Read Ebook: Country Life in Canada Fifty Years Ago Personal recollections and reminiscences of a sexagenarian by Haight Canniff

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Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, Talking their old times o'er, the old men sat apart; While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade, At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.

--WHITTIER.

Amid jokes and laughter the husks and ears would fly, until the work was done, when all hands would repair to the house, and, after partaking of a hearty supper, leave for home in high spirits.

Then came hog-killing time, a very heavy and disagreeable task, but the farmer has many of these, and learns to take them pleasantly. My father, with two or three expert hands dressed for the occasion, would slaughter and dress ten or a dozen large hogs in the course of a day. There were other actors besides in the play. It would be curious, indeed, if all hands were not employed when work was going on. My part in the performance was to attend to the fire under the great kettle in which the hogs were scalded, and to keep the water boiling, varied at intervals by blowing up bladders with a quill for my own amusement. In the house the fat had to be looked to, and after being washed and tried , was poured into dishes and set aside to cool and become lard, afterwards finding its way into cakes and piecrust. The out-door task does not end with the first day either, for the hogs have to be carried in and cut up; the large meat tubs, in which the family supplies are kept, have to be filled; the hams and shoulders to be nicely cut and cured, and the rest packed into barrels for sale.

Close on the heels of hog-killing came sausage-making, when meat had to be chopped and flavoured, and stuffed into cotton bags or prepared gut. Then the heads and feet had to be soaked and scraped over and over again, and when ready were boiled, the one being converted into head- cheese, the other into souse. All these matters, when conducted under the eye of a good housewife, contributed largely to the comfort and good living of the family. Who is there, with such an experience as mine, that receives these things at the hands of his city butcher and meets them on his table, who does not wish for the moment that he was a boy, and seated at his mother's board, that he might shake off the phantom canine and feline that rise on his plate, and call in one of mother's sausages.

As the fall crept on, the preparations for winter increased. The large roll of full cloth, which had been lately brought from the mill, was carried down, and father and I set out for a tailor, who took our measurements and cut our clothes, which we brought home, and some woman, or perhaps a wandering tailor, was employed to make them up. There was no discussion as to style, and if the fit did not happen to be perfect, there was no one to criticise either the material or the make, nor were there any arbitrary rules of fashion to be respected. We had new clothes, which were warm and comfortable. What more did we want? A cobbler, too, was brought in to make our boots. My father was quite an expert at shoemaking, but he had so many irons in the fire now that he could not do more than mend or make a light pair of shoes for mother at odd spells. The work then turned out by the sons of St. Crispin was not highly finished. It was coarse, but, what was of greater consequence, it was strong, and wore well. While all this was going on for the benefit of the male portion of the house, mother and the girls were busy turning the white flannels into shirts and drawers, and the plaid roll that came with it into dresses for themselves. As in the case of our clothes, there was no consulting of fashion-books, for a very good reason, perhaps--there was none to consult. No talk about Miss Brown or Miss Smith having her dress made this way or that; and I am sure they were far happier and contented than the girls of to-day, with all their show and glitter.

The roads at that time, more particularly in the fall, were almost impassable until frozen up. In the spring, until the frost was out of the ground, and they had settled and dried, they were no better. The bridges were rough, wooden affairs, covered with logs, usually flattened on one side with an axe. The swamps and marshes were made passable by laying down logs, of nearly equal size, close together in the worst places. These were known as corduroy roads, and were no pleasant highways to ride over for any distance, as all who have tried them know. But in the winter the frost and snow made good traveling everywhere, and hence the winter was the time for the farmer to do his teaming.

One of the first things that claimed attention when the sleighing began, and before the snow got deep in the woods, was to get out the year's supply of fuel. The men set out for the bush before it was fairly daylight, and commenced chopping. The trees were cut in lengths of about ten feet, and the brush piled in heaps. Then my father, or myself, when I got old enough, followed with the sleigh, and began drawing it, until the wood yard was filled with sound beech and maple, with a few loads of dry pine for kindling. These huge wood-piles always bore a thrifty appearance, and spoke of comfort and good cheer within.

Just before Christmas there was always one or two beef cattle to kill. Sheep had also to be slaughtered, with the turkeys, geese and ducks, which had been getting ready for decapitation. After home wants were provided for, the rest were sent to market.

