I Had Never Been
Able To Turn My Thoughts Towards Literature During My Sojourn In The
Bush.
When the body is fatigued with labour, unwonted and beyond its
strength, the mind is in no condition for mental occupation.
The year before, I had been requested by an American author, of
great merit, to contribute to the North American Review, published
for several years in Philadelphia; and he promised to remunerate me
in proportion to the success of the work. I had contrived to write
several articles after the children were asleep, though the expense
even of the stationery and the postage of the manuscripts was
severely felt by one so destitute of means; but the hope of being of
the least service to those dear to me cheered me to the task. I
never realised anything from that source; but I believe it was not
the fault of the editor. Several other American editors had written
to me to furnish them with articles; but I was unable to pay the
postage of heavy packets to the States, and they could not reach
their destination without being paid to the frontier. Thus, all
chance of making anything in that way had been abandoned. I wrote to
Mr. L - -, and frankly informed him how I was situated. In the most
liberal manner, he offered to pay the postage on all manuscripts to
his office, and left me to name my own terms of remuneration. This
opened up a new era in my existence; and for many years I have
found in this generous man, to whom I am still personally unknown,
a steady friend. I actually shed tears of joy over the first
twenty-dollar bill I received from Montreal. It was my own; I had
earned it with my own hand; and it seemed to my delighted fancy to
form the nucleus out of which a future independence for my family
might arise. I no longer retired to bed when the labours of the
day were over. I sat up, and wrote by the light of a strange sort
of candles, that Jenny called "sluts," and which the old woman
manufactured out of pieces of old rags, twisted together and dipped
in pork lard, and stuck in a bottle. They did not give a bad light,
but it took a great many of them to last me for a few hours.
The faithful old creature regarded my writings with a jealous eye.
"An', shure, it's killin' yerself that you are intirely. You were
thin enough before you took to the pen; scribblin' an' scrabblin'
when you should be in bed an' asleep. What good will it be to the
childhren, dear heart! If you die afore your time, by wastin' your
strength afther that fashion?"
Jenny never could conceive the use of books. "Sure, we can live and
die widout them. It's only a waste of time botherin' your brains wid
the like of them; but, thanks goodness! the lard will soon be all
done, an' thin we shall hear you spakin' again, instead of sittin'
there doubled up all night, desthroying your eyes wid porin' over
the dirthy writin'."
As the sugar-making season drew near, Jenny conceived the bold
thought of making a good lump of sugar, that the "childher" might
have something to "ate" with their bread during the summer.
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