“Your daughter, I hope, is not ill,” I said; “I did not see her at tea last night with her little son.”
Instead of his usual shrewd smile, the old man laughed heartily. “So you take that young lady for my daughter!”
“Is she not? The child, however, must be your grandson, for he is the picture of you.”
“I flatter myself that he is. That young lady is my wife – that little boy my son. Isn’t he a fine clever little chap?” and his keen grey eye brightened at the growing promise of his boy. “I have another younger than him.”
“Heavens!” thought I, “what a mistake I have made! How M—will laugh at me, and how delighted this old man seems with my confusion! “ I am always making these odd blunders. Not long ago I mistook a very old-looking young man for his father, and congratulated him on his daughter’s marriage; and asked a young bride who was returning her calls, and who greatly resembled a married cousin who lived in the same town, how her baby was? And now I had taken a man’s wife for his daughter – his son for a grandson. But I comforted myself with the idea that the vast disparity between their ages was some excuse, and so slipped past one of the horns of that dilemma.
As soon as we had taken breakfast, we set off in company with the American and his little boy to pay a visit to Goat Island, and look at the Falls from the American side. The child fully realized his father’s description. He was a charming, frank, graceful boy, full of life and intelligence, and enjoyed the excitement of crossing the river, and the beauties it revealed to us, with a keen appreciation of the scene, which would have been incomprehensible to some of the wonder-seekers we had met the day before. All nature contributed to heighten our enjoyment. The heavens were so blue and cloudless, the air so clear and transparent, the changing tints on the autumnal foliage so rich, the sun so bright and warm, that we seemed surrounded by an enchanted atmosphere, and the very consciousness of existence was delightful; but, with those descending floods of light towering above us, and filling the echoing shores with their sublime melody, we were doubly blessed!
When our little boat touched the American shore, the question arose as to which method would be the best to adopt in ascending the giddy height. A covered way leads to the top of the bank, which is more than two hundred feet in perpendicular height. Up this steep our ingenious neighbours have constructed on an inclined plane of boards a railway, on which two cars run in such a manner that the weight of the descending car draws up the other to the top of the bank. Both are secured by a strong cable. By the side of this railway, and under the same roof, 200 steps lead to the road above. I was too weak to attempt the formidable flight of steps; and though I felt rather cowardly while looking at the giddy ascent of the cars, there was no alternative between choosing one or the other, or remaining behind. The American and his little boy were already in the car, and I took my seat behind them. When we were half-way, the question rose in my mind –“What if the cable should give way, where should we land?” “You’ll know that when the tail breaks,” as the Highlander said when holding on to the wild boar; and I shut my eyes, determined not to disturb my mind or waken my fears by another glance below.
“Why do you shut your eyes?” said the American. “I thought the English were all brave.”
“I never was a coward till after I came to North America,” said I, laughing; and I felt that I ought to be as brave as a lion, and not injure the reputation of my glorious country by such childish fears.
When the car stopped, we parted company with the American and his brave little son. He had friends to visit in Manchester, and I saw them no more.
Our path lay through a pretty shady grove to the village. Groups of Indian women and children were reposing beneath the shade of the trees, working at their pretty wares, which they offered for sale as we passed by. Following the winding of the road, we crossed a rural bridge, from which we enjoyed a fine view of the glorious Rapids, and entered Goat Island.
This beautiful spot is still in forest, but the underbrush has been cleared away, and a path cut entirely round it. The trunks of these trees are entirely covered with the names and initials of persons who at different times have visited the spot, and they present the most curious appearance.
After a few minutes’ walk through the wood, we reached the bank of the river, which here is not very high, and is covered with evergreen shrubs and wild flowers; and here the wide world of tumbling waters are flashing and foaming in the sunlight – leaping and racing round the rocky, pine-covered islands, that vainly oppose their frantic course. Oh, how I longed to stem their unstemmed tides; to land upon those magic islands which the foot of man or beast never trode, whose beauty and verdure are guarded by the stern hand of death! The Falls are more wonderful, but not more beautiful, than this sublime confusion and din of waters –
“Of glad rejoicing waters,
Of living leaping waters.”
Their eternal voice and motion might truly be termed the “joy of waves.”
On the American side, the view of the great cataracts is not so awful and overwhelming, but they are more beautiful in detail, and present so many exquisite pictures to the eye. They are more involved in mystery, as it were; and so much is left for the imagination to combine into every varied form of beauty. You look down into the profound abyss; you are wetted with that shower of silvery spray that rises higher than the tree tops, and which gives you in that soft rain an actual consciousness of its living presence.
I did not cross the bridge, which extends within a few yards of the great plunge, or climb to the top of the tower; for my strength had so entirely failed me, that it was with difficulty I could retrace my steps. I sat for about an hour beneath the shadow of the trees, feasting my soul with beauty; and with reluctance, that drew tears from my eyes, bade adieu to the enchanting spot – not for ever, I hope, for should God prolong my life, I shall try and visit the Falls again. Like every perfect work, the more frequently and closely they are examined, the more wonderful they must appear; the mind and eye can never weary of such an astonishing combination of sublimity and power.
