Every wild flower as it blossomed, and in writing long letters
to home friends, in which I abused one of the finest countries in
the world as the worst that God ever called out of chaos. I can
recall to memory, at this moment, the few lines of a poem which
commenced in this strain; nor am I sorry that the rest of it has
passed into oblivion: -
Oh! land of waters, how my spirit tires,
In the dark prison of thy boundless woods;
No rural charm poetic thought inspires,
No music murmurs in thy mighty floods;
Though vast the features that compose thy frame,
Turn where we will, the landscape's still the same.
The swampy margin of thy inland seas,
The eternal forest girdling either shore,
Its belt of dark pines sighing in the breeze,
And rugged fields, with rude huts dotted o'er,
Show cultivation unimproved by art,
That sheds a barren chillness on the heart.
How many home-sick emigrants, during their first winter in Canada,
will respond to this gloomy picture! Let them wait a few years;
the sun of hope will arise and beautify the landscape, and they
will proclaim the country one of the finest in the world.
The middle of May at length arrived, and, by the number of long,
lean women, with handkerchiefs of all colours tied over their heads,
who passed my door, and swarmed into Mrs. Joe's house, I rightly
concluded that another young one had been added to the tribe; and
shortly after, Uncle Joe himself announced the important fact, by
putting his jolly red face in at the door, and telling me, that
"his missus had got a chopping boy; and he was right glad of it,
for he was tired of so many gals, and that he should move in a
fortnight, if his woman did kindly."
I had been so often disappointed that I paid very little heed to
him, but this time he kept his word.
The LAST day of May, they went, bag and baggage, the poor sick
Phoebe, who still lingered on, and the new-born infant; and right
joyfully I sent a Scotch girl (another Bell, whom I had hired in
lieu of her I had lost), and Monaghan, to clean out the Augean
stable. In a few minutes John returned, panting his indignation.
"The house," he said, "was more filthy than a pig-sty." But that was
not the worst of it, Uncle Joe, before he went, had undermined the
brick chimney, and let all the water into the house. "Oh, but if he
comes here agin," he continued, grinding his teeth and doubling his
fist, "I'll thrash him for it.
