Introductory material

LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY.

LETTER I.

You ask me, my dear child, to give you a few particulars of our voyage across the Atlantic to Canada, our journey from Quebec to the Bush of Muskoka, and our residence here as emigrant farmers for the last year. As in my diary I have only chronicled the bare events of each passing day, you must only expect outlines of Bush life, and not well filled up pictures. I pass over the anguish of my separation from you and your dear ones, and can only say that when I thought of the attached circle of friends we were leaving behind us, both in France and England, whom probably we should never see again, I felt strongly tempted to remain; but the fact that others of the family had preceded us, and would be expecting our arrival, that our baggage was already shipped, and that your brother had taken leave of his friendly employers, who to the last counselled him to retain his situation, had weight enough with me to prevent any change of plan. We went on board the good ship T——s lying in the Thames, at least twenty-four hours too soon, and lay awake the whole of the first night, as the carpenters never ceased working, the ship having met with an accident on her previous voyage.

The next morning I was greatly grieved to find that your brother had only engaged two first-cabin berths for your sister and myself; and finding that our purse was very scantily filled, had, with his usual self-denial, taken a steerage passage for himself, and got a good-natured quartermaster to take charge of our dear French dog old “Nero,” who forthwith became a stowaway, and was smuggled out of sight.

When the vessel was ready, we dropped down the river to Gravesend, and having taken in more passengers and emigrants, we started for Plymouth. We remained there for a few hours, and I pointed out to your brother and sister the beautiful spot called “Drake’s Island,” where, long before they were born, I had passed a delightful summer and autumn with your dear papa and my two babies. Our regiment was then stationed at Plymouth, and your papa commanded the guard placed on the island for the protection of the powder magazine.

The weather was beautiful when we left Plymouth, and was expected to remain so till the end of the voyage; but after a few days, when well out in the Atlantic, a tremendous gale set in which lasted for several days and nights.

I had been in storms two or three times off the Irish coast, but confess that I never felt so frightened as when at every roll our ship gave (and she was a roller), we heard a horrid grating sound which we shrewdly suspected to be caused by part of our cargo of iron which had shifted its place, and kept moving with every motion of the ship. We were told on arriving at Quebec that this unexpected storm was occasioned by a hurricane in the West Indies. Most of the passengers, as well as ourselves, were possessed by the demon of sea-sickness, and your sister was hardly able to get up during the whole passage.

The tedium of our confinement was, however, much relieved by the pleasant society and kindness of two most amiable English ladies, who were going out to reside with a near relative at Montreal. Every day, after the saloon dinner, they came to our cabin, which they christened the “drawing-room,” and our pleasant conversations there laid the foundation of a friendship which I trust will ever remain unbroken. Our nights from various causes were weary and sleepless, but in the early morning and for some hours we had a diversion, which the proximity of our cabin to the steward’s pantry procured for us. Almost as soon as it was light, Jupiter thundered from Olympus, or in other words our black steward, who was punctiliously addressed as “Mr. H——s,” began the day’s proceedings by having the crockery and glass broken during the night by the rolling of the ship removed, and every order was given with a dignified pomposity which was most amusing.

We gave him and his assistants the sobriquet of “Jupiter and his satellites!” Mr. H——s was a portly negro of an imposing presence, and a benign expression of countenance which a little reminded one of “Uncle Tom” in Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s celebrated work. He exacted implicit obedience, but he was a very good man, strictly honest to his employers, and very considerate to those over whom he had any authority. Not once during the voyage did we hear from his lips an oath or an unseemly word.

The stewardess told us that he had a very pretty wife in London, a young Englishwoman, with a remarkably fair complexion. She also told us an amusing anecdote of Mr. H——s as steward of a troop-ship going out to India. One Sunday afternoon the young officers, tired of playing off practical jokes on each other, and half dead with ennui, applied to Mr. H——s to lend them a book to read.

“You know the sort of book we want, H——s,” said they; “plenty of love and fighting, and battles, and all that sort of thing!”

“I understand, gentlemen,” said Mr. H——s, and presently returned with a large Bible which he placed before them. “There, gentlemen, you will find in that book all you want—beautiful love stories, fierce wars, and plenty of battles!”

His colour, however, was somewhat against him, and I could hardly keep my countenance when a young under-steward, to whom we were indebted for much attention, said to me with quite an injured air, “You know, ma’am, it does take it out of a feller to have to say ‘sir’ to a nigger!”

Of the young friend C. W., who came out with us, we saw but little, for though he had a first-class berth, he was a great deal in the steerage with your brother, who was a veritable “Mark Tapley” among the poor emigrants. He helped the minister in charge to keep order among them, he procured all manner of little extra comforts for the sick women from the surly cooks, and was the delight of all the children, who followed him in troops. He managed to be a good deal in our cabin when we were too ill to move, and also came to us on deck when we were able to crawl there. He was a favourite with all our fellow-passengers, and every lady knew she might depend upon his gentlemanly attentions if required. This comforted me a little for his being in such a disagreeable position.

The sea continued very rough indeed even after we were in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and though I thought the real blue water which I saw for the first time very beautiful, yet I could by no means join in the raptures of my fellow-passengers, but strictly averred, that although a passionate admirer of “Old Ocean,” it was most decidedly when I viewed it from terra-firma. I will not weary you with minute details of our slow passage up the beautiful St. Lawrence, nor dilate upon the interest I felt in watching, first the thinly-scattered white huts, and afterwards the thickly-clustered villages of the “habitants,” with their curious churches and shining spires, backed by the dark pine forests, and behind them ranges of blue-capped mountains, compared with which the hills of my own dear England were as hillocks.

We landed at Quebec and went to the Victoria Hotel, where your sister and I passed a few miserable hours of suspense and anxiety. We found ourselves at the very beginning of an immense journey utterly without means to carry us on beyond the first few stages. The little extra expenses paid on leaving the ship, and the clearing our baggage as far as Toronto, had all but emptied our purse. We were rich in nothing but delusive hopes and expectations, doomed, like the glass basket of celebrated “Alnaschars,” to be shattered and broken to pieces.

We half expected to find a letter with a small remittance waiting for us at the Quebec P. O. Our young friend C. W. was in the same strait, as his money-order was only payable in a bank at Toronto. Both the gentlemen left us and crossed the water to the town of Quebec, where, finding on due inquiry no letter of any kind, your brother was compelled to pledge his gold watch and seal, upon which, though so valuable, he could only get five pounds advanced. This unavoidable delay lost us the mid-day train to Montreal, by which we saw our kind friends depart after taking a most affectionate leave and engaging us to correspond with them. When our two gentlemen returned we were nearly starving, as we did not like to go to the table-d’hôte without them, and the dinner had long been over. We all sallied forth, and found in a small wayside tavern a homely but excellent meal, and best of all, a private room to take it in. From thence we went to the station and started by the seven p.m. train for Montreal, being quite thankful that our journey had at length begun.

LETTER II.

My last letter left us starting from Quebec in the seven p.m. train for Montreal. Our party consisting of four people, we had a compartment to ourselves, but were some time in settling comfortably, as our old dog “Nero” had to be smuggled in and kept quiet under your sister’s waterproof-cloak, for fear the vigilant guard should consign him to the luggage-car, where he would infallibly have barked himself to death.

I noticed very little in the neighbourhood of Quebec, being too much occupied with my own sad thoughts, and regrets for those I had left behind; but I did observe that the cows, horses, and pigs all appeared very small and manifestly inferior to the cattle in England.

During this journey I could not help contrasting the mode of travelling in Canada with the same in the “old country,” and giving a decided preference to the former. It would be almost impossible for either murder, robbery, or any kind of outrage to be perpetrated where the compartments are all open, and the supervision of the guard walking up and down incessant. It is also a great alleviation to the fatigue of travelling to have the refreshment of iced water to drink, and the option of washing faces and hands. Towards night we were beguiled into “Pullman’s” sleeping-cars, little imagining how greatly it would add to the expense of the journey. Sleep, however, I found to be impossible in these close boxes, tier above tier, and towards midnight, half smothered, I made my way to the carriage we had occupied before retiring.

About this time the train came to a sudden stop, and at last I asked the guard why we were so long stationary. He told me that a train which ought to have been in before us was missing, that men had gone out with lanterns to look for it, and that for fear of being run into we must wait till it came up. A most dreary four hours we passed before we were released. We were at a small station in a barren spot of country, where nothing was to be seen in the dim light but a few miserable-looking wooden houses scattered about. It was a cheerless prospect, and we were thankful when at length we went on.

