and on towards their destination. Some five or six hours after,
when all possible chance of Ring's following seemed to have passed, he
was let out. The dog seemed to know at once what had been going on, and
after a careful inspection, discovered that father and mother, with the
horses and sleigh, were gone. He rushed about the place with his nose to
the ground, and when he had settled which way they had gone, set off in
full chase up the road, and a few minutes before they had reached my
uncle's, Ring passed them, on the road, wagging his tail, and looking as
if he thought that was a good joke. The singular point is how the dog
discovered their route, and how, hours after, he traced them up into the
tavern yard and out through a street, and along a road where horses and
sleighs were passing all the time; and how he distinguished the
difference of the horses' feet and sleigh runners from scores of others
which had passed to and fro in the meantime. It is a case of animal
instinct, or whatever it may be called, beyond comprehension.

Many years ago my father-in-law (the late Isaac Ingersoll, Esq.), a
prominent man in the District, and a wealthy farmer, widely known, had
frequent applications from parties in Kingston for a good milch cow. In
those days milk was not delivered, as now, at every door in towns, and
it became a necessity for every family to have a cow. The wealthier
people wanted good ones, and as the old gentleman was known to keep good
stock, he was enabled to get good prices. On one occasion he sold a cow
to a gentleman in the town above named, and sent her by steamboat down
the Bay of Quinte, a distance of over thirty miles. A week after, the
old man was surprised one morning to find this cow in his yard. She had
made her escape from her new master, and returned to her old quarters
and associates. She was sent back, and after a time got away and
travelled the thirty miles again, and was found in the yard. The second
journey of course was not so difficult, but by what process did she
discover, in the first place, the direction she was taken, and pursue a
road which she had never travelled, back to her old quarters. At her new
home she was, if anything, better fed and cared for; why should she
embrace the first opportunity to steal away and seek her old companions?
Who can explain these things? In this case there is an attachment
evinced for home and associates, and a persistence in returning to them,
most remarkable, and in the case of the dog, an intelligence (or what
you may be pleased to call it), which enabled him to trace his master,
and overtake him, which is altogether beyond human ken.

There is the irrepressible cat, too. Every household is troubled from
time to time with one or more of these animals, which from their
_snuping_ propensities become a nuisance. I have on more than one
occasion put one in a bag and carried it miles away, and then let it go,
rather than kill it outright; but it was sure to be back almost as soon
as myself.

The 4th of June, the anniversary of the birth of King George III., as
well as that of the very much more humble individual who pens these
lines, for many years was the day selected for the annual drill of the
militia of the Province. It was otherwise known as general training-day,
and ten days or more previously, the men belonging to the various
battalions were "warned" to appear at a certain place in the district.
Each individual was subject to a fine of 10s or more if not on the
ground to answer to his name when the roll was called. On the morning of
that day, therefore, men on foot, on horseback and in waggons were to be
seen wending their way to the "training ground," or field, in close
proximity to a tavern. It was an amusing spectacle to see a few hundred
rustics, whose ages ranged from 16 to 40, in all kinds of dress, with
old muskets that had been used in the Revolutionary War or in that of
1812--fusees that many a year, as occasion required, had helped to
contribute to the diminished larder--drawn up in a line, and marched
round the field for a time. The evolutions were such as might be
expected from a crowd of raw countrymen, and often got tangled up so
that a military genius of more than superhuman skill would have been
puzzled to get them in order again.

There was no other way to do it, but to stop and re-form the line. Then
would come the word of command: "Attention. Brown fall back. Johnson
straighten up there. That will do. Now men, at the word 'Right about,'
each man has to turn to his right, at the word 'Left about,' each man
turns to his left. Now then: Attention--Right about face." Confusion
again, some turning to the right and others to the left. A few strong
phrases follow--"As you were"--and so the thing goes on; the men are
wheeled to the right and left, marched about the field, and, after being
put through various steps, are brought into line again. The commanding
officer, sword in hand, looks along the serried ranks, the sergeants
pass along the line, chucking one's head up, pushing one back, bringing
another forward, and then rings out the word of command again:
"Atten_tion_! Shoulder arms! Make ready, present, fire!" Down come
the old guns and sticks in a very threatening attitude, a random pop
along the line is heard, then "Stand at ease"--after which the Colonel,
in his red coat, wheels his charger about, says a few words to the men,
and dismisses them. The rest of the day was spent by every man in
carousing, horse-racing, and games, with an occasional fight. After the
arduous duties of the day, the officers had a special spread at the
tavern, and afterwards left for home with very confused ideas as to the
direction in which they should proceed to reach it.

