It Was The Most Dashing Vehicle
Which I Saw In Canada.
It was a most unbush-like, sporting-looking,
high, mail phaëton, mounted by four steps; it had three seats, a hood in
front, and a rack for luggage behind.
It would hold eight persons. The
body and wheels were painted bright scarlet and black; and it was drawn by
a pair of very showy-looking horses, about sixteen "hands" high, with
elegant and well-blacked harness. Mr. Forrest looked more like a sporting
English squire than an emigrant.
We drove out of Toronto by the Lake shore road, and I could scarcely
believe we were not by the sea, for a heavy surf was rolling and crashing
upon the beach, and no land was in sight on the opposite side. After some
time we came to a stream, with a most clumsy swing bridge, which was open
for the passage of two huge rafts laden with flour. This proceeding had
already occupied more than an hour, as we were informed by some
unfortunate détenus. We waited for half an hour while the raftmen
dawdled about it, but the rafts could not get through the surf, so they
were obliged to desist. I now reasonably supposed that they would have
shut the bridge as fast as possible, as about twenty vehicles, with
numerous foot-passengers, were waiting on either side; but no, they moved
it for a little distance, then smoked a bit, then moved it a few inches
and smoked again, and so on for another half-hour, while we were exposed
to a pitiless north-east wind.
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