We passed the morning more agreeably, as the guard, a quiet, intelligent man, entered into conversation with us. He was telling us of a curious and erudite book about to be published at Boston, Massachusetts, compiled by one of his relations, from numerous records and papers treasured in the family, and handed down from one generation to another, beginning with the first landing of the “Pilgrim Fathers.”

His ancestor, with his family, came out in the Mayflower, and from that time to the present they had had an unbroken succession of godly ministers, who in the early times of their settlement were called, in the old Puritan phraseology, “sons of thunder.” In the spring of 1871, he had attended the annual family gathering at Boston, to which the remotest connections, if possible, came. I regret much that I did not take down his name.

In consequence of our long delay in the night, we did not arrive at Montreal in time for the early train, but had to breakfast there, and remain a few hours. When we started, we found that we had a hot and dusty journey before us. I greatly admired the environs of Montreal, particularly some pretty villa residences, perched, as it were, in terraces one above the other.

An incident occurred in the course of the day which afforded me a few moments of exquisite satisfaction, which every mother will understand.

While our train was drawn up before a small station, an emigrant train, going to some distant part, went past. Numbers of the emigrants were there who had been steerage passengers on board our vessel from England. As your brother was standing, with C. W., on the steps of one of the carriages, he was recognised, and they immediately vociferated, “Mr. K.! Mr. K.! three cheers for Mr. K.!” Then arose three deafening cheers, which died away in the distance; but not before your sister and I, looking out of the window, saw an indefinite number of pocket-handkerchiefs, of all colours and dimensions, fluttering from the windows in token of recognition.

Towards the evening of this day, as we were nearing Toronto, another stoppage occurred, similar to the one of the night before. A baggage-truck had got off the line, and might be expected at any moment to run into our train.

On this occasion I could not but think our situation most alarming. We were drawn up on a narrow bridge over a foaming torrent, with jagged rocks sticking up from the bottom, suggesting a not very pleasant fate had we been rolled over. Here we remained for four hours and a half. Luckily I was so much occupied with my own thoughts, that I did not hear a gentleman in an adjoining compartment recounting to his horrified audience an accident on the Boston Railway, in which he had been a reluctant participator, the week before, and which occurred to a train in a similar position to ours. This train waited for many hours, was at last run into, and twenty-five of the passengers were killed. Your sister heard every word, but took care not to disturb my meditations.

This accident detained us so long, that it was past midnight when we got into Toronto, and, hiring a carriage, were driven to a respectable, cheap family hotel, strongly recommended to your brother by a kind and gentlemanly Canadian, who was our fellow-passenger from England.

Unfortunately they were full, from garret to cellar, and could not take us in. Our driver, left to his own devices, took us to the “Rossin House,” where we remained till the next day, most supremely uncomfortable, in a rambling hotel of immense extent, where I lost my way every time I left the saloon; where, from not knowing the hours, we were all but starved; and where it was hardly possible to obtain a civil answer from any one of the attendants.

We started from Toronto at three p.m. the next day, leaving our young friend C. W. behind, who, having drawn his money, was going back to Montreal, to pass a little time there before joining us in the Bush. He had also to present letters of introduction to Judge J——n, who was known to be able and presumed to be willing, to assist the views of the son of his old friend.

The farther we went from Toronto, the more barren and ugly the country appeared, and the hideous stumps in every clearing became more and more visible. By degrees also the gardens by the roadside became more denuded of floral vegetation, till at last my eyes rested for miles on little but holly-hocks and pumpkins. Towards dusk, the lurid glare of the burning trees in the far-off forest became appalling, as well as magnificent. I was told that the season had been exceptionally dry, no rain having fallen for three months, and that in different parts the fires had been most destructive. In almost every case these fires have been the natural result of some incidental carelessness. Some wayfarer, far from his home, and camping out for the night, leaves the smouldering ashes of his fire to be blown into a flame by a sudden breeze, or flings the ashes of his pipe into the adjacent brushwood; in leaving the place of his temporary halt, he little imagines the loss of property, and even of life, which may be occasioned by his thoughtlessness.

We slept that night at Belle Ewart, a rising town on Lake Simere, and the next morning took the steamer to Orillia. This passage across the lake was the most beautiful part of our journey. The day was bright and clear, the water blue, and the scenery most beautiful. All was changed when we landed at Orillia. We had to leave our nice, roomy, well-appointed steamer for a filthy, over-crowded little boat, where we had hardly standing-room.

I now saw, for the first time, real live Indians, both men and women, some of each being on board the boat. Their encampment on the lake was likewise pointed out to me. Alas for my enthusiasm! Alas for my remembrance of youthful delight over Cooper’s enchanting novels! I was never more disappointed in my life than when I first took notice of these degenerate samples of “Red Men!”

The men appeared to me undersized and sinister-looking, the squaws filthy and almost repulsive. No stretch of imagination could bring before me in the persons of these very ordinary mortals the dignified and graceful “Uncas,” or the stately and warlike “Chingachook!” We landed at Washage, and after standing for more than an hour on the quay, took the stage-wagon for Gravenhurst, the vehicle being so crowded that even the personal baggage most essential to our comfort had to be left behind. Oh! the horrors of that journey! The road was most dreadful—our first acquaintance with “corduroy” roads. The forest gradually closed in upon us, on fire on both sides, burnt trees crashing down in all directions, here and there one right across the road, which had to be dragged out of the way before we could go on. Your brother with his arm round me the whole way (I clinging to the collar of his coat), could hardly keep me steady as we bumped over every obstacle. In the worst places I was glad to shut my eyes that I might not see the danger. Your poor sister had to cling convulsively to the rope which secured the passengers’ baggage (ours was left behind and we did not see it for weeks) to avoid being thrown out, and for long afterwards we both suffered from the bruises we received and the strain upon our limbs. At last, long after dark, we arrived at Gravenhurst, where we were obliged to sleep, as the steamer to Bracebridge could not start before morning on account of the fog. The steam-boat had no accommodation for sleeping, but we had a good supper on board, and a gentlemanly Englishman, a passenger by the stage and well acquainted with Muskoka, took us to a small hotel to sleep. The next morning we went to Bracebridge, and there we found a letter from your brother-in-law advising me to go before the commissioner of crown-lands and sign for my land. The papers for my free grant of a hundred acres had gone to France, but had missed me, as I had already left. Unfortunately our means were too exhausted to allow of our remaining even one day in Bracebridge, and we thought it more prudent to start early in the stage-wagon, as the magistrate’s office would not be open till ten a.m.

The not being able to sign at once lost me the power of selling my pine-trees, the new law (a most unjust one) coming into operation before I was able to come in again. We were at the N. A. Hotel, and the mistress of it, herself an Englishwoman and not long from Devonshire, told me afterwards how sincerely she pitied us, and said to her husband when we were gone, “That poor lady and her daughter little know what hardships they are about to encounter in the ‘Bush!’” The drive from Bracebridge to Utterson, the nearest post-town to our settlement and distant from it six miles, was a long and fatiguing stretch of fifteen miles, but unmarked by any incident of consequence. The forest fires were burning fiercely, and our driver told us that a week before the road had been impassable. At times when the trees were burning at each side of the narrow road we felt a hot stifling air as we passed rapidly along. It was a gloomy afternoon, with fitful gusts of wind portending a change of weather, and we were almost smothered in clouds of Muskoka dust, much resembling pounded bricks. When we got to Utterson we were obliged to remain for two hours to rest the poor horses, as no fresh ones were to be got. While at the little tavern we heard that your brother C. had been married a few weeks before, as we expected, and that your dear sister F., with her husband, children, and the fiancée, had rested there on their way to the “Bush,” six weeks before our arrival. We were more easy in our minds after this. We were near our journey’s end, the dear ones who had preceded us were all well, and the marriage which for four years I had been endeavouring to secure for your youngest brother had been happily accomplished. I alone of all our party felt a hopeless depression of spirits, a presentiment of long months of unhappiness. Our drive from Utterson was short, but we went slowly, and it was late in the day before we turned into the “Bush.” Our driver called the path we were going a “road;” I saw nothing but a narrow track with frightful stumps, over which our wagon jolted in a manner to endanger our limbs; indeed, though more than three miles from your brother-in-law’s, we soon insisted on walking, thinking it safer. We found the thick undergrowth of “ground-hemlock” very trying to walk upon, as it caught our feet in an alarming manner. Our path was intersected by deep gullies, the sides of which were precipitous. I must say that the horses of this country, like the mules of Spain, seem wonderfully sure-footed, and the drivers, who mostly appear as reckless and daring as Irish carmen, guide them very safely, and accidents rarely occur.

