_Given By Mr. AUGUSTUS CHUR, American, Of New York, Of German Descent,
November 18th, 1884, On "Oregon"_
My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing,
Land where my Fathers died.
Land of the Pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain side
Let Freedom ring.
My native country thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love,
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above
Our Father, GOD, to Thee,
Author of Liberty,
Thy name we sing.
Long may our land be bright
With Freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might
Great God our King
_November 19th._ - I posted my letter to you at Queenstown. We had
a very pleasant day on deck, and while playing some innocent whist in
the evening, Mr. Burns announced, "We have arrived at Liverpool!" It
seemed so wonderful! We remained at anchor after a very slow, careful
steaming up the river, and it was pretty to watch the lights and the dim
outlines as we passed by.
_20th._ - After a tremendous bustle at Custom House, where our
boxes were all opened, but mine only just unfastened, Dick and I started
in the train across country for Suffolk. We wished a hearty good-bye to
our fellow-passengers. It was sad to see poor Mrs. Bogle standing with
her seven children among her great deal boxes, _screwed down_ (for
she had only time on leaving Barbadoes to pack hurriedly), and then to
look at the Custom House officials opening them all - thanks to the
dynamite people, who make this precaution necessary. I must confess I
thoroughly enjoyed our quiet smooth journey. All the time we had a
carriage to ourselves (Hedley remained at Liverpool to visit the Woods
at Birkenhead), and we only changed twice, having our luncheon
comfortably in a basket _en route_, and reached Ingham about seven
o'clock, where the carriage was waiting, and found dear Edward, Lisa,
Augusta, and Rosa Paley at Ampton; Clara and Jack had been staying out,
but returned after dinner when they heard of our arrival. It was so
delightful to be among so many dear ones again, and oh! the luxury of a
large comfortable bed, and how thoroughly I enjoyed it, and the quiet
and beauty of Ampton altogether! I hear you are expected in London
to-morrow. I never lost anything during my whole journey, excepting two
things, which were left behind in our railway car at Winnipeg, owing to
that horrid cook hiding them; but on this journey from Liverpool, my
emerald ring, set with diamonds, must have slipped off my finger, and
could not be found, though I telegraphed, &c., at once; this is an
unpleasant episode.
_P.S. to my Diary._ - I spent a fortnight of complete rest and
quiet at Ampton with dear Clara, &c., and was under medical care most of
the time with a bad cough and derangement of liver; notwithstanding, it
was a happy, peaceful time, and I little thought it was my last visit to
that dear old house!
On _Saturday, 3rd January_, soon after my return from Weston, when
I had been visiting Lady Camperdown, the three sisters Beatrice, Clara
and Rosa arrived to tell me that the whole house, excepting the study
and kitchen rooms, was burnt to a _shell_ that morning at three
o'clock! A large children's party had been given Friday evening, and
many people had scarcely left at one o'clock, and Clara was not in bed
till half-past one o'clock. The fire broke out at a quarter to three
o'clock, was discovered by a maid visitor, and nearly everyone had to
leave their bedrooms with only the clothes on their backs, and for some
time Clara and Jack, &c., had not time to think of putting more on,
though it was bitterly cold. Thank God, no one was hurt, and as the fire
spread rapidly, and the cold was very great, there was great cause for
thankfulness. Everyone worked well and showed presence of mind, with one
or two exceptions, and Clara and Jack were calm and active throughout,
but it was a dreadful blow and I felt quite _knocked down_, and did
not recover for some time.
On _Wednesday, 21st January_, I accompanied Clara and Arthur, and
Miss MacCormack to Barton, where Jack joined us from Ampton.
On _Thursday_ we drove over there, and I had the melancholy
satisfaction of seeing the ruins, and trying to find something for Rosa,
who had lost everything; alas! without success.
End of The British Association's visit to Montreal, 1884: Letters, by Clara Rayleigh
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