The winter's work now began in earnest, for whatever may be said about the enjoyment of Canadian winter life--and it is an enjoyable time to the Canadian--there are few who really enjoy it so much as the farmer. He cannot, however, do like bruin--roll himself up in the fall, and suck his paw until spring in a state of semi-unconsciousness, for his cares are numerous and imperious, his work varied and laborious. His large stock demands regular attention, and must be fed morning and night. The great barn filled with grain had to be threshed, for the cattle needed the straw, and the grain had to be got out for the market. So day after day he and his men hammered away with the flail, or spread the sheaves on the barn floor to be trampled out by horses. Threshing machines were unknown then, as were all the labour-saving machines now so extensively used by the farmer. His muscular arm was the only machine he then had to rely upon, and if it did not accomplish much, it succeeded in doing its work well, and in providing him with all his modest wants. Then the fanning mill came into play to clean the grain, after which it was carried to the granary, whence again it was taken either to the mill or to market. Winter was also the time to get out the logs from the woods, and to haul them to the mill to be sawed in the spring--we always had a use for boards. These saw mills, built on sap-streams, which ran dry as soon as the spring freshets were over, were like the cider mills, small rough structures. They had but one upright saw, which, owing to its primitive construction, did not move as now, with lightning rapidity, nor did it turn out a very large quantity of stuff. It answered the purpose of the day, however, and that was all that was required or expected of it. Rails, also, had to be split and drawn to where new fences were wanted, or where old ones needed repairs. There were flour, beef, mutton, butter, apples, and a score more of things to be taken to market and disposed of. But, notwithstanding all this, the winter was a good, joyful time for the farmer--a time, moreover, when the social requisites of his nature received the most attention. Often the horses would be put to the sleigh, and we would set off, well bundled up, to visit some friends a few miles distant, or, as frequently happened, to visit an uncle or an aunt, far away in the new settlements. The roads often wound along for miles through the forest, and it was great fun for us youngsters to be dashing along behind a spirited team, now around the trunks of great trees, or under the low-hanging boughs of the spruce or cedar, laden with snow, which sometimes shed their heavy load upon our head. But after a while the cold would seize upon us, and we would wish our journey at an end.

The horses, white with frost, would then be pressed on faster, and would bring us at length to the door. In a few moments we would all be seated round the glowing fire, which would soon quiet our chattering teeth, thaw us out, and prepare us to take our places at the repast which had been getting ready in the meantime. We were sure to do justice to the good things which the table provided.

Many of these early days start up vividly and brightly before me, particularly since I have grown to manhood, and lived amid other surroundings. Among the most pleasing of these recollections are some of my drives on a moonlight night, when the sleighing was good, and when the sleigh, with its robes and rugs, was packed with a merry lot of girls and boys . Off we would set, spanking along over the crisp snow, which creaked and cracked under the runners, making a low murmuring sound in harmony with the sleigh-bells. When could a more fitting time be found for a pleasure-ride than on one of those clear calm nights; when the earth, wrapped in her mantle of snow, glistened and sparkled in the moonbeams, and the blue vault of heaven glittered with countless stars, whose brilliancy seemed intensified by the cold--when the aurora borealis waved and danced across the northern sky, and the frost noiselessly fell like flakes of silver upon a scene at once inspiriting, exhilarating and joyous! How the merry laugh floated along in the evening air, as we dashed along the road! How sweetly the merry song and chorus echoed through the silent wood; while our hearts were aglow with excitement, and all nature seemed to respond to the happy scene!

Ho for the bay, the ice-bound bay! The moon is up, the stars are bright; The air is keen, but let it play-- We're proof against Jack Frost to-night. With a sturdy swing and lengthy stride, The glassy ice shall feel our steel; And through the welkin far and wide The echo of our song shall peal.

CHORUS.--Hurrah, boys, hurrah! skates on and away! You may lag at your work, but never at play; Give wing to your feet, and make the ice ring, Give voice to your mirth, and merrily sing.

Ho for the boy who does not care A fig for cold or northern blast! Whose winged feet can cut the air Swift as an arrow from bowman cast: Who can give a long and hearty chase, And wheel and whirl; then in a trice Inscribe his name in the polished face, Of the cold and clear and glistening ice.

CHORUS.

Ho, boys! the night is waning fast; The moon's last rays but faintly gleam. The hours have glided swiftly past, And we must home to rest and dream. The morning's light must find us moving, Ready our daily tasks to do; This is the way we have of proving We can do our part at working too.

CHORUS.