After we had crossed the second gully, our driver said he could go no farther, as it would be dark before he got out of the “Bush,” a thing much dreaded here. Accordingly your brother paid and dismissed him, and we were left with all our packages by the roadside to find our way as best we could. Luckily we came upon a very respectable settler, working on a part of his clearing near the path, who most kindly left his work and piloted us to your brother-in-law’s lot, where we found a very small “clearing,” and a log-house in the middle of it. Your sister F. and the dear children came running out to meet and welcome us, and after the first warm congratulations, F. and your brother went to fetch the newly-married couple, who at once came back with them. There was much to hear and to tell, and you may judge how great was our dismay to find that those we had come to burthen with our presence, were for the time being as penniless as ourselves, and that weary and fatigued as we were, the only refreshment my dear child could offer us was linseed tea without sugar or milk, and sour, doughy bread which I could not persuade myself to swallow. Our sleeping arrangements were of the most primitive description. A scanty curtain shaded off a corner of the room, where your dear sister made a regular shake-down of all her little stock of bedding. Here your two sisters, your sister-in-law, the two children and myself found an ark of refuge. The three gentlemen lay down in their clothes before the fire; and thus passed our first night in the “Bush” of Muskoka!

LETTER III.

The next morning, after a brief and very unsatisfactory toilet, and a breakfast which needs no description, your brother C. and his wife left us to return to their own log-house, entreating me to go and see them as soon as I should have recovered from the fatigue of the journey. You will perhaps wonder that they should have remained the night with us, over-crowded as we were; but the fact is, when we first came here, the forest-paths between our lots were so indistinctly marked out and so little trodden, that to be out after dark was not safe; and, indeed, it is a rule among the settlers here, that should any one be out after dark, the nearest neighbour must afford him a shelter till the morning. To go astray in the “Bush” is dreaded above everything.

I cannot describe how greatly we were shocked at the changed appearance of your youngest brother. In spite of his present happiness as a married man, he bore in his whole appearance the marks of the hardships he had gone through. He had left us, only a year before, in France in high health and spirits, expecting to find in America, and especially in New York, an El Dorado where he might easily employ his little capital to advantage. We found him now fearfully thin, his handsome face pinched and worn, and looking certainly ten years older than his brother, fully five years his senior. In some future letter I must give you a sketch of his many misfortunes, his failure in New York, and subsequent settlement in Muskoka, together with the amusing account of his marriage given me by your sister F.

My first employment in the Bush was to write to my lawyer, entreating a further advance of money, and to some kind friends who had already helped us for the same purpose.

As soon as this necessary work was finished, I began to look about me, both outside and inside of the log-house. I found that it was placed in the centre of a very small “clearing” of not more than half an acre; and the very sight of the dense forest circling us all round, with hardly any perceptible outlet, gave me a dreadful feeling of suffocation, to which was added the constant alarm of fire, for the dry season had made every twig and leaf combustible.

Had it not been for these drawbacks, I should greatly have admired the situation. An amphitheatre of rock behind the house, wooded to the very top, and the trees tinged with the glowing hues of autumn, was very picturesque; and the house itself, built upon an eminence, seemed likely to be dry and comfortable. The house inside was simply one tolerable-sized room, which, like the cobbler’s stall in the nursery ballad, was

It was built of rough, unhewn logs, chinks of wood between the logs, and the interstices filled up with moss. There were two small windows, and a door in the front. The size of the house, eighteen feet by twenty-five.

When your brother-in-law’s logs for his house were cut, he called a “raising bee,” which is the custom here. Fourteen of his neighbours responded to the call. This is for building up the walls of the log-house. Strength and willingness are most desirable at “bees;” but for the four corners, which have to be “saddled,” skill is likewise requisite, and, therefore, four of the best hands are always chosen for the corners.

“Saddling” is cutting out a piece at the corner of each log, so that the end of each succeeding log, when it is raised, rests in the niche prepared for it, and thus the building, when finished, is as firm as a rock. Nothing is paid for the assistance given, but good meals are expected; and sometimes these “bees” are quite festive meetings, where the wives and daughters of the settlers wait at table, and attend to the wants of the hungry visitors. At a “bee” which your brother attended some time ago, all the young women were in their Sunday attire.

At your brother-in-law’s “bee” the female element was entirely wanting, and two or three little things went wrong; but excuses are always made for the ignorance of a new settler, and in subsequent meetings the fare has been better, and full satisfaction given.

In the centre of each log-house stands out, hideously prominent and ugly, a settler’s stove, with a whole array of pots, pans, and kettles belonging to it, which, when not in use, are mostly hung up on the walls, certainly not conducing to their ornamentation. Your sister, always fertile in expedients, hangs a curtain before these unseemly appendages; but my lively imagination pierces behind the veil, and knowing they are there, gives me a feeling of irritation and disgust which I cannot describe.

I may truly call the stove a voracious monster, for in the very cold weather it takes nearly the whole day’s chopping of one person to keep it filled up night and day.

You must not suppose that we had come into a furnished house. There had as yet been neither time nor means to get furniture of any kind. Dear F. had herself only been in possession a fortnight, and we were only too glad to sleep on the floor, to sit on upturned boxes, and to make our table of the top of a large chest. When at length, after many weeks’ waiting, our baggage arrived, for some days we could hardly turn round; but we were most thankful for the excellent bedding and the good warm blankets we had brought from France, carefully packed in barrels. All woollen goods are extremely dear in Canada, and, as contrasted with our English manufactures, very poor in quality.

You know that, from boys, both your brothers have been excellent amateur carpenters, and this fact they have turned to good account in the “Bush.” As soon as time could be found, your eldest brother made a bedstead for his sister’s confinement, and stools, and benches, which we found most useful. For a long time after our arrival in the “Bush,” and even after your brother-in-law and myself had received remittances from England, we were in imminent danger of starvation from the coarse, bad food, and the difficulty of procuring it from a distance.

At the time of which I write, the autumn of 1871, there was neither store nor post-office nearer to us than that at Utterson, fully six miles from our land. I have already told you what kind of a road we found it on coming in. The gentlemen of our different families had to bring all provisions in sacks slung upon their shoulders and backs, no light work I can assure you.

The staple food of the settlers consists of hard salt pork, potatoes, oatmeal, molasses, rice, and flour for bread, which every family makes for itself. According to the “rising,” employed instead of yeast, the bread was either bitter, sour, or salt, and we only began to get good bread when our clergyman from Bracebridge, months after our arrival, recommended us to use the “Twin Brothers’ yeast,” which we found answer very well. With regard to other articles of consumption, such as tea, sugar, coffee, etc., I was then, and still am, decidedly of opinion that we were using up the refuse of all the shops in Toronto. The tea was full of sloe-leaves, wild raspberry-leaves, and other natural productions which never grew in China; and it was so full of bits of stick that my son informed the people at the store that we had collected a nice little stock for winter fuel.

My chemical knowledge was not sufficient for me to analyse the coffee, which we really could not drink, but it was a villanous compound, of which the coffee-berry was the smallest ingredient; in short, we were fain to fall back upon and take into favour real chickory or dandelion, which, with a little milk and sugar, is tolerably nice, and as the roots are plentiful among the potato-hills in autumn, many of the settlers prepare it for their own use.

You know what a simple table we kept in France, but there our plain food was well cooked and prepared, and was the best of its kind.

We found the change terrible, and very injurious to our health, and, what was worse, the store was often out of the most necessary articles, and our messengers were compelled to return, weary and footsore, without what we wanted. We are much better off now, having a post-office and store belonging to the settlement only three miles away, kept by very civil and intelligent Scotch people, who do their best to procure whatever is ordered.

We suffered much also from the want of fresh meat, for though at times some one in the neighbourhood might kill a sheep, yet we seldom heard of it before all the best parts were gone. We also greatly regretted that in a country where even the smaller lakes abound with fish, we were so far away from any piece of water that we could not obtain what would have been a most agreeable change from the much-detested salt pork.

I come now to speak of a delusion which is very general in the “old country,” and in which I largely shared. I mean with regard to the great abundance of venison and game to be found in these parts. This fallacy is much encouraged by different books on emigration, which speak of these desirable articles of food as being plentiful, and within the reach of every settler.

I certainly arrived with a vague notion that passing deer might be shot from one’s own door, that partridge and wild-duck were as plentiful as sparrows in England, and that hares and rabbits might almost be caught with the hand. These romantic ideas were ruefully dispelled! There is little game of any kind left, and to get that good dogs are wanted, which are very expensive to keep.

