"A gentleman, who lived upon his own estate."
"Did he die rich?"
"He lost the greater part of his property from being surety for
another."
"That's a foolish business. My man burnt his fingers with that.
And what brought you out to this poor country - you, who are no
more fit for it than I am to be a fine lady?"
"The promise of a large grant of land, and the false statements we
heard regarding it."
"Do you like the country?"
"No; and I fear I never shall."
"I thought not; for the drop is always on your cheek, the children
tell me; and those young ones have keen eyes. Now, take my advice:
return while your money lasts; the longer you remain in Canada the
less you will like it; and when your money is all spent, you will be
like a bird in a cage; you may beat your wings against the bars, but
you can't get out." There was a long pause. I hoped that my guest
had sufficiently gratified her curiosity, when she again
commenced: -
"How do you get your money? Do you draw it from the old country, or
have you it with you in cash?"
Provoked by her pertinacity, and seeing no end to her
cross-questioning, I replied, very impatiently, "Mrs. R - -, is it
the custom in your country to catechise strangers whenever you meet
with them?"
"What do you mean?" she said, colouring, I believe, for the first
time in her life.
"I mean," quoth I, "an evil habit of asking impertinent questions."
The old woman got up, and left the house without speaking another
word.
THE SLEIGH-BELLS
'Tis merry to hear, at evening time,
By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime;
To know the bounding steeds bring near
The loved one to our bosom dear.
Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise,
Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze;
Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time
Responsive to their fairy chime.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er vale and hill,
Their welcome notes are trembling still.
'Tis he, and blithely the gay bells sound,
As glides his sleigh o'er the frozen ground;
Hark! he has pass'd the dark pine wood,
He crosses now the ice-bound flood,
And hails the light at the open door
That tells his toilsome journey's o'er.
The merry sleigh-bells! My fond heart swells
And throbs to hear the welcome bells;
Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er ice and snow,
A voice of gladness, on they go.
Our hut is small, and rude our cheer,
But love has spread the banquet here;
And childhood springs to be caress'd
By our beloved and welcome guest.
With a smiling brow, his tale he tells,
The urchins ring the merry sleigh-bells;
The merry sleigh-bells, with shout and song
They drag the noisy string along;
Ding-dong, ding-dong, the father's come
The gay bells ring his welcome home.
From the cedar-swamp the gaunt wolves howl,
From the oak loud whoops the felon owl;
The snow-storm sweeps in thunder past,
The forest creaks beneath the blast;
No more I list, with boding fear,
The sleigh-bells' distant chime to hear.
The merry sleigh-bells, with soothing power
Shed gladness on the evening hour.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, what rapture swells
The music of those joyous bells.
[Many versions have been given of this song, and it has been
set to music in the States. I here give the original copy,
written whilst leaning on the open door of my shanty, and
watching for the return of my husband.]
CHAPTER VIII
JOHN MONAGHAN
"Dear mother Nature! on thy ample breast
Hast thou not room for thy neglected son?
A stern necessity has driven him forth
Alone and friendless. He has naught but thee,
And the strong hand and stronger heart thou gavest,
To win with patient toil his daily bread."
A few days after the old woman's visit to the cottage, our servant
James absented himself for a week, without asking leave, or giving
any intimation of his intention. He had under his care a fine pair
of horses, a yoke of oxen, three cows, and a numerous family of
pigs, besides having to chop all the firewood required for our use.
His unexpected departure caused no small trouble in the family; and
when the truant at last made his appearance, Moodie discharged him
altogether.
The winter had now fairly set in - the iron winter of 1833. The snow
was unusually deep, and it being our first winter in Canada, and
passed in such a miserable dwelling, we felt it very severely.
In spite of all my boasted fortitude - and I think my powers of
endurance have been tried to the uttermost since my sojourn in this
country - the rigour of the climate subdued my proud, independent
English spirit, and I actually shamed my womanhood and cried with
the cold. Yes, I ought to blush at evincing such unpardonable
weakness; but I was foolish and inexperienced, and unaccustomed
to the yoke.
My husband did not much relish performing the menial duties of a
servant in such weather, but he did not complain, and in the
meantime commenced an active inquiry for a man to supply the place
of the one we had lost; but at that season of the year no one was
to be had.
It was a bitter, freezing night. A sharp wind howled without, and
drove the fine snow through the chinks in the door, almost to the
hearth-stone, on which two immense blocks of maple shed forth a
cheering glow, brightening the narrow window-panes, and making the
blackened rafters ruddy with the heart-invigorating blaze.
The toils of the day were over, the supper things cleared away,
and the door closed for the night. Moodie had taken up his flute,
the sweet companion of happier days, at the earnest request of
our homesick Scotch servant-girl, to cheer her drooping spirits
by playing some of the touching national airs of the glorious
mountain land, the land of chivalry and song, the heroic North.
Before retiring to rest, Bell, who had an exquisite ear for music,
kept time with foot and hand, while large tears gathered in her
soft blue eyes.