THE ROUND OF PIONEER LIFE--GAME--NIGHT FISHING--MORE DETAILS ABOUT SUGAR-MAKING--SUGARING-OFF--TAKING A HAND AT THE OLD CHURN--SHEEP- WASHING-COUNTRY GIRLS, THEN AND NOW--SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW--"OLD GRAY" AND HIS ECCENTRICITIES--HARVEST--MY EARLY EMULATION OF PETER PAUL RUBENS--MEETING-HOUSES--ELIA ON QUAKER MEETINGS--VARIEGATED AUTUMN LANDSCAPES--LOGGING AND QUILTING BEES--EVENING FUN--THE TOUCHING LAY OF THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO SAT DOWN TO SLEEP.

Visiting for the older folk and sleigh-riding for the younger were the principal amusements of the winter. The life then led was very plain and uneventful. There was no ostentatious display, or assumption of superiority by the "first families." Indeed there was no room for the lines of demarcation which exist in these days. All had to struggle for a home and home comforts, and if some had been more successful in the rough battle of pioneer life than others, they saw no reason why they should be elated or puffed up over it. Neighbours were too scarce to be coldly or haughtily treated. They had hewn their way, side by side, into the fastnesses of the Canadian bush, and therefore stood on one common level. But few superfluities could be found either in their houses or on their persons. Their dress was of home-made fabric, plain, often coarse, but substantial and comfortable. Their manners were cordial and hearty, even to brusqueness, but they were true friends and honest counsellors, rejoicing with their neighbours in prosperity, and sympathising when days of darkness visited their homes. Modern refinement had not crept into their domestic circle to disturb it with shams and pretensions. Fashion had no court wherein to adjudicate on matters of dress. Time- worn styles of dress and living were considered the best, and hence there was no rivalry or foolish display in either. Both old and young enjoyed an evening at a friend's house, where they were sure to be welcomed, and where a well-supplied table always greeted them. The home amusements were very limited. Music, with its refining power, was uncultivated, and indeed almost unknown. There were no musical instruments, unless some wandering fiddler happened to come along to delight both old and young with his crazy instrument. There were no critical ears to detect discordant sounds, or be displeased with the poor execution of the rambling musician. The young folk would sometimes spirit him away to the village tavern, which was usually provided with a large room called a ball-room, where he would fiddle while they danced the hours gaily away. At home the family gathered round the glowing fire, where work and conversation moved on together. The old motto of "Early to bed, and early to rise" was strictly observed. Nine o'clock usually found the household wrapt in slumber. In the morning all were up and breakfast was over usually before seven. As soon as it began to get light, the men and boys started for the barn to feed the cattle and thresh; and thus the winter wore away.

Very little things sometimes contribute largely to the comfort of a family, and among those I may mention the lucifer match, then unknown. It was necessary to carefully cover up the live coals on the hearth before going to bed, so that there would be something to start the fire with in the morning. This precaution rarely failed with good hard-wood coals. But sometimes they died out, and then some one would have to go to a neighbour's house for fire, a thing which I have done sometimes, and it was not nice to have to crawl out of my warm nest and run through the keen cold air for a half mile or more to fetch some live coals, before the morning light had broken in the east. My father usually kept some bundles of finely split pine sticks tipped with brimstone for starting a fire. With these, if there was only a spark left, a fire could soon be made.

But little time was given to sport, although there was plenty of large game. There was something of more importance always claiming attention. In the winter an occasional deer might be shot, and foxes were sometimes taken in traps. It required a good deal of experience and skill to set a trap so as to catch the cunning beast. Many stories have I heard trappers tell of tricks played by Reynard, and how he had, night after night, baffled all their ingenuity, upset the traps, set them off, or removed them, secured the bait, and away. Another sport more largely patronized in the spring, because it brought something fresh and inviting to the table, was night-fishing. When the creeks were swollen, and the nights were calm and warm, pike and mullet came up the streams in great abundance. Three or four would set out with spears, with a man to carry the jack, and also a supply of dry pine knots, as full of resin as could be found, and cut up small, which were deposited in different places along the creek. The jack was then filled and lit, and when it was all ablaze carried along the edge of the stream, closely followed by the spearsman, who, if an expert, would in a short time secure as many fish as could be carried. It required a sharp eye and a sure aim. The fish shot through the water with great rapidity, which rendered the sport all the more exciting. All hands, of course, returned home thoroughly soaked. Another and pleasanter way was fishing in a canoe on the bay, with the lighted jack secured in the bow. While there its light shone for a considerable distance around, and enabled the fishers to see the smallest fish low down in the clear calm water. This was really enjoyable sport, and generally resulted in a good catch of pike, pickerel, and, very often, a maskelonge or two.

