"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.
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