Life in the Clearings Versus the Bush Page 5
And left thy hapless mother broken-hearted –
My boy – my boy!
“Long weary months have pass’d since that sad day.
But naught beguiles my bosom of its sorrow;
Since the cold waters took thee for their prey,
No smiling hope looks forward to the morrow –
My boy – my boy!
“The voice of mirth is silenced in my heart,
Thou wert so dearly loved – so fondly cherish’d;
I cannot yet believe that we must part, –
That all, save thine immortal soul, has perish’d –
My boy – my boy!
“My lovely, laughing, rosy, dimpled, child,
I call upon thee, when the sun shines clearest;
In the dark lonely night, in accents wild,
I breathe thy treasured name, my best and dearest –
My boy – my boy!
“The hand of God has press’d me very sore –
Oh, could I clasp thee once more as of yore,
And kiss thy glowing cheeks’ soft velvet bloom,
I would resign thee to the Almighty Giver
Without one tear, – would yield thee up for ever,
And people with bright forms thy silent tomb.
But hope has faded from my heart – and joy
Lies buried in thy grave, my darling boy!”
LOCAL IMPROVEMENTS – SKETCHES OF SOCIETY
“Prophet spirit! rise and say,
What in Fancy’s glass you see –
A city crown this lonely bay?”
“No dream – a bright reality.
Ere half a century has roll’d
Its waves of light away,
The beauteous vision I behold
Shall greet the rosy day;
And Belleville view with civic pride
Her greatness mirror’d in the tide.”
S.M.
The town of Belleville, in 1840, contained a population of 1,500 souls, or thereabouts. The few streets it then possessed were chiefly composed of frame houses, put up in the most unartistic and irregular fashion, their gable ends or fronts turned to the street, as it suited the whim or convenience of the owner, without the least regard to taste or neatness. At that period there were only two stone houses and two of brick in the place. One of these wonders of the village was the court-house and gaol; the other three were stores. The dwellings of the wealthier portion of the community were distinguished by a coat of white or yellow paint, with green or brown doors and window blinds; while the houses of the poorer class retained the dull grey, which the plain boards always assume after a short exposure to the weather.
In spite of the great beauty of the locality, it was but an insignificant, dirty-looking place. The main street of the town (Front-street, as it is called) was only partially paved with rough slabs of limestone, and these were put so carelessly down that their uneven edges, and the difference in their height and size, was painful to the pedestrian, and destruction to his shoes, leading you to suppose that the paving committee had been composed of shoemakers. In spring and fall the mud was so deep in the centre of the thoroughfare that it required you to look twice before you commenced the difficult task of crossing, lest you might chance to leave your shoes sticking fast in the mud. This I actually saw a lady do one Sunday while crossing the church hill. Belleville had just been incorporated as the metropolitan town of the Victoria District, and my husband presided as Sheriff in the first court ever held in the place.
Twelve brief years have made a wonderful, an almost miraculous, change in the aspect and circumstances of the town. A stranger, who had not visited it during that period, could scarcely recognize it as the same. It has more than doubled its dimensions, and its population has increased to upwards of 4,500 souls. Handsome commodious stores, filled with expensive goods from the mother country and the States, have risen in the place of the small dark frame buildings; and large hotels have jostled into obscurity the low taverns and groceries that once formed the only places of entertainment.
In 1840, a wooded swamp extended almost the whole way from Belleville to Cariff’s Mills, a distance of three miles. The road was execrable; and only a few log shanties, or very small frame houses, occurred at intervals along the road-side. Now, Cariff’s Mills is as large as Belleville was in 1840, and boasts of a population of upwards of 1000 inhabitants. A fine plank road connects it with the latter place, and the whole distance is one continuous street. Many of the houses by the wayside are pretty ornamental cottages, composed of brick or stone. An immense traffic in flour and lumber is carried on at this place, and the plank road has proved a very lucrative speculation to the shareholders.
In 1840, there was but one bank agency in Belleville, now there are four, three of which do a great business. At that period we had no market, although Saturday was generally looked upon as the market-day; the farmers choosing it as the most convenient to bring to town their farm produce for sale. Our first market-house was erected in 1849; it was built of wood, and very roughly finished. This proved but poor economy in the long run, as it was burnt down the succeeding year. A new and more commodious one of brick has been erected in its place, and it is tolerably supplied with meat and vegetables; but these articles are both dearer and inferior in quality to those offered in Kingston and Toronto. This, perhaps, is owing to the tardiness shown by the farmers in bringing in their produce, which they are obliged to offer first for sale in the market, or be subjected to a trifling fine. There is very little competition, and the butchers and town grocery-keepers have it their own way. A market is always a stirring scene. Here politics, commercial speculations, and the little floating gossip of the village, are freely talked over and discussed. To those who feel an interest in the study of human nature, the market affords an ample field. Imagine a conversation like the following, between two decently dressed mechanics’ wives:
“How are you, Mrs. G—?”
“Moderate, I thank you. Did you hear how old P—was to-day?”
“Mortal bad.”
“Why! you don’t say. Our folks heard that he was getting quite smart. Is he dangerous?”