Now the hams and beef had to be got out of the casks, and hung up in the smoke-house to be smoked. The spring work crowded on rapidly. Ploughing, fencing, sawing and planting followed in quick succession. All hands were busy. The younger ones had to drive the cows to pasture in the morning and bring them up at night. They had also to take a hand at the old churn, and it was a weary task, as I remember well, to stand for an hour, perhaps, and drive the dasher up and down through the thick cream. How often the handle was examined to see if there were any indications of butter; and what satisfaction there was in getting over with it. As soon as my legs were long enough I had to follow a team, and drag in grain--in fact, before, for I was mounted on the back of one of the horses when my nether limbs were hardly long enough to hold me to my seat. The implements then in use were very rough. Iron ploughs, with cast iron mouldboards, shears, &c., were generally used. As compared with the ploughs of to-day they were clumsy things, but were a great advance over the old wooden ploughs which had not yet altogether gone out of use. Tree tops were frequently used for drags. Riding a horse in the field, under a hot sun, which I frequently had to do, was not as agreeable as it might seem at the first blush.

In June came sheep-washing. The sheep were driven to the bay shore and secured in a pen, whence they were taken one by one into the bay, and their fleece well washed, after which they were let go. In a few days they were brought to the barn and sheared. The wool was then sorted; some of it being retained to be carded by hand, the rest sent to the mill to be turned into rolls; and when they were brought home the hum of the spinning wheel was heard day after day, for weeks, and the steady beat of the girls' feet on the floor, as they walked forward and backward drawing out and twisting the thread, and then letting it run upon the spindle. Of course the quality of the cloth depended on the fineness and evenness of the thread; and a great deal of pains was taken to turn out good work. When the spinning was done, the yarn was taken away to the weaver to be converted into cloth. As I have said before, there were no drones in a farmer's house then. While the work was being pushed outside with vigour, it did not stand still inside. The thrifty housewife was always busy. Beside the daily round of cares that continually pressed upon her, the winter had hardly passed away before she began to make preparations for the next. There were wild strawberries and raspberries to pickle and preserve, of which the family had their share as they came, supplemented with an abundance of rich cream and sugar; and so with the other fruits in their turn. There was the daily task, too, of milking, and the less frequent one of making butter and cheese. The girls were always out in the yard by sunrise, and soon came tripping in with red cheeks and flowing pails of milk; and at sunset the scene was repeated. The matron required no nurse to take care of the children; no cook to superintend the kitchen; no chamber-maid to make the beds and do the dusting. She had, very likely, one or two hired girls, neighbours' daughters. It was quite common then for farmers' daughters to go out to work when their services could be dispensed with at home. They were treated as equals, and took as much interest in the affairs of the family as the mistress herself. The fact of a girl going out to work did not affect her position. On the contrary, it was rather in her favour, and showed that she had some ambition about her. The girls, in those days, were quite as much at home in the kitchen as in the drawing-room or boudoir. They could do better execution over a wash tub than at a spinet. They could handle a rolling pin with more satisfaction than a sketch book; and if necessity required, could go out in the field and handle a fork and rake with practical results. They were educated in the country school house--

"Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,"

with their brothers, and not at a city boarding school. They had not so much as dreamed of fashion books, or heard of fashionable milliners. Their accomplishments were picked up at home, not abroad. And with all these drawbacks, they were pure, modest, affectionate. They made good wives; and that they were the best and most thoughtful mothers that ever watched over the well-being of their children, many remember full well.