None of our party have caught the most distant glimpse of a deer since we came, except your two brothers, who once saw a poor doe rush madly across the corner of C——s’ clearing, hotly pursued by a trapper’s deer-hound, at a season when it was against the law to shoot deer. Your sister-in-law once, venturing from C——s’ clearing to ours without an escort, was much alarmed at hearing a rustling in the “Bush” quite near her, and a repeated “Ba—a, ba—a!” We were told that the noise must have come from an ancient stag which is said to have haunted for years the range of rock near us. This mythical old fellow has, however, never been seen, even by the “oldest inhabitant.”

Your brothers have now and then shot a chance partridge or wild-duck, but had to look for them, and the truth must be told that when settlers, gentle or simple, are engaged in the daily toil of grubbing, and as it were scratching the earth for bread, it is difficult to find a day’s leisure for the gentlemanly recreation of shooting. Your youngest brother was pretty successful in trapping beaver and musk-rat, and in shooting porcupine; of the two former the skins can be sold to advantage, but as to eating their flesh, which some of our party succeeded in doing, your eldest brother and myself found that impossible, and turned with loathing from the rich repasts prepared from what I irreverently termed vermin!

I must now tell you how our lots are situated with regard to each other. C——s, having come out a year before the rest of us, had secured two hundred acres of free grant land, one lot in his own name, and one in the maiden name of his present wife, who came out from England to marry him, under the chaperonage of your sister and her husband. This has enabled him, since the birth of his little boy, to claim and obtain another lot of a hundred acres, as “head of a family.” His land is good, and prettily situated, with plenty of beaver meadow and a sprinkling of rock, and also a very picturesque waterfall, where, in coming years, he can have a mill. I have the adjoining hundred acres, good flat land for cultivation, but not so picturesque as any of the other lots, which I regret, though others envy me the absence of rock. My land lies between C——s’ and the two hundred acres belonging to your brother-in-law, whose very pretty situation I have already described.

I am sorry to say that the two hundred acres taken up before we came, for your eldest brother and sister, are at a distance of five miles from here; your brother, who went over to see about clearing a portion of them, says the landscape is most beautiful, as in addition to rock and wood there are good-sized lakes, which make the lots less valuable for cultivation, but far more beautiful to the eye.

When we had been here about three weeks, our young friend C. W. came to us from Montreal, where he had not succeeded in getting any situation, though he brought letters of introduction to Judge J. It is quite useless for young gentlemen, however well educated, to come out from the “old country” expecting situations to be numerous and easily attainable; all introductions from friends of yours to friends of theirs are for the most part useless, unless indeed addressed to some commercial firm. The best and surest introduction a man can have is to be a steady and skilful workman at some trade, and then he can command employment.

To return to C. W. He arrived, in fact, in the dusk of a chilly evening, and was near losing his way in the “Bush,” having to pass across my land, which was then almost untrodden. Fortunately as he advanced he betook himself to shouting, and luckily was heard and answered by C——s, who was just going indoors for the night. They soon met, and C——s took him home, and with him and your sister-in-law he boarded and lodged during the whole of his stay, for at your sister’s we were already over-crowded.

As the autumn advanced, we began most seriously to give our attention to building my log-house, hoping that I might settle my part of the family before the winter set in. Accordingly an acre of my land was cleared, and the logs for a house cut and prepared, a skilful workman being hired to help; and when all was ready, we called a “bee,” and took care to provide everything of the best in the shape of provisions.

Our well-laid plan was a signal failure, partly because settlers do not like coming to a “bee” so late in the year (it was November), and partly because some of the invitations had been given on Sunday, which, as most of the settlers near us were Scotch and strict Presbyterians, caused offence. Only three people came, and they were thanked and dismissed.

The very next day (November 11th), snow-storms and hard winter weather began; but in spite of this our four gentlemen, seeing my deep disappointment at being kept waiting for a residence, most chivalrously went to work, and by their unassisted efforts and hard labour actually managed in the course of a fortnight to raise the walls and place the rafters of a log-house not much smaller than the others. Their work was the admiration of the whole settlement, and many expressed themselves quite ashamed of having thus left us in the lurch.

After raising the walls, however, they were reluctantly compelled to stop, for the severity of the weather was such, that shingling the roof, chinking, and mossing became quite impossible. As it was, E. nearly had his hands frost-bitten. We were thus compelled to remain with your sister till the spring of 1872. We greatly felt, after we came into the Bush, the want of all religious ordinances; but we soon arranged a general meeting of all the members of the family on a Sunday at your sister’s, when your brother-in-law read the Church of England service, and all joined in singing the chants and hymns. Sometimes he was unavoidably absent, as the clergymen at Bracebridge, knowing him to have taken his degree at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and to be otherwise qualified, would ask his assistance, though a layman, to do duty for him at different stations in the district.

We found in our own neighbourhood a building set apart for use as a church, but too far off for us to attend either summer or winter. Here Church of England, Presbyterian, and Wesleyan ministers preached in turn, and thus some semblance of worship was kept up. I hardly dare describe the miserable change we found in our employments and manner of life when we first settled down to hard labour in the Bush. It was anguish to me to see your sisters and sister-in-law, so tenderly and delicately brought up, working harder by far than any of our servants in England or France.

It is one thing to sit in a pretty drawing-room, to play, to sing, to study, to embroider, and to enjoy social and intellectual converse with a select circle of kind friends, and it is quite another thing to slave and toil in a log-house, no better than a kitchen, from morning till night, at cleaning, washing, baking, preparing meals for hungry men (not always of one’s own family), and drying incessant changes of wet clothes.

I confess, to my shame, that my philosophy entirely gave way, and that for a long time I cried constantly. I also took to falling off my chair in fits of giddiness, which lasted for a few minutes, and much alarmed the children, who feared apoplexy. I felt quite sure that it was from continual fretting, want of proper exercise, the heat of the stove, and inanition from not being able to swallow a sufficiency of the coarse food I so much disliked. Fortunately we had brought out some cases of arrow-root, and some bottles of Oxley’s Essence of Ginger, and with the help of this nourishment, and walking resolutely up and down the clearing, where we kept a track swept for the purpose, I got better. Your eldest sister likewise had an alarming fit of illness, liver complaint and palpitation of the heart, doubtless brought on by poor food, hard work, and the great weight of the utensils belonging to the stove. I was much frightened, but after a time she, too, partially recovered; indeed we had to get well as best we might, for there was no doctor nearer than Bracebridge, eighteen miles off, and had we sent for him, we had no means of paying either for visits or drugs.

Christmas Day at length drew near, and as we wished to be all together, though our funds were exceedingly low, dear C——s insisted on contributing to our Christmas-dinner. He bought a chicken from a neighbouring settler who, in giving him a scare-crow, did not forget to charge a good price for it. He sent it to us with some mutton. Your sister has told me since, that while preparing the chicken for cooking, she could have shed tears of disgust and compassion, the poor thing being so attenuated that its bones pierced through the skin, and had it not been killed, it must soon have died of consumption. In spite of this I roused my dormant energies, and with the help of butter, onions and spices, I concocted a savoury stew which was much applauded. We had also a pudding! Well, the less said about that pudding the better. Nevertheless, I must record that it contained a maximum of flour and a minimum of currants and grease. The plums, sugar, spice, eggs, citron, and brandy were conspicuous by their absence. Still, the pudding was eaten—peace to its memory!

We all assembled on Christmas morning early, and had our Church service performed by your brother-in-law. Cruel memory took me back to our beloved little church in France, with its Christmas decorations of holly and evergreens, and I could almost hear the sweet voices of the choir singing my favourite hymn: “Hark! the herald angels sing!” There was indeed a sad contrast between the festive meetings of other years, when our little band was unbroken by death and separation, and when out of our abundance we could make others happy, and this forlorn gathering in a strange land, with care written on every brow, poverty in all our surroundings, and deep though unexpressed anxiety lest all our struggles in this new and uncongenial mode of existence should prove fruitless. For the sake of others, I tried to simulate a cheerfulness I was far from feeling, and so we got over the evening. We had a good deal of general conversation, and some of our favourite songs were sung by the gentlemen.

It was late when our party broke up; your brother C——s with his wife and C. W. actually scrambled home through the forest by moonlight, a track having been broken by snow-shoes in the morning.

A great grief to me at this time was the long interval between writing letters to the “old country” and receiving the answers, an interval which my vivid imagination filled up with all kind of horrors which might have happened to the dear ones we had left behind.

The close of the year silently came on, and I finish this letter with a “Sonnet to the Pines,” my first composition in the Bush, written partly to convince myself that I was not quite out of my wits, but had still the little modicum of intellect I once possessed, and partly to reassure your brothers and sisters, who were always predicting that I should bring on softening of the brain by my unceasing regrets for the past, and gloomy prognostications for the future.

LETTER IV.