“The doctor has given him up entirely.”
“Well, it will be a bad job for the family if he goes. I’ve he’rd that there won’t be money enough to pay his debts. But what of this marriage? They do say that Miss A—is to be married to old Mister B—.”
“What are her friends thinking about to let that young gal marry that old bald-headed man?”
“The money to be sure – they say he’s rich.”
“If he’s rich, he never made his money honestly.”
“Ah, he came of a bad set,” – with a shake of the head.
And so they go on, talking and chatting over the affairs of the neighbourhood in succession. It is curious to watch the traits of character exhibited in buyer and seller. Both exceed the bounds of truth and honesty. The one, in his eagerness to sell his goods, bestowing upon them the most unqualified praise; the other depreciating them below their real value, in order to obtain them at an unreasonably low price.
“Fine beef, ma’am,” exclaims an anxious butcher, watching, with the eye of a hawk, a respectable citizen’s wife, as she paces slowly and irresolutely in front of his stall, where he has hung out for sale the side of an ox, neither the youngest nor fattest. “Fine grass-fed beef, ma’am – none better to be had in the district. What shall I send you home – sirloin, ribs, a tender steak? ”
“It would be a difficult matter to do that,” responds the good wife, with some asperity in look and tone. “It seems hard and old; some lean cow you have killed, to save her from dying of the consumption.”
“No danger of the fat setting fire to the lum” – suggests a rival in the trade. “Here’s a fine veal, ma’am, fatted upon the milk of two cows.”
“Looks,” says the comely dame, passing on to the next stall, “as if it had been starved upon the milk of one.”
Talking
of markets puts me in mind of a trick – a wicked trick – but, perhaps, not the less amusing on that account, that was played off in Toronto market last year by a young medical student, name unknown. It was the Christmas week, and the market was adorned with evergreens, and dressed with all possible care. The stalls groaned beneath the weight of good cheer – fish, flesh, and fowl, all contributing their share to tempt the appetite and abstract money from the purse. It was a sight to warm the heart of the most fastidious epicure, and give him the nightmare for the next seven nights, only dreaming of that stupendous quantity of food to be masticated by the jaws of man. One butcher had the supreme felicity of possessing a fine fat heifer, that had taken the prize at the provincial agricultural show; and the monster of fat, which was justly considered the pride of the market, was hung up in the most conspicuous place in order to attract the gaze of all beholders.
Dr. C—, a wealthy doctor of laws, was providing good cheer for the entertainment of a few choice friends on Christmas-day, and ordered of the butcher four ribs of the tempting-looking beef. The man, unwilling to cut up the animal until she had enjoyed her full share of admiration, wrote upon a piece of paper, in large characters, “Prize Heifer – four ribs for Dr. C—;” this he pinned upon the carcase of the beast. Shortly after the doctor quitted the market, and a very fat young lady and her mother came up to the stall to make some purchases, our student was leaning carelessly against it, watching with bright eyes the busy scene; and being an uncommonly mischievous fellow, and very fond of practical jokes, a thought suddenly struck him of playing off one upon the stout young lady. Her back was towards him, and dexterously abstracting the aforementioned placard from the side of the heifer, he transferred it to the shawl of his unsuspecting victim, just where its ample folds comfortably encased her broad shoulders.
After a while the ladies left the market, amidst the suppressed titters and outstretched fore-fingers of butchers and hucksters, and all the idle loafers that generally congregate in such places of public resort. All up the length of King-street walked the innocent damsel, marvelling that the public attention appeared exclusively bestowed upon her. Still, as she passed along, bursts of laughter resounded on all sides, and the oft-repeated words, “Prize Heifer – four ribs for Dr. C—;” it was not until she reached her own dwelling that she became aware of the trick.
The land to the east, north, and west of Belleville, rises to a considerable height, and some of the back townships, like Huntingdon and Hungerford, abound in lofty hills. There is in the former township, on the road leading from Rawdon village to Luke’s tavern, a most extraordinary natural phenomenon. The road for several miles runs along the top of a sharp ridge, so narrow that it leaves barely breadth enough for two waggons to pass in safety. This ridge is composed of gravel, and looks as if it had been subjected to the action of water. On either side of this huge embankment there is a sheer descent into a finely wooded level plain below, through which wanders a lonely creek, or small stream. I don’t know what the height of this ridge is above the level of the meadow, but it must be very considerable, as you look down upon the tops of the loftiest forest trees as they grow far, far beneath you. The road is well fenced on either side, or it would require some courage to drive young skittish horses along this dangerous pass. The settlers in that vicinity have given to this singular rise the name of the “Ridge road.” There is a sharp ridge of limestone at the back of the township of Thurlow, though of far less dimensions, which looks as if it had been thrown up in some convulsion of the earth, as the limestone is shattered in all directions. The same thing occurs on the road to Shannonville, a small but flourishing village on the Kingston road, nine miles east of Belleville. The rock is heaved up in the middle, and divided by deep cracks into innumerable fragments. I put a long stick down one of these deep cracks without reaching the bottom; and as I gathered a lovely bunch of harebells, that were waving their graceful blossoms over the barren rock, I thought what an excellent breeding place for snakes these deep fissures must make.