Fifty years ago, shaving the beard, in Canada at all events, was
universal. If a man were to go about as the original Designer of his
person no doubt intended, a razor would never have touched his face. But
men, like other animals, are subject to crotchets, and are wont to
imitate superiors, so when some big-bug like Peter the Great introduced
the shears and razor, men appeared soon after with cropped heads and
clean chops. I do not remember that I ever saw a man with a full beard
until after I had passed manhood for some years, except on one occasion
when I was a youngster at school in the old school house on the
concession. A man passed through the neighbourhood--I do not remember
what he was doing--with a long flowing beard. We had somehow got the
idea that no men except Jews wore their beards, and the natural
inference with us was that this man was one of that creed. He was as
much of a curiosity to us as a chimpanzee or an African lion would have
been, and we were about as afraid of him as we would have been on seeing
either of the other animals.

The township of Adolphustown, in the county of Lennox, is the smallest
township in the Province. Originally the counties of Lennox and
Addington, Frontenac, Hastings and Prince Edward were embraced in the
Midland District. These counties, as the country advanced in population,
were one after another set off, the last being the united counties of
Lennox and Addington, separated from Frontenac, and with the town of
Napanee as its capital. The township in my young days was known as
fourth town, as the townships east of it as far as Kingston were known
as first, second and third town. Immediately after the American War, the
land along the Bay of Quinte, embracing these townships, with fifth,
sixth and seventh town to the west, were taken up, and the arduous task
of clearing away the bush at once began. The bay, from its debouche at
Kingston, extends west about seventy miles, nearly severing at its
termination the county of Prince Edward from the main land. The land on
either hand, for about thirty miles west of Kingston, is undulating,
with a gradual ascent from the shore, but when Adolphustown is reached,
Marysburgh, in the county of Prince Edward, on the opposite side of the
bay, presents a bold front, its steep banks rising from one to two
hundred feet. From the Lake of the Mountain, looking across the wide
stretch of water formed by the sharp detour of the bay in its westerly
to a north-easterly course for fifteen or twenty miles, the observer has
one of the most charming scenes in America spread out before him. In the
distance, the lofty rocky shore of Sophiasburgh, with its trees and
shrubs crowding down to the water's edge, stretch away to the right and
left. To the west, the estuary known as Picton Bay curves around the
high wooded shore of Marysburgh, and beneath and to the east, the four
points of which the township of Adolphustown is composed reach out their
woody banks into the wide sweep of the bay like the four fingers of a
man's hand. For quiet, picturesque beauty, there is nothing to surpass
it. On every hand the eye is arrested with charming landscapes, and
looking across the several points of the township you have dwellings,
grain fields, herds of cattle, and wood. Beyond you catch the shimmer of
the water. Again you have clumps of trees and cultivated fields, and
behind them another stretch of water, and so on as far as the eye can
reach. The whole course of the bay, in fact, is a panorama of rural
beauty, but the old homes that were to be seen along its banks twenty-
five and thirty years ago have either disappeared altogether or have
been modernized. It is now very nearly one hundred years since the first
settlers found their way up it, and it must have been then a beautiful
sight in its native wildness, the clear green water stretching away to
the west, the sinuosities of the shore, the numberless inlets, the
impenetrable forest and the streams that cut their way through it and
poured their contingents into its broad bosom, the islands here and
there, upon which the white man had never set his foot, water fowl in
thousands, whose charming home was then for the first time invaded,
skurrying away with noisy quake and whir, the wood made sweet with the
song of birds, the chattering squirrel, the startled deer, the silent
murmur of the water as it lapped the sedgy shore or gravelly beach--
these things must have combined to please, and to awaken thoughts of
peaceful homes, in the near future to them all.

The Bay of Quinte, apart from its delightful scenery, possesses an
historical interest. It is not known from whence it received its name,
but there is no doubt it is of French origin. Perhaps some of the old
French voyageurs, halting at Fort Frontenac, on their way west, as they
passed across it, and through one of the gaps that open the way to the
broad expanse of Lake Ontario, may have christened it. Be this as it
may, it was along its shores that the first settlers of the Province
located. Here came the first preachers, offering to the lonely settler
the bread of life. On its banks the first house devoted to the worship
of God was erected, and the seed sown here, as the country grew, spread
abroad. Here the first schoolmaster began his vocation of instructing
the youth. The first steamboat was launched (1816) upon its waters at
Ernesttown, near the present village of Bath. Kingston, for a long time
the principal town of the Province, then composed of a few log houses,
was the depot of supplies for the settlers. It has a history long
anterior to this date. In 1673, Courcelles proceeded to Cataraqui with
an armed force to bring the Iroquois to terms, and to get control of the
fur trade. Then followed the building of Fort Frontenac. The restless
trader and discoverer, La Salle, had the original grant for a large
domain around the fort. Here, in 1683, La Barre built vessels for the
navigation of the lake, and the year following held a great council with
the Five Nations of Indians, at which Big Mouth was the spokesman. The
fort was destroyed by Denonville in 1689, and rebuilt in 1696. It was
again reduced by Colonel Bradstreet in 1758.