New-Year’s Day of 1872 was one of those exceptionally beautiful days, when hope is generated in the saddest heart, and when the most pressing cares and anxieties retire for at least a time into the background of our lives. The sky was blue and clear, the sun bright, and the air quite soft and balmy for the time of year. We had had some bitter cold and gloomy weather, and we found the change most delightful. As in France we were in the habit of making presents among ourselves on this day, I looked over all my stores with a view to keeping up the same pretty custom here; but alas! in the absence of all shops I was sorely puzzled. At last I made all right by giving pencils and paper for scribbling to the children; Eau de Cologne, sweet-scented soap, and pots of pomatum to the elders of the party; and finished off with a box of Bryant and May’s “ruby matches” to C. W., who considered them a great acquisition. Your brother E. came over for the whole day. He now boarded and lodged with C——s, to make a little more room for your sister F.’s confinement, which we expected at the end of the month. I watched E. with delight as he felled an enormous birch tree in honour of the day; but though placed in perfect safety myself, I could not avoid a thrill of fear for him, as this monarch of the forest came crashing down. Fatal accidents very seldom occur, but new settlers, inexperienced and unused to the axe, sometimes give themselves serious cuts. Your brother and brother-in-law have had many narrow escapes, but fortunately, as yet, are uninjured. Your brother C——s before we came gave himself a very severe cut, which prevented his chopping for some weeks. One of the settlers told your brother that when he first began chopping he had given himself a most dangerous wound, the axe having glanced from the tree on to his foot; for weeks after the accident he stood in a washing-tub for security while chopping his fire-wood. This account much amused us, and E——d made a neat little caricature of P. in his tub chopping.

I was greatly disappointed in the Canadian forest, and did not think it half as beautiful as I had been led to expect, for though there are certainly some very tall pines, and these of a considerable girth, yet being so closely packed together and hemmed in with small trees and a thick undergrowth of brushwood, they always seem cramped, and their lofty tops unable to spread out to their full size. Hurricanes here are of frequent occurrence, and at these times it is not unusual for full half an acre of trees to be entirely laid flat, giving the greatest trouble to the settler when he wants to clear. At times the “windfall,” as it is called, is a narrow belt of uprooted trees extending for miles, and distinctly marking the path of the hurricane through the forest. I was less astonished at the constant fall of the trees after examining an enormous pine lying on C——s’ land, which was blown down last year. The roots of this tree seemed to have formed an enormous web or network under the surface of the ground, and only a few large fibres here and there appeared to have gone to any depth. I missed the umbrageous oaks, elms, and beeches of our own parks, and also the open forest glades which so greatly enhance the beauty of our woodland scenery. I am told that the trees in the States are much larger and finer, but of this I am of course incompetent to judge, never having been there. The most beautiful tree here is certainly the “balsam,” a slender, delicate tree whose feathery branches droop gracefully to within a few feet of the ground.

We found the winter fearfully cold, the thermometer being at times forty degrees below zero. We had great difficulty in keeping ourselves sufficiently clothed for such a season. All people coming to the Bush bring clothes far too good for the rough life they lead there. In coming out we had no means of providing any special outfit, and therefore brought with us only the ordinary wardrobes of genteel life. We soon found that all silks, delicate shawls, laces and ornaments, are perfectly useless here. Every article we possess of that kind is carefully put away in our trunks, and will probably never see daylight again, unless indeed that, like Mrs. Katy Scudder in the “Minister’s Wooing,” we may occasionally air our treasures. What we found most useful was everything in the shape of woollen or other thick fabrics, winter dresses, warm plaid shawls, flannels, furs, etc.; of these we had a tolerable stock, and as the cold increased we put one thing over another till we must have often presented the appearance of feather-beds tied in the middle with a string. Indeed, as our gentlemen politely phrased it, we made complete “guys” of ourselves, and I must say that they were not one whit behind us in grotesque unsightliness of costume. Your brothers sometimes wore four or five flannels one over the other, thick jerseys and heavy overcoats when not actually at work, and pairs upon pairs of thick woollen socks and stockings, with great sea-boots drawn over all; or in deep snow “moccasins” or else “shoe-packs,” the first being made by the Indians, of the skin of the moose-deer, and the second mostly of sheep-skins. The great mart for these articles is at the Indian settlement of “Lachine” on the St. Lawrence, near Montreal. They also wore snow-shoes, which are not made like the Laplanders’ with skates attached for sliding, but simply for walking on the surface of the deep snow. They consist of a framework of wood three feet long by one and a half wide, filled up with strips of raw deer-skin interlaced, and in shape resembling a fish, more like a monstrous sole than any other. We ladies, too, were thankful to lay aside our French kid boots and delicate slippers, and to wrap our feet and legs up so completely that they much resembled mill-posts. Had you or any of our dear friends seen us in our Esquimaux costume, you would certainly have failed to recognise the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen you had been in the habit of seeing. To crown all, your brother-in-law and C——s had goat-skin coats brought from France, real Robinson Crusoe coats, such as are worn by the French shepherds, and these they found invaluable. We were very sorry that E——d had not one likewise.

Our occupations were manifold; hard work was the order of the day for every one but me; but all the work I was allowed to do was the cooking, for which I consider that I have a special vocation. A great compliment was once paid me by an old Indian officer in our regiment, who declared that Mrs. K. could make a good curry, he was sure, out of the sole of a shoe!

At other times I read, wrote letters, and plied my knitting-needles indefatigably, to the great advantage of our little colony, in the shape of comforters, baby-socks, mittens, Canadian sashes and petticoats for the little children. Sometimes I read to the children out of their story-books, but their happiest time was when they could get your sister P——e to give them an hour or two in the evening of story-telling. You know what a talent she possesses for composing, both in prose and verse, stories for little people, and with these she would keep them spell-bound, to the great comfort of the elders of the party, and of their poor mother especially, who towards night felt much fatigued.

Dear children! they required some amusement after the close confinement of the winter’s day. Meanwhile the gentlemen were busy from morning till night chopping down trees in readiness for burning in spring. This is mostly done in mid-winter, as they are reckoned to chop more easily then.

You must not suppose that all this time we had no visitors. By degrees many of the settlers scattered over the neighbourhood came to see us, some, doubtless, from kindly motives, others from curiosity to know what the strangers were like. I found some of them pleasant and amusing, particularly those who had been long in the country, and who could be induced to give me some of their earlier Bush experiences. A few of them seemed to possess a sprinkling of higher intelligence, which made their conversation really interesting.

One very picturesque elderly man, tall, spare, and upright, came to fell some pine-trees contiguous to the house, which much endangered its safety when the hurricanes, so frequent in this country, blew. He had begun life as a ploughboy on a farm in my beloved county of Kent, and had the unmistakable Kentish accent. It seemed so strange to me at first, to be shaking hands and sitting at table familiarly with one of a class so different from my own; but this was my first initiation into the free-and-easy intercourse of all classes in this country, where the standing proverb is, “Jack is as good as his master!”

I found all the settlers kindly disposed towards us, and most liberal in giving us a share of their flower-seeds, plants, and garden produce, which, as new-comers, we could not be supposed to have. They were willing also to accept in return such little civilities as we could offer, in the shape of books and newspapers from the old country, and sometimes medicines and drugs, which could not be got in the settlement. There might be a little quarrelling, backbiting, and petty rivalry among them, with an occasional dash of slanderous gossip; but I am inclined to think not more than will inevitably be found in small communities.

As a body, they certainly are hard-working, thrifty, and kind-hearted. Almost universally they seem contented with their position and prospects. I have seldom met with a settler who did not think his own land the finest in the country, who had not grown the largest turnip ever seen, and who was not full of hope that the coveted railway would certainly pass through his lot.

At this time I felt an increasing anxiety about your sister’s confinement, which was now drawing near. That such an event should take place in this desolate wilderness, where we had no servants, no monthly-nurse, and not even a doctor within reach, was sufficiently alarming. To relieve my mind, your brother-in-law went about the neighbourhood, and at last found a very respectable person, a settler’s wife, not more than three miles off, who consented to be our assistant on this momentous occasion, and he promised to go for her as soon as dear F——e should be taken ill.

We had been made a little more comfortable in the house, as your brother-in-law and brother had made a very tolerable ceiling over our bed-places, and your brother had chopped and neatly piled up at the end of the room an immense stock of fire-wood, which prevented the necessity of so often opening the door.