But to return to Belleville. The west side of the river – a flat limestone plain, scantily covered with a second growth of dwarf trees and bushes – has not as yet been occupied, although a flourishing village that has sprung up within a few years crowns the ridge above. The plain below is private property, and being very valuable, as affording excellent sites for flour and saw mills, has been reserved in order to obtain a higher price. This circumstance has, doubtless, been a drawback to the growth of the town in that direction; while, shutting out the view of the river by the erection of large buildings, will greatly diminish the natural beauties of this picturesque spot.
The approach to Belleville, both from the east and west, is down a very steep hill, the town lying principally in the valley below. These hills command a beautiful prospect of wood and water, and of a rich, well-cleared, and highly cultivated country. Their sides are adorned with fine trees, which have grown up since the axe first levelled the primeval forests in this part of the colony; a circumstance which, being unusual in Canada round new settlements, forms a most attractive feature in the landscape.
A more delightful summer’s evening ride could scarcely be pointed out than along the Trent, or Kingston roads, and it would be a difficult thing to determine which afforded the most varied and pleasing prospect. Residing upon the west hill, we naturally prefer it to the other, but I have some doubts whether it is really the prettiest. I have often imagined a hundred years to have passed away, and the lovely sloping banks of the Bay of Quinte, crowned with rural villages and stately parks and houses, stretching down to these fair waters. What a scene of fertility and beauty rises before my mental vision! My heart swells, and I feel proud that I belong to a race who, in every portion of the globe in which they have planted a colony, have proved themselves worthy to be the sires of a great nation.
The state of society when we first came to this district, was everything but friendly or agreeable. The ferment occasioned by the impotent rebellion of W.L. Mackenzie had hardly subsided. The public mind was in a sore and excited state. Men looked distrustfully upon each other, and the demon of party reigned preeminent, as much in the drawing-room as in the council-chamber.
The town was divided into two fierce political factions; and however moderate your views might be, to belong to the one was to incur the dislike and ill-will of the other. The Tory party, who arrogated the whole loyalty of the colony to themselves, branded, indiscriminately, the large body of Reformers as traitors and rebels. Every conscientious and thinking man, who wished to see a change for the better in the management of public affairs, was confounded with those discontented spirits, who had raised the standard of revolt against the mother country. In justice even to them, it must be said, not without severe provocation; and their disaffection was more towards the colonial government, and the abuses it fostered, than any particular dislike to British supremacy or institutions. Their attempt, whether instigated by patriotism or selfishness – and probably it contained a mixture of both – had failed, and it was but just that they should feel the punishment due to their crime. But the odious term of rebel, applied to some of the most loyal and honourable men in the province, because they could not give up their honest views on the state of the colony, gave rise to bitter and resentful feelings, which were ready, on all public occasions, to burst into a flame. Even women entered deeply into this party hostility; and those who, from their education and mental advantages, might have been friends and agreeable companions, kept aloof, rarely taking notice of each other, when accidentally thrown together.
The native-born Canadian regarded with a jealous feeling men of talent and respectability who emigrated from the mother country, as most offices of consequence and emolument were given to such persons. The Canadian, naturally enough, considered such preference unjust, and an infringement upon his rights as a native of the colony, and that he had a greater claim, on that account, upon the government, than men who were perfect strangers. This, owi
ng to his limited education, was not always the case; but the preference shown to the British emigrant proved an active source of ill-will and discontent. The favoured occupant of place and power was not at all inclined to conciliate his Canadian rival, or to give up the title to mental superiority which he derived from birth and education; and he too often treated his illiterate, but sagacious political opponent, with a contempt which his practical knowledge and experience did not merit. It was a miserable state of things; and I believe that most large towns in the province bore, in these respects, a striking resemblance to each other. Those who wished to see impartial justice administered to all, had but an uncomfortable time of it, – both parties regarding with mistrust those men who could not go the whole length with them in their political opinions. To gain influence in Canada, and be the leader of a party, a man must, as the Yankees say, “go the whole hog.”
The people in the Backwoods were fortunate in not having their peace disturbed by these political broils. In the depths of the dark forest, they were profoundly ignorant of how the colony was governed; and many did not even know which party was in power, and when the rebellion actually broke out it fell upon them like a thunder-clap. But in their ignorance and seclusion there was at least safety, and they were free from that dreadful scourge –“the malicious strife of tongues.”
The fever of the “Clergy Reserves question” was then at its height. It was never introduced in company but to give offence, and lead to fierce political discussions. All parties were wrong, and nobody was convinced. This vexed political question always brought before my mental vision a ludicrous sort of caricature, which, if I had the artistic skill to delineate, would form no bad illustration of this perplexing subject.
I saw in my mind’s eye a group of dogs in the marketplace of a large town, to whom some benevolent individual, with a view to their mutual benefit, had flung a shank of beef, with meat enough upon the upper end to have satisfied the hunger of all, could such an impossible thing as an equal division, among such noisy claimants, have been made.