In Adolphustown many of the first settlers still lived when I was a boy,
and I have heard them recount their trials and hardships many a time.
Besides the U. E. Loyalists there were a number of Quaker families which
came to the Province about the same time, leaving the new Republic, not
precisely for the same reasons, but because of their attachment to the
old land. During the war, these people, who are opposed to war and
bloodshed, suffered a good deal, and were frequently imprisoned, and
their money and property appropriated. This did not occur in Canada, but
they were subject to a fine for some time, for not answering to their
names at the annual muster of the militia. The fine, however, was not
exacted, except in cases where there were doubts as to membership with
the society. This small township has contributed its quota to the
Legislature of the country. T. Dorland represented the Midland District
in the first Parliament of the Province, and was followed by Willet
Casey, when Newark or Niagara was the capital. The latter was succeeded
several years later by his son, Samuel Casey, but, as often happens,
there was a difference in the political opinions of the father and son.
The father was a Reformer, the son a Tory; and at the election, the old
gentleman went to the poll and recorded his vote against his son, who
was nevertheless elected. The Roblins, John P---, who represented the
county of Prince Edward, and David, who sat for Lennox and Addington,
were natives of the township. The Hagermans, Christopher and D---, were
also fourth town boys, with whom my mother went to school. The old
homestead, a low straggling old tenement, stood on the bay shore a few
yards west of the road that leads to the wharf. I remember it well. It
was destroyed by fire years ago. The father of Sir John A. Macdonald
kept a store a short distance to the east of the Quaker meeting-house on
Hay Bay, on the third concession. It was a small clap-boarded building,
painted red, and was standing a few years ago. I remember being at a
nomination in the village of Bath, on which occasion there were several
speakers from Kingston, among them John A. Macdonald, then a young
lawyer just feeling his way into political life. He made a speech, and
began something in this way: "Yeomen of the county of Lennox and
Addington, I remember well when I ran about in this district a
barefooted boy," &c. He had the faculty then, which he has ever since
preserved, of getting hold of the affections of the people. This
_bonhommie_ has had much to do with his popularity and success. I
recollect well how lustily he was cheered by the staunch old farmers on
the occasion referred to. A few years later a contest came off in the
county of Prince Edward, where I then resided. In those days political
contests were quite as keen as now; but the alterations in the law which
governs these matters has been greatly changed and improved. The
elections were so arranged that people owning property in various
counties could exercise their franchise. The old law, which required
voters to come to a certain place in the district to record their vote,
had been repealed; and now each voter had to go to the township in which
he owned property, to vote. Foreign voters were more numerous then than
now, and were looked after very sharply. On this occasion there was a
sharp battle ahead, and arrangements were made to meet property owners
at all points. There were a number from Kingston on our side, and it
fell to me to meet them at the Stone Mills Ferry, and bring them to
Picton. The ice had only recently taken in the bay, and was not quite
safe, even for foot passengers. There were six or seven, and among them
John A. Macdonald, Henry Smith, afterwards Sir Henry, and others. In
crossing, Smith got in, but was pulled out by his companions, in no very
nice plight for a long drive. The sleighing was good, and we dashed
away. In the evening I brought them back, and before they set off across
the bay on their return, John A. mounted the long, high stoop or
platform in front of Teddy McGuire's, and gave us an harangue in
imitation of ----, a well-known Quaker preacher, who had a marvellous
method of intoning his discourses. It was a remarkable sing-song, which
I, or any one else who ever heard it, could never forget. Well John A.,
who knew him well, had caught it, and his imitation was so perfect that
I am inclined to think the old man, if he had been a listener, would
have been puzzled to tell t'other from which. We had a hearty laugh, and
then separated.

[Illustration: SIR JOHN A. MACDONALD'S EARLY HOME.]