We felt now more than ever the want of fresh meat, as the children could not touch the salt pork, and were heartily tired of boiled rice and dumplings, which were all the variety we could give them, with the exception of an occasional egg. In this emergency your brother C——s consented to sell me a bull calf, which he intended bringing up, but having also a cow and a heifer, and fearing to run short of fodder, he consented to part with him. Thus I became the fortunate possessor of an animal which, when killed, fully realised my misgivings as to its being neither veal nor beef, but in a transition state between the two. It had a marvellous development of bone and gristle, but very little flesh; still we made much of it in the shape of nourishing broth and savoury stews, and as I only paid seven dollars for it, and had long credit, I was fully satisfied with my first Bush speculation.

The 18th of January arrived. The day had been very cold, with a drifting, blinding snow; towards evening a fierce, gusty wind arose, followed by pitch darkness. The forest trees were cracking and crashing down in all directions. We went to bed. At two a.m., having been long awake, I heard a stir in the room, and dear F.’s voice asking us to get up. What my feelings were I leave you to imagine—to send for help three miles off, in such a night, was impossible, for even with a lantern your brother-in-law could not have ventured into the Bush. Fortunately, we had no time to be frightened or nervous. We removed the sleeping children to our own bed, made the most comfortable arrangement circumstances would admit of for dear F——e, and about three a.m., that is to say, in less than an hour after being called, our first Bush baby was born, a very fine little girl.

Your sister P——e, who had been reading up for the occasion, did all that was necessary, with a skill, coolness and self-possession which would have done honour to “Dr. Elizabeth Black!”

I did indeed feel thankful when I saw my child safe in bed, with her dear baby-girl, washed, dressed, and well bundled up in flannel, lying by her side, she herself taking a basin of gruel which I joyfully prepared for her. God “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”

We could well believe this when we found your sister recover even more quickly than she had done in France, where she had so many more comforts and even luxuries; nor was she this time attacked by ague and low fever, from which she had always suffered before.

This sudden call upon our energies made me glad that my wandering life in the army had rendered me very independent of extraneous help, and that I had taught you all from childhood never to call a servant for what you could easily do with your own hands. The very first thing people must learn in the Bush, is to trust in God, and to help themselves, for other help is mostly too far off to be available.

At the end of this month, when I felt that I could safely leave dear F——e, I determined to go to B——e and sign for my land. The not having done so before had long been a cause of great anxiety.

I had been more than four months in the country, had begun to clear and to build upon my lot, and yet from various causes had not been able to secure it by signing the necessary papers. These having been sent to France, and having missed me, had been duly forwarded here. Till the signing was completed, I was liable at any moment to have my land taken up by some one else. Accordingly your brother wrote to B—— for a cutter and horse, and directed the driver to come as far into the Bush as he could.

We started on a very bright, cold morning, but I had walked fully three miles before we met our sledge, which was much behind time. I never enjoyed anything in the country so much as this my first sleighing expedition. The small sleigh, or cutter as it is sometimes called, held only one, and I was nestled down in the bottom of it, well wrapped up, and being delightfully warm and snug, could enjoy looking at the very picturesque country we were rapidly passing through. I did, however, most sincerely pity your brother and the driver, who nearly perished, for sitting on the front seat they caught all the wind, which was piercing. We stopped midway at a small tavern, where we dined, and I can truly say that in spite of the dirty table-cloth and the pervading slovenliness and disorder of the house and premises, I found everything enjoyable, and above all the sense of being for a few hours at least freed from my long imprisonment in the woods.

It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at B——e, where we went to the N. A. Hotel, and were made very comfortable by its kind mistress. The next morning at ten a.m. we went to the magistrate’s office, where I signed for my one hundred acres, and of course came away with the conscious dignity of a landed proprietor.

I was charmed with the kind and courteous manners of Mr. L——s. He reminded me more of that nearly extinct race—the gentleman of the old school—than any one I had seen since leaving England. His son, who is his assistant, seems equally amiable and popular. Seeing from my manner that I considered Muskoka, even at the present time, as the Ultima Thule of civilisation, he told us some amusing anecdotes of what it had actually been when his grandfather first became a settler in Canada. The towns and villages now called the “Front,” had then no existence; all was thick forest, no steamers on the lakes, no roads of any kind, and barely here and there a forest-track made by Indians or trappers. From where his grandfather settled down, it was sixty miles to the nearest place where anything could be got, and the first year he had to go all this distance on foot for a bushel of seed potatoes for planting, and to return with them in a sack which he carried on his back the whole way.

We left B——e to return home at one p.m., but it was nearly dark when we turned into the Bush, and quite so when we were put down at the point from which we had to walk home. Here we were luckily met by your brother C——s and C. W., with a lantern and a rope for our parcels, according to promise. C——s took charge of me, and led the way with the lantern. I tried to follow in his steps, but the track was so narrow, and the light so uncertain, that I found myself, every few moments, up to my knees in soft snow, if I diverged only a step from the track.

I became almost unable to go on, but after many expedients had been tried, one only was found to answer. C——s tied a rope round my waist, and then round his own, and in this safe, but highly ignominious manner, I was literally towed through the forest, and reached home thoroughly exhausted, but I am bound to say almost as much from laughter as from fatigue. I found all well, and the children were highly pleased with the little presents I had brought for them.

LETTER V.

The first months of this year found us very anxious to get the log-house finished, which had been so well begun by our four gentlemen, and as soon as the weather moderated a little, and our means allowed us to get help, we had it roofed, floored, chinked, and mossed. It was necessary to get it finished, so that we might move before the great spring thaw should cover the forest-paths with seas of slush and mud, and before the creek between us and our domicile should be swollen so as to render it impassable for ladies.

When the workmen had finished, we sent to the nearest town for a settler’s stove; and as the ox-team we hired could bring it no farther than the corner of the concession road which skirts one end of my lot, your brothers had the agreeable task of bringing it piecemeal on their backs, with all its heavy belongings, down the precipitous side of my gully, wading knee-deep through the creek at the bottom, and scrambling up the side nearest here. It was quite a service of danger, and I felt truly thankful that no accident occurred.

About this time our young friend C. W. left us, and we were very sorry to lose him, for more particularly in “Bush” life the taking away of one familiar face leaves a sad blank behind. He could not, however, make up his mind to remain, finding the life very dull and cheerless, and suffering moreover most severely from the cold of the climate. He went to Toronto, and at last got a tolerably good situation in a bank, where his thorough knowledge of French and German made him very useful.

Another important event also took place, and this was the christening of our dear little “Bush” girl, who by this time was thriving nicely. Our Church of England clergyman at B——e very kindly came over to perform the ceremony, but as no special day had been named, his visit took us by surprise, and the hospitality we were able to extend to him was meagre indeed. This christening certainly presented a marked contrast to our last. It was no well-dressed infant in a richly-embroidered robe and French lace cap like a cauliflower ring, that I handed to our good minister, but a dear little soft bundle of rumpled flannel, with just enough of face visible to receive the baptismal sprinkling.

We all stood round in our anomalous costumes, and a cracked slop-basin represented the font. Nevertheless, our little darling behaved incomparably well, and all passed off pleasantly. With our minister afterwards, a very kind and gentlemanly man, we had an hour’s pleasant conversation, which indeed was quite a treat, for in the Bush, with little or no time for intellectual pursuits, for the practice of any elegant accomplishment, or indeed for anything but the stern and hard realities of daily labour; conversation even among the well-educated is apt to degenerate into discussions about “crops” and “stock,” and the relative merits of timothy or beaver hay.

We saw but little of your brother Edward at this time, for he was fully occupied in the log-house, where he lit a large fire every day that it might be thoroughly aired for our reception, and then engaged in carpentering extensively for our comfort. He put up numerous shelves for the crockery and kitchen things, made two very good and substantial bedsteads, a sofa fixed against the wall which we call the “daïs,” and a very comfortable easy-chair with a flexible seat of strips of cowhide interlaced—an ingenious device of your brother Charles, who made one for his wife.

At last the house being finished, quite aired enough, and otherwise made as comfortable as our very slender means would permit, we resolved to move, and on the 7th of April we took our departure from dear F——’s, who, however glad to have more room for the children, sadly missed our companionship, as we did hers. The day of our exodus was very clear and bright, and the narrow snow-track between our lots was still tolerably hard and safe, though the great thaw had begun, and the deep untrodden snow on either side of the track was fast melting, and every careless step we took plunged us into two or three feet of snow, from which we had to be ignominiously dragged out. It was worse when we sank into holes full of water, and the narrow path treacherously giving way at the edges, we had many of these falls. All our trunks, chests, and barrels had to be left at F——’s, and we only took with us packages that could be carried by hand, and our bedding, which was conveyed on the shoulders of the gentlemen.

Of course we travelled in Indian file, one after the other.