We stopped at a pretty cottage at the edge of the wood to get a glass of water, and to buy some peaches. For these we had to pay treble the price at which they could be procured at Toronto; but they proved a delicious refreshment, the day was very warm, and I was parched with thirst. Had time permitted, I should have enjoyed greatly a ramble through the town; as it was, my brief acquaintance with the American shores left a very pleasing impression on my mind.
The little that I have seen of intelligent, well-educated Americans, has given me a very high opinion of the people. Britain may be proud of these noble scions from the parent tree, whose fame, like her own, is destined to fill the world. “The great daughter of a great mother,” America claims renown for her lawful inheritance; and it is to be deeply regretted that any petty jealousy or party feeling should ever create a rivalry between countries so closely united by the ties of blood; whose origin, language, religion and genius are the same; whose industry, energy, and perseverance, derived from their British sires, have procured for them the lofty position they hold, and made them independent of the despots of earth.
THE LAND OF OUR BIRTH.
“There is not a spot in this wide-peopled earth,
So dear to the heart as the land of our birth;
‘Tis the home of our childhood! the beautiful spot
By mem’ry retain’d when all else is forgot.
May the blessing of God
Ever hallow the sod,
And its valleys and hills by our children be trode!
“Can the language of strangers, in accents unknown,
Send a thrill to the bosom like that of our own!
The face may be fair, and the smile may be bland,
But it breathes not the tones of our dear native land.
There’s no spot on earth
Like the home of our birth,
Where heroes keep guard o’er the alt
ar and hearth.
“How sweet is the language that taught us to blend
The dear names of father, of husband, and friend;
That taught us to lisp on our mother’s fond breast,
The ballads she sang as she rock’d us to rest!
May the blessing of God
Ever hallow the sod,
And its valleys and hills by our children be trode!
“May old England long lift her white crest o’er the wave,
The birth-place of science, the home of the brave!
In her cities may peace and prosperity dwell!
May her daughters in beauty and virtue excel!
May their beauty and worth
Bless the land of their birth,
While heroes keep guard o’er the altar and hearth!”
CONCLUSION
“Why dost thou fear to speak the honest truth?
Speak boldly, fearlessly, what thou think’st right,
And time shall justify thy words and thee!”
S.M.
We left Niagara at noon. A very pleasant drive brought us to Queenstone, and we stepped on board the “Chief Justice” steamboat, that had just touched the wharf, and was on her return trip to Toronto.
Tired and ill, I was glad to lie down in one of the berths in the ladies’ cabin to rest, and, if possible, to obtain a little sleep. This I soon found was out of the question. Two or three noisy, spoiled children kept up a constant din; and their grandmother, a very nice-looking old lady, who seemed nurse-general to them all, endeavoured in vain to keep them quiet. Their mother was reading a novel, and took it very easy; reclining on a comfortable sofa, she left her old mother all the fatigue of taking care of the children, and waiting upon herself.
This is by no means an uncommon trait of Canadian character. In families belonging more especially to the middle class, who have raised themselves from a lower to a higher grade, the mother, if left in poor circumstances, almost invariably holds a subordinate position in her wealthier son or daughter’s family. She superintends the servants, and nurses the younger children; and her time is occupied by a number of minute domestic labours, that allow her very little rest in her old age.
I have seen the grandmother in a wealthy family ironing the fine linen, or broiling over the cook-stove, while her daughter held her place in the drawing-room. How differently in my own country are these things ordered! where the most tender attention is paid to the aged, all their wants studied, and their comfort regarded as a sacred thing.
Age in Canada is seldom honoured. You would imagine it almost a crime for anyone to grow old with such slighting, cold indifference are the aged treated by the young and strong. It is not unusual to hear a lad speak of his father, perhaps, in the prime of life, as the “old fellow,” the “old boy,” and to address a grey-haired man in this disrespectful and familiar manner. This may not be apparent to the natives themselves, but it never fails to strike every stranger that visits the colony.
To be a servant is a lot sufficiently hard – to have all your actions dictated to you by the will of another – to enjoy no rest or recreation, but such as is granted as a very great favour; but to be a humble dependent in old age on children, to whom all the best years of your life were devoted with all the energy of maternal love, must be sad indeed. But they submit with great apparent cheerfulness, and seem to think it necessary to work for the shelter of a child’s roof, and the bread they eat.
The improved circumstances of families, whose parents, in the first settlement of the country, had to work very hard for their general maintenance, may be the cause of this inversion of moral duties, and the parents not being considered properly on an equality with their better dressed and better educated offspring; but from whatever cause it springs, the effect it produces on the mind of a stranger is very painful. It is difficult to feel much respect for anyone who looks down upon father or mother as an inferior being, and, as such, considers them better qualified to perform the coarse drudgeries of life. Time, we hope, will remedy this evil, with many others of the same class.