I have often heard my mother tell of a trip she made down to the Bay of
Quinte, when she was a young girl. She had been on a visit to her
brother Jonas Canniff (recently deceased in this city at the age of
ninety-two), who had settled on the river Moira, two miles north of the
town of Belleville, then a wilderness. There were no steamboats then,
and the modes of conveyance both by land and water were slow and
tedious. She was sent home by her brother, who engaged two friendly
Indians to take her in a bark canoe. The distance to be travelled was
over twenty miles, and the morning they started the water in the bay was
exceedingly rough. She was placed in the centre of the canoe, on the
bottom, while her Indian _voyageurs_ took their place in either
end, resting on their knees. They started, and the frail boat danced
over the waves like a shell. The stoical yet watchful Indians were alive
only to the necessities of their position, and with measured stroke they
shot their light bark over the boisterous water. Being a timid girl, and
unaccustomed to the water, especially under such circumstances, she was
much frightened and never expected to reach her home. There was
considerable danger, no doubt, and her fears were not allayed by one of
the Indians telling her if she stirred he would break her head with the
paddle. The threat may not have been unwise. Their safety depended on
perfect control of the boat, and in their light shell a very slight
movement might prove disastrous. Her situation was rendered more
unpleasant by the splashing of the water, which wet her to the skin.
This she had to put up with for hours, while the Indians bravely and
skilfully breasted the sea, and at last set her safely on the beach in
front of her father's house. When they came to the shore one of the
Indians sprang lightly into the water, caught her in his arms and placed
her on dry land. This trip was literally burned in her memory, and
though she frequently mentioned it, she did so with a shudder, and an
expression of thankfulness for her preservation.

Of the old people who were living in my boyhood there are few more
thoroughly fixed in my memory, with the exception, perhaps, of my
grandfathers Canniff and Haight, than Willet and Jane Casey. There were
few women better known, or more universally respected, than Aunt Jane.
This was the title accorded to her by common consent, and though at that
time she had passed the allotted term of three-score years and ten, she
was an active woman--a matron among a thousand, a friend of everybody,
and everybody's friend. Her house was noted far and wide for its
hospitality, and none dispensed it more cordially than Aunt Jane. In
those days the people passing to and fro did not hesitate to avail
themselves of the comforts this old home afforded. In fact, it was a
general stopping place, where both man and beast were refreshed with
most cheerful liberality.

[Illustration: AUNT JANE, AGE 92]

Jane Niles, her maiden name, was born at Butternuts, Otsego County, in
the central part of New York State, 1763; so that at the commencement of
the American Revolution she was about eleven years old. She was married
in 1782. The following year, 1783, the year in which peace was
proclaimed, her husband, Willet Casey, left for Upper Canada, and
located in the fourth town on the shore of the Bay of Quinte. After
erecting a log house and a blacksmith shop, he returned for his wife. He
was taken seriously ill, and nearly a year passed before he was able to
set out again for the new home in the wilds of Upper Canada (which was
reached early in the year 1785), where, after a long and prosperous
life, he ended his days.

Aunt Jane was a tall and well proportioned woman, of commanding presence
and cheerful disposition; a woman of more than ordinary intelligence,
and a good conversationalist. She had been a close observer of passing
events, and possessed a wonderfully retentive memory. It was an epoch in
one's life to hear her recount the recollections of her early days.
These ran through the whole period of the American War, and many scenes
which are now historical, that she had witnessed, or was cognizant of,
were given with a vividness that not only delighted the listener but
fixed them in his memory. Then, the story of the coming to Canada, with
her first babe six months old, and the struggles and hardships in the
bush, which in the days of which I speak she delighted to linger over,
was a great treat to listen to. There were few of the first families she
did not know, and whose history was not familiar to her, and in most
cases she could give the names and ages of the children. The picture
given of her in this volume is a copy from a daguerrotype taken when she
was ninety-two years old. For several years before her demise she did
not use spectacles, and could read ordinary print with ease, or do fine
needlework. She retained her faculties to the last, and died at the age
of ninety-six.

She had eleven children, five of whom died young. Her eldest daughter,
Martha, known as Patty Dorland, attained the age of ninety-two. Then
followed Samuel, Elizabeth, Thomas, Mary and Jane. These, with the
exception of Thomas and Mary Ingersoll, my wife's mother, died many
years ago. Thomas Casey died at Brighton, in January of this year, aged
eighty-seven, and Mary Ingersoll on the first of June, aged eighty-five,
the last of the family.

Willet Casey was an energetic man. He accumulated a large property, and
in my boyhood there were not many days in the week that the old man
could not be seen driving along the road in his one-horse waggon in some
direction. He was one of the first representatives for the Midland
District, when Newark was the capital of the Province. His son Samuel, a
number of years subsequently, represented the district, and later, his
grandson, Dr. Willet Dorland, represented the County of Prince Edward.

NOTE: At the time my book was going through the press, I was under the
impression that the fish known in this country as a Sucker was the same
as the Mullet, but had no intention that the latter name should find its
way into the text in place of Sucker. See page 41. According to
Richardson, one of the best authorities we have, the Sucker is of the
Carp family, the scientific name of which is _Cyprinus Hudsonius_,
or Sucking Carp.

On page 127, "and, as their lives had theretofore," read heretofore.