When we finally departed, your brother-in-law and Sister P——e preceded me, laden with all manner of small articles, and every few yards down they came. I followed with a stout stick which helped me along considerably, and as I was not allowed to carry anything, and picked my way very carefully, I managed to escape with comparatively few falls, and only two of any consequence, one when I pitched forward with my face down flat on the ground, and another when my feet suddenly slipped from under me and sent me backwards, rolling over and over in the snow before, even with help, I could get up. The effects of this fall I felt for a long time.

At length we arrived at our new home, but in spite of the magic of that word, I felt dreadfully depressed, and as we were all thoroughly wet and weary, and on looking out of the windows in front saw nothing but a wall of snow six feet deep, which encircled the house and quite hid the clearing from our eyes, I need not say that we were anything but a gay party. Your kind brother-in-law, to console me a little, went home and brought back in his arms, as a present for me, the little cat of which I had been so fond at his house. I cheered up immediately, and had so much trouble to prevent little Tibbs from running away and being lost in the snow, that it was quite an occupation for me. One member of our party made himself at home at once, and from the moment of our entrance took possession of the warmest place before the stove. This was dear old Nero, who, as a “French seigneur,” had great privileges, was much admired in the settlement, and was always called the “Frenchman!” His chief delight seemed to be incessantly barking at the squirrels.

The thaw continuing, we were quite prisoners for some weeks, and as to our property left at your sister’s, it was nearly three months before we could get it, as your brother-in-law with your brothers had to cut a path for the oxen between our clearings, and to make a rough bridge over his creek, which, though not so deep as the one on my land, was equally impassable for a wagon and team.

Happy would it have been for us, and for all the new settlers, if, when the snow was quite melted, which was not till the second week in May, fine dry weather had ensued. This would have enabled us to log and burn the trees felled during the winter, and to clear up the ground ready for cropping. Instead of this, drenching rain set in, varied by occasional thunder-storms, so that even after the logging was done it was June before we could venture to fire the heaps, the ground being still quite wet, and even then the clearing was such a partial one that by the 15th of June we had only three-fourths of an acre thoroughly ready, and on this your brother planted eight bushels of potatoes, happily for us regardless of the prognostics of our neighbours, who all assured him that he was much too late to have any chance of a return. He had, however, an excellent yield of eighty bushels, which fully repaid him for his perseverance and steady refusal to be wet-blanketed. He also, however late, sowed peas, French beans, vegetable-marrows, and put in cabbages, from all of which we had a good average crop.

We had, of course, to hire men for our logging, with their oxen, and to find their meals. I could not but observe how well they all behaved, washing their faces and hands before sitting down to table, and also scrupulously refraining from swearing, smoking, or spitting, while in the house. A man who hires himself and his oxen out for the day, has two dollars and food for himself and his beasts; and should he bring any assistants, they each have seventy-five cents and their food. You should have seen the gentlemen of our party after a day’s logging! They were black from head to foot, and more resembled master chimney-sweeps than anything else. Most of the settlers have a regular logging-suit made of coarse coloured stuff; anything better is sure to be spoiled during such work.

Our fire, though a bad one, was very picturesque. It did not burn fiercely enough to clear off the log-heaps still wet from the late rains, but it ran far back into the forest, and many of the tall trees, particularly the decaying ones, were burning from bottom to top, and continued in flames for some days and nights. During the logging I sincerely pitied the poor oxen, who are yoked together and attached by a heavy chain to one immense log after another, till they are all brought into position, and the log-heaps are arranged for burning. It is most distressing to see these patient animals panting after their exertions, and too often, I regret to say, beaten and sworn at in a most outrageous manner.

Great care is required to prevent accidents during logging, and fatal ones sometimes occur. I was in conversation with the reeve of an adjoining township this summer, and he told me that two years ago he lost his eldest son, a young man of great promise, in this melancholy way. The poor fellow made a false step while driving his team, and fell right before the oxen who were coming on with a heavy log, quite a tree, attached to them. Before it was possible to stop them, they had drawn the tree over him and he was literally crushed to death.

Not having been able to get the land ready for corn of any kind, and our only crops being the potatoes I have mentioned, and a few garden vegetables, your brother thought it best to give his whole attention to fencing our clearing all round, and putting gates at the three different points of egress. This was the more necessary as your brother Charles had a cow and heifer with a large circle of acquaintances among our neighbour’s cattle, who came regularly every morning to fetch them away into the Bush, where they all fed till night. Your brother made three gates on the model of French ones, which are both solid and simple in their construction, easy to open and easy to shut.

Wonderful to say, some of the old settlers condescended to admire these novelties. Your brother Charles worked with him till this necessary labour was concluded, and we were glad enough when our four and a half acres were securely protected from the daily inroads of stray cattle. Before the fence was up, your sister and I spent half our time in running out with the broom to drive away the neighbour’s cattle, and protect our cherished cabbage plants, and the potatoes just coming up. Two audacious steers in particular, called Jim and Charlie, used to come many times during the day, trot round the house, drink up every drop of soapy water in the washing-tubs, and if any linen was hanging on the lines to dry, would munch it till driven away.

Two oxen and two or three cows used to come early every morning, and cross our clearing to fetch their friends from your brother Charles’. We used to hear the ox-bells, and after they had passed some time would see them returning in triumph with Crummie and the heifer, and after your brother-in-law got a cow, they would go for Dolly likewise, and then the whole party would go off and feed together in the Bush till night.

Fortunately, all the cattle in this part wear bells to prevent their being lost. One day your sister and I went to bring F——e and the children back to tea, when suddenly her own cow, Mistress Dolly, with a neighbour’s oxen called Blindy and Baldface, came rushing down the path we were in, and we had just time, warned by the bells, to scramble out of the way with the children and get behind some trees, while F——e, always courageous and active, drove them in an opposite direction.

The being able to turn the cattle (a settler’s riches) into the Bush during the whole summer, and thus to feed them free of all expense, is a great boon to the settler; but this Bush-feeding has its disadvantages, for the cattle will sometimes stray with what companions they gather on the road, miles and miles away, to the great discomfort of their masters who have to hunt for them.

All through the past summer, after his hard day’s work, we used to see your youngest brother pass with a rope in one hand and his milk-pail in the other, from our clearing into the Bush, to look for Crummie and the heifer. Sometimes he would return with them, but much oftener we had to go without the milk he supplied us with, as Crummie would be heard of far away at some distant farm, and occasionally she and her companion strayed as far as the Muskoka Road, many miles off, which of course necessitated great loss of time and much fatigue the next day in hunting her up. Both your brothers and your brother-in-law are excellent at making their way through the Bush, and as each carries a pocket-compass, are in little danger of being lost.

Just before we came here the whole settlement had to turn out in search of a settler’s wife, who had gone to look for her cow one fine afternoon with two of her own children and two of a neighbour’s, who coveted the pleasant scrambling walk, and the chance of berry-picking. As evening came on and they did not return, much alarm was felt; and when the night had passed, it was thought best to call out all the men in the immediate neighbourhood. Accordingly twenty men were soon mustered, headed by a skilful trapper, who has been many years here, and knows the Bush well. They made a “trapper’s line,” which means placing the men in a straight line at considerable distances from each other, and so beating the Bush in all directions as they advance, shouting and firing off their guns continually. At length, towards the afternoon, the trapper himself came upon the poor woman and the four children, not many miles from her home, sitting under a tree, utterly exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and incessant screaming for help. Her account was, that she had found her cow at some distance from home, had milked her, and then tried to return, but entirely forgot the way she came, and after trying one opening after another became utterly bewildered.

The forest in summer is so unvarying that nothing is easier than to go astray. As night came on, she divided the can of milk among the poor, hungry, crying children, and at length, tired out, they all slept under a large tree, the night providentially being fine and warm. In the morning they renewed their fruitless efforts, getting farther and farther astray, till at length they had sunk down incapable of longer exertion, and unable to stir from the spot where they were found.

I conclude this letter with remarking, that instead of the spring which I fondly anticipated, we burst at once from dull gloomy weather and melting snow, to burning hot summer and clouds of mosquitoes and flies of all kinds.

LETTER VI.

Summer and mosquitoes! Inseparable words in Canada, except in the large towns, where their attacks are hardly felt.

In the Bush, the larger the clearing the fewer the mosquitoes. It is, above all things, desirable to avoid building a log-house near swampy ground, for there they will be found in abundance.

We have four acres and a half quite clear, but unfortunately our log-house, instead of being placed in the middle, is at one end, with a well-wooded hill and a portion of dense forest at the back and at one end; delicious retreat for our enemies, from whence they issued in myriads, tormenting us from morning till night, and all night long.

