We had fasted for twelve hours,
and that on an intensely cold day, and had walked during that period
upwards of twenty miles. Never, never shall I forget that weary walk
to Dummer; but a blessing followed it.
It was midnight when Emilia and I reached my humble home; our good
friends the oxen being again put in requisition to carry us there.
Emilia went immediately to bed, from which she was unable to rise
for several days. In the meanwhile I wrote to Moodie an account of
the scene I had witnessed, and he raised a subscription among the
officers of the regiment for the poor lady and her children, which
amounted to forty dollars. Emilia lost no time in making a full
report to her friends at P - -; and before a week passed away, Mrs.
N - - and her family were removed thither by several benevolent
individuals in the place. A neat cottage was hired for her; and, to
the honour of Canada be it spoken, all who could afford a donation
gave cheerfully. Farmers left at her door, pork, beef, flour, and
potatoes; the storekeepers sent groceries and goods to make clothes
for the children; the shoemakers contributed boots for the boys;
while the ladies did all in their power to assist and comfort the
gentle creature thus thrown by Providence upon their bounty.
While Mrs. N - - remained at P - - she did not want for any comfort.
Her children were clothed and her rent paid by her benevolent
friends, and her house supplied with food and many comforts from the
same source. Respected and beloved by all who knew her, it would
have been well had she never left the quiet asylum where for several
years she enjoyed tranquillity and a respectable competence from her
school; but in an evil hour she followed her worthless husband to
the Southern States, and again suffered all the woes which
drunkenness inflicts upon the wives and children of its degraded
victims.
THE CONVICT'S WIFE
Pale matron! I see thee in agony steep
The pillow on which thy young innocents sleep;
Their slumbers are tranquil, unbroken their rest,
They know not the grief that convulses thy breast;
They mark not the glance of that red, swollen eye,
That must weep till the fountain of sorrow is dry;
They guess not thy thoughts in this moment of dread,
Thou desolate widow, but not of the dead!
Ah, what are thy feelings, whilst gazing on those,
Who unconsciously smile in their balmy repose, -
The pangs which thy grief-stricken bosom must prove
Whilst gazing through tears on those pledges of love,
Who murmur in slumber the dear, cherish'd name
Of that sire who has cover'd his offspring with shame, -
Of that husband whom justice has wrench'd from thy side
Of the wretch, who the laws of his country defied?