Country life was practical and plodding in those days. Ambition did not lure the husbandman to days of luxury and ease, but to the accomplishment of a good day's work, and a future crowned with the fruits of honest industry. If the girls were prepared for the future by the watchful care and example of the mothers, so the boys followed in the footsteps of their fathers. They did not look upon their lives as burdensome. They did not feel that the occupation of a farmer was less honourable than any other. The merchant's shop did not possess more attraction than the barn. Fine clothes were neither so durable nor so cheap as home-made suits. Fashionable tailors did not exist to lure them into extravagance, and the town-bred dandy had not broken loose to taint them with his follies. Their aspirations did not lead into ways of display and idleness, or their association to bad habits. They were content to work as their fathers had done, and their aim was to become as exemplary and respected as they were. It was in such a school and under such masters that the foundation of Canadian prosperity was laid, and it is not gratifying to the thoughtful mind, after the survey of such a picture, to find that although our material prosperity in the space of fifty years has been marvellous, we have been gradually departing from the sterling example set us by our progenitors, for twenty years at least. "Dead flies" of extravagance have found their way into the "ointment" of domestic life, and their "savour" is keenly felt. In our haste to become rich, we have abandoned the old road of honest industry. To acquire wealth, and to rise in the social scale, we have cast behind us those principles which give tone and value to position. We are not like the Israelites who longed for the "flesh pots" they had left behind in Egypt; yet when we look around it is difficult to keep back the question put by the Ecclesiast, "What is the cause that the former days were better than these?" and the answer we think is not difficult to find. Our daughters are brought up now like tender plants, more for ornament than use. The practical lessons of life are neglected for the superficial. We send our sons to college, and there they fly from the fostering care of home; they crowd into our towns and cities-- sometimes to rise, it is true, but more frequently to fall, and to become worthless members of society. Like the dog in the fable, we ourselves have let the substance drop, while our gaze has been glamoured by the shadow.

Early in July the haying began. The mowers were expected to be in the meadow by sunrise; and all through the day the rasp of their whetstones could be heard, as they dexterously drew them with a quick motion of the hand, first along one side of the scythe and then the other; after which they went swinging across the field, the waving grass falling rapidly before their keen blades, and dropping in swathes at their side. The days were not then divided off into a stated number of working hours. The rule was to begin with the morning light and continue as long as you could see. Of course men had to eat in those days as well as now, and the blast of the old tin dinner-horn fell on the ear with more melodious sound than the grandest orchestra to the musical enthusiast. Even "Old Gray," when I followed the plough, used to give answer to the cheerful wind of the horn by a loud whinny, and stop in the furrow, as if to say, "There now, off with my harness, and let us to dinner." If I happened to be in the middle of the field, I had considerable trouble to get the old fellow to go on to the end.

I must say a few words in this place about "Old Gray." Why he was always called "Old Gray" is more than I know. His colour could not have suggested the name, for he was a bright roan, almost a bay. He was by no means a pretty animal, being raw-boned, and never seeming to be in first-rate condition; but he was endowed with remarkable sagacity and great endurance, and was, moreover, a fleet trotter. When my father began the work for himself he was a part of his chattels, and survived his master several years. Father drove him twice to Little York one winter, a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles, accomplishing the trip both times inside of a week. He never would allow a team to pass him. It was customary in those days, particularly with youngsters in the winter, to turn out and run by, and many such races I have had; but the moment a team turned out of the track to pass "Old Gray," he was off like a shot, and you might as well try to hold a locomotive with pins as him with an ordinary bit. He was skittish, and often ran away. On one occasion, when I was very young, he ran off with father and myself in a single waggon. We were both thrown out, and, our feet becoming entangled in the lines, we were dragged some distance. The wheel passed over my head, and cut it so that it bled freely, but the wound was not serious. My father was badly hurt. After a while we started for home, and before we reached it the old scamp got frightened at a log, and set off full tilt. Again, father was thrown out, and I tipped over on the bottom of the waggon. Fortunately, the shafts gave way, and let him loose, when he stopped. Father was carried home, and did not leave the house for a long time. I used to ride the self-willed beast to school in the winter, and had great sport, sometimes, by getting boys on behind me, and, when they were not thinking, I would touch "Old Gray" under the flank with my heel, which would make him spring as though he were shot, and off the boys would tumble in the snow. When I reached school I tied up the reins and let him go home. I do not think he ever had an equal for mischief, and for the last years we had him we could do nothing with him. He was perpetually getting into the fields of grain, and leading all the other cattle after him. We used to hobble him in all sorts of ways, but he would manage to push or rub down the fence at some weak point, and unless his nose was fastened down almost to the ground by a chain from his head to his hind leg, he would let down the bars, or open all the gates about the place. There was not a door about the barn but he would open, if he could get at the latch, and if the key was left in the granary door he would unlock that. If left standing he was sure to get his head-stall off, and we had to get a halter made specially for him. He finally became such a perpetual torment that we sold him, and we all had a good cry when the old horse went away. He was upwards of twenty-five years old at this time. How much longer he lived I cannot say. I never saw him afterward.

