It Looked As If A Pretty
Villa From Norwood Or Hampstead Had Been Transported To This Canadian
Clearing.
The dwelling was a substantially built brick one-storied house,
with a deep green verandah surrounding it, as a protection from the snow
in winter and the heat in summer.
Apple-trees, laden with richly-coloured
fruit, were planted round, and sumach-trees, in all the glorious colouring
of the fall, were opposite the front door. The very house seemed to smile
a welcome; and seldom have I met a more cordial one than I received from
Mrs. Forrest, the kindly and graceful hostess, who met me at the door, her
pretty simple dress of pink and white muslin contrasting strangely with
the charred stumps which were in sight, and the long lines of gloomy bush
which stood out dark and sharp against the evening sky.
"Will you go into the drawing-room?" asked Mrs. Forrest. I was surprised,
for I had not associated a drawing-room with emigrant life in Canada;
but I followed her along a pretty entrance-lobby, floored with polished
oak, into a lofty room, furnished with all the elegances and luxuries of
the mansion of an affluent Englishman at home, a beautiful piano not being
wanting. It was in this house, containing every comfort, and welcomed with
the kindest hospitality, that I received my first impressions of "life in
the clearings." My hosts were only recovering from the fatigues of a
"thrashing-bee" of the day before, and, while we were playing at
bagatelle, one of the gentlemen assistants came to the door, and asked
if the "Boss" were at home. A lady told me that, when she first came
out, a servant asked her "How the boss liked his shirts done?" As Mrs.
Moodie had not then enlightened the world on the subject of settlers'
slang, the lady did not understand her, and asked what she meant by the
"boss," - to which she replied, "Why, lawk, missus, your hubby, to be
sure."
I spent some time with these kind and most agreeable friends, and returned
to them after a visit to the Falls of Niagara. My sojourn with them is
among my sunniest memories of Canada. Though my expectations were in one
sense entirely disappointed on awaking to the pleasant consciousness of
reposing on the softest of feathers, I did not feel romance enough to wish
myself on a buffalo robe on the floor of a log-cabin. Nearly every day I
saw some operation of Canadian farming, with its difficulties and
pleasures. Among the former is that of obtaining men to do the work. The
wages given are five shillings per diem, and in many cases "rations"
besides. While I was at Mr. Forrest's, two men were sinking a well, and
one coolly took up his tools and walked away because only half a pound
of butter had been allowed for breakfast. Mr. Forrest possesses sixty
acres of land, fifteen of which are still in bush.
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