There was a bride, too, on board – a very delicate looking young woman, who was returning from a tour in the States to her native village. She seemed very much to dread the ordeal she had yet to pass through – in sitting dressed up for a whole week to receive visitors. Nor did I in the least wonder at her repugnance to go through this trying piece of ceremonial, which is absolutely indispensable in Canada.
The Monday after the bride and bridegroom make their first appearance at church, every person in the same class prepares to pay them a visit of congratulation; and if the town is large, and the parties well known, the making of visits to the bride lasts to the end of the week.
The bride, who is often a young girl from sixteen to twenty years of age, is doomed for this period to sit upon a sofa or reclined in an easy chair, dressed in the most expensive manner, to receive her guests.
Well she knows that herself, her dress, the furniture of her room, even her cake and wine, will undergo the most minute scrutiny, and be the theme of conversation among all the gossips of the place for the next nine days. No wonder that she feels nervous, and that her manners are constrained, and that nothing looks easy or natural about her, from her neck-ribbon to her shoe-tie.
“Have you seen the bride yet? What do you think of her? How was she dressed? Is she tall, or short? Pretty, or plain? Stupid, or clever? Lively, or quiet?” are all questions certain to be asked, and answered according to the taste and judgment of the parties to whom they are put; besides those thousand little interludes which spring from envy, ill-nature, and all uncharitableness. The week following they, in courtesy, must return all these visits; and, oh, what a relief it must be when all this stiff complimentary nonsense is over, and they are once more at home to themselves and their own particular friends!
There is another custom, peculiar to Canada and the United States, which I cordially approve, and should be very much grieved for its discontinuance.
On New-Year’s day all the gentlemen in the place call upon their friends, to wish them a happy new year, and to exchange friendly greetings with the ladies of the family, who are always in readiness to receive them, and make them a return for these marks of neighbourly regard, in the substantial form of rich cakes, fruit, wine, coffee, and tea. It is generally a happy, cheerful day; all faces wear a smile, old quarrels are forgotten, and everyone seems anxious to let ill-will and heart-burnings die with the old year.
A gentleman who wishes to drop an inconvenient acquaintance, has only to omit calling upon his friend’s wife and daughters on New-Year’s day, without making a suitable apology for the omission of this usual act of courtesy, and the hint is acknowledged by a direct cut the next time the parties meet in public.
It is an especial frolic for all the lads who have just returned from school or college to enjoy their Christmas holidays. Cakes and sweetmeats are showered upon them in abundance, and they feel themselves of vast importance, while paying their compliments to the ladies, and running from house to house, with their brief congratulatory address –“I wish you all a happy New Year!”
It would be a thousand pities if this affectionate, time-honoured, hospitable custom, should be swept away by the march of modern improvement. Some ladies complain that it gives a number of vulgar, under-bred men, the opportunity of introducing themselves to the notice and company of their daughters. There may be some reasonable truth in this remark; but after all it is but for one day, and the kindly greetings exchanged are more productive of good than evil.
The evening of New-Year’s day is generally devoted to dancing parties, when the young especially meet to enjoy themselves.
The Wesleyan Methodists always “pray the old year out and the new year in,” as it is termed here, and they could not celebrate its advent in a more rational and improving manner. Their midnight anthem of praise is a sacred and beautiful offering to Him, whose vast existence is not meted out like ours, an
d measured by days and years.
Large parties given to very young children, which are so common in this country, are very pernicious in the way in which they generally operate upon youthful minds. They foster the passions of vanity and envy, and produce a love of dress and display which is very repulsive in the character of a child. Little girls who are in the constant habit of attending these parties, soon exchange the natural manners and frank simplicity so delightful at their age, for the confidence and flippancy of women long hacked in the ways of the world.
For some time after I settled in the town, I was not myself aware that any evil could exist in a harmless party of children playing together at the house of a mutual friend. But observation has convinced me that I was in error; that these parties operate like a forcing bed upon young plants, with this difference, that they bring to maturity the seeds of evil, instead of those of goodness and virtue, and that a child accustomed to the heated atmosphere of pleasure, is not likely in maturer years to enjoy the pure air and domestic avocations of home.
These juvenile parties appear to do less mischief to boys than to girls. They help to humanize the one, and to make heartless coquets of the other. The boys meet for a down-right romping play with each other; the girls to be caressed and admired, to show off their fine dresses, and to gossip about the dress and appearance of their neighbours.
I know that I shall be called hard-hearted for this assertion; but it is true. I have frequently witnessed what I relate, both at my own house and the houses of others; and those who will take the pains to listen to the conversation of these miniature women, will soon yield a willing assent to my observations, and keep their little ones apart from such scenes, in the pure atmosphere of home. The garden or the green field is the best place for children, who can always derive entertainment and instruction from nature and her beautiful works. Left to their own choice, the gay party would be a bore, far less entertaining than a game of blind-man’s buff in the schoolroom, when lessons were over. It is the vanity of parents that fosters the same spirit in their children.
Life in the Clearings Versus the Bush Page 32