This Egyptian plague began in the end of May, and lasted till the end of September. We being new-comers they were virulent in their attacks, and we were bitten from head to foot; in a short time we felt more like lepers than healthy, clean people, and the want of sleep at night was most trying to us all, after our hard work. Our only resource was keeping large “smudges” continually burning in pans. These “smudges” are made of decayed wood, called “punk,” and smoulder and smoke without flaming.

When I went to bed at night (my only time for reading) I used to turn a long trunk end upwards close to my bolster, and place a large pan of “punk” on it, so that myself and my book were well enveloped in smoke. Many times in the night we had to renew our pans, and from the first dawn of day the buzzing of these hateful insects, who seem then to acquire fresh liveliness, prevented all chance of sleep. Nor were the mosquitoes our only foes. Flies of all kinds swarmed around us, and one in particular, the deer-fly, was a long black fly frightful to look at, from its size and ugliness. Still, as the flies did not circle about in the air as the mosquitoes did, we could better defend ourselves against them.

We derived little or no benefit from the numerous remedies recommended by different settlers. In one only I found some alleviation—a weak solution of carbolic acid, which certainly deadened the irritation, and was at least a clean remedy compared with the “fly-oil” with which most of the settlers besmear themselves unsparingly.

Towards the end of June I entered upon an entirely new phase of Bush-life, which was anything but pleasant to a person of a nervous, susceptible temperament. This was my being in perfect solitude for many hours of every day. Your sister-in-law expected her first confinement, and we were so anxious that she should have proper medical advice, that it was thought advisable to place her in lodgings at B——e till the important event took place. Her brother coming to pay her a visit entirely agreed in the necessity of the case, and as he kindly smoothed away the money difficulty it was carried into execution. She could not go alone, and therefore your eldest sister accompanied her, and thus I lost for a time my constant and only companion.

I undertook now to keep house for both your brothers, as in his wife’s absence Charles could have little comfort at home. I only saw them at meal-times, and though your eldest brother came home always before dusk, yet I could not but be very nervous at being so much alone.

The weather became so hot, that the stove was moved into the open air at the back of the house, and to save me fatigue your brother cut a doorway at the back, close to where the stove was placed. Unfortunately there was a great press of work at this time, and moreover no lumber on the premises, and therefore no door could be made, and the aperture, which I had nothing large enough to block up, remained all the summer, to my great discomfiture.

At first I was not so very solitary, for a settler’s daughter, who had worked for your sister-in-law, came to me three times a week, and went on the alternate days to your sister F——e. We liked her very well, were very kind to her, and under our training she was learning to be quite a good servant, when an incident occurred which occasioned our dismissing her, which gave me great pain, and which has never been cleared up to my satisfaction.

Our poor dog Nero, who was an excellent guard, and quite a companion, was taken ill, and we fancied that he had been bitten by a snake in Charles’ beaver meadow, where he had been with your brothers who were hay-making. We nursed him most tenderly, you may be sure, but he got worse and worse suffered agonies, and in less than a week I was obliged to consent to our old favourite dog being shot. He was taken from my bed well wrapped up, so that he knew nothing of what was coming, while I walked far away into the wood, and your brother with one shot put the faithful animal out of his pain. Two days before he died a large piece of poisoned meat was found near the pathway of our clearing, and as from before the time of his being ill no one but this servant girl had gone backwards and forwards, as her father had a kind of grudge against your brother for driving his cattle off the premises, and as she never expressed the slightest sympathy for the poor beast, but seemed quite pleased when he was dead, we could not but fear that she had been made the medium of killing him. We found that he had been poisoned with blue vitriol, but we knew this too late to save him.

We buried him honourably, and I planted a circle of wild violets round his grave, and was not ashamed to shed many tears besides, which was a well-deserved tribute to our old and faithful friend.

After the girl was dismissed I found more than enough of occupation, for though your brother made and baked the bread, which I was not strong enough to do, yet I cooked, washed for them, and did the house-work, which I found sufficiently fatiguing, and was very glad after dinner to sit down to my writing-table, which I took good care to place so as to face the open door, never feeling safe to have it at my back.

Your dear sister F. was so kind, that at great inconvenience to herself, on account of the heat and the flies in the forest, she managed to come nearly every day at four p.m. with the children, and remained till your brother came back for the night.

He was occupied for many weeks in making hay with your brother and brother-in-law in the beaver meadow, a large one and very productive. They make a great deal of hay, and put it up in large cocks, but a great deal of it was lost by rotting on the ground, from not being carried away in proper time. The delay was occasioned by none of us having oxen of our own, and from not having the means of hiring till the season was passed.

The not getting money at the proper epochs for work is the greatest drawback to the new settler. If it comes too soon it is apt to melt away in the necessities of daily life; if it comes too late he must wait for another year.

I fully realised during this summer, that solitude in the Bush is not privacy. Though in case of any accident I was out of reach of all human help, yet I was liable at any moment of the day to have some passing settler walk coolly in, and sit down in my very chair if I had vacated it for a moment. I got one fright which I shall not easily forget. I had given your two brothers their breakfast, and they had started for their hay-making in the distant beaver meadow. I had washed up the breakfast-things, cleared everything away, and was arranging my hair in the glass hanging in the bed-place, the curtain of which was undrawn on account of the heat. My parting look in the glass disclosed a not very prepossessing face in the doorway behind, belonging to a man who stood there immovable as a statue, and evidently enjoying my discomfiture.

I greeted him with a scream, which was almost a yell, and advanced pale as a ghost, having the agreeable sensation of all the blood in my body running down to my toes! His salutation was:

“Wall, I guess I’ve skeered you some!”

“Yes!” I replied, “you startled me very much.”

He then came in and sat down. I sat down too, and we fell into quite an easy flow of talk about the weather, the crops, etc.

How devoutly I wished him anywhere else, and how ill I felt after my fright, I need not say, but I flatter myself that nothing of this appeared on the surface; all was courtesy and politeness.

At length he went way, and finding your brother in the beaver meadow, took care to inform him that he “had had quite a pleasant chat with his old woman!”

I knew this man by sight, for once in the early part of the summer he came to inquire where Charles lived? On my pointing out the path, and saying in my politest manner,

“You will have no difficulty, sir, in finding Mr. C. K.’s clearing,” he coolly replied:

“I guess I shall find it; I knows your son well; we always calls him Charlie!”

I had visitors during the summer, who were much more welcome. Two nice intelligent little boys with bare feet and shining faces, the children of an American from the “States,” settled in the Muskoka Road, used to come twice a week with milk, eggs, and baskets of the delicious wild raspberry at five cents a quart. While they were resting and refreshing themselves with cold tea and bread-and-butter we used to have quite pleasant conversations. They were very confidential, told me how anxiously they were expecting a grandmother, of whom they were very fond, and who was coming to live with them; of their progress and prizes in the Sunday-school some miles from here, which they regularly attended; of their garden and of many other little family matters; and when I gave them some story-books for children, and little tracts, they informed me that they would be kept for Sunday reading. They never failed, with the things they brought for sale, to bring me as a present a bunch of beautiful sweet-peas and mignonette, and occasionally a scarlet gladiolus.

When they were gone I used to sit down to my letter-writing; and after all my grubbing and house-work, I felt quite elevated in the social scale to have a beautiful bouquet on my writing-table, which I took care to arrange with a background of delicate fern leaves and dark, slender sprigs of the ground-hemlock. The very smell of the flowers reminded me of my beloved transatlantic home, with its wealth of beautiful plants and flowering shrubs, and every room decorated with vases of lovely flowers which I passed some delicious morning hours in collecting and arranging.

When the fruit season had passed, I lost my little visitors, but was painfully reminded of them at the beginning of the winter. Your brother-in-law was called upon, in the absence of the clergyman, to read the burial service over an old lady who had died suddenly in the settlement. This was the grandmother of my poor little friends. She had always expressed a wish to spend her last days with her daughter in Muskoka, but put off her journey from the “States” till the weather was so severe that she suffered much while travelling, and arrived with a very bad cold. The second morning after her arrival she was found dead in her bed.

I remained all the summer strictly a prisoner at home. The not being able to shut up the log-house for want of the second door of course prevented my leaving home, even for an hour; for the Bush is not Arcadia, and however primitive the manners and customs may be, I have failed to recognise primitive innocence among its inhabitants.

As to the berry-picking, which is the favourite summer amusement here, I would sooner have gone without fruit than have ventured into the swamps and beaver meadows, where the raspberries, huckleberries, and cranberries abound. My fear of snakes was too overpowering. Charles killed this summer no less than seven; and though we are told that in this part of Canada they are perfectly innocuous, yet your brother pointed out that three out of the seven he killed had the flat conformation of head which betokens a venomous species.