As soon as the sun was well up, and our tasks about the house over, our part of this new play in the hayfield began, and with a fork or long stick we followed up the swathes and spread them out nicely, so that the grass would dry. In the afternoon, it had to be raked up into winrows-- work in which the girls often joined us--and after tea one or two of the men cocked it up, while we raked the ground clean after them. If the weather was clear and dry it would be left out for several days before it was drawn into the barn or stacked; but often it was housed as soon as dry.

Another important matter which claimed the farmer's attention at this time was the preparation of his summer-fallow for fall wheat. The ground was first broken up after the spring sowing was over, and about hay time the second ploughing had to be done, to destroy weeds, and get the land in proper order. In August the last ploughing came, and about the first of September the wheat was sown. It almost always happened, too, that there were some acres of woodland that had been chopped over for fire wood and timber, to be cleaned up. Logs and bush had to be collected into piles, and burned. On new farms this was heavy work. Then the timber was cut down, and ruthlessly given over to the fire. Logging bees were of frequent occurrence, when the neighbours turned out with their oxen and logging chains, and, amid the ring of the axe and the shouting of drivers and men with their handspikes, the great logs were rolled one upon another into huge heaps, and left for the fire to eat them out of the way. When the work was done, all hands proceeded to the house, grim and black as a band of sweeps, where, with copious use of soap and water, they brought themselves back to their normal condition, and went in and did justice to the supper prepared for them.

In August the wheat fields were ready for the reapers. This was the great crop of the year. Other grain was grown, such as rye, oats, peas, barley and corn, but principally for feeding. Wheat was the farmer's main dependence, his staff of life and his current coin. A good cradler would cut about five acres a day, and an expert with a rake would follow and bind up what he cut. There were men who would literally walk through the grain with a cradle, and then two men were required to follow. My father had no superior in swinging the cradle, and when the golden grain stood thick and straight, he gave two smart men all they could do to take up what he cut down. Again the younger fry came in for their share of the work, which was to gather the sheaves and put them in shocks. These, after standing a sufficient time, were brought into the barn and mowed away, and again the girls often gave a helping hand both in the field and the barn. In all these tasks good work was expected. My father was, as I have said before, a pushing man, and "thorough" in all he undertook. His mottoes with his men were, "Follow me," and "Anything that is worth doing, is worth doing well;" and this latter rule was always enforced. The ploughers had to throw their furrows neat and straight. When I got to be a strong lad, I could strike a furrow with the old team across a field as straight as an arrow, and I took pride in throwing my furrows in uniform precision. The mowers had to shear the land close and smooth. The rakers threw their winrows straight, and the men made their hay-cocks of a uniform size, and placed them at equal distances apart. So in the grain field, the stubble had to be cut clean and even, the sheaves well bound and shocked in straight rows, with ten sheaves to the shock. It was really a pleasure to inspect the fields when the work was done. Skill was required to load well, and also to mow away, the object being to get the greatest number of sheaves in the smallest space. About the first of September the crops were in and the barns were filled and surrounded with stacks of hay and grain.

My father was admitted to be the best farmer in the district. His farm was a model of good order and neatness. He was one of the first to devote attention to the improvement of his stock, and was always on the look-out for improved implements or new ideas, which, if worthy of attention, he was the first to utilize.

There is always something for a pushing farmer to do, and there are always rainy days through the season, when out-door work comes to a stand. At such times my father was almost always found in his workshop, making pails or tubs for the house, or repairing his tools or making new ones. At other times he would turn his attention to dressing the flax he had stowed away, and getting it ready for spinning. The linen for bags, as well as for the house, was then all home-made. It could hardly be expected that with such facilities at hand my ingenuity would not develop. One day I observed a pot of red paint on the workbench, and it struck me that the tools would look much better if I gave them a coat of paint. The thought was hardly conceived before it was put into execution, and in a short time planes, saws, augers, &c., were carefully coated over and set aside to dry. Father did not see the thing in the same light as I did. He was very much displeased, and I was punished. After this I turned my attention to water-wheels, waggons, boats, boxes, &c., and in time got to be quite an expert with tools, and could make almost anything out of wood. We children, although we had to drive cows, feed the calves, bring in wood, and all that, had our amusements, simple and rustic enough it is true; but we enjoyed them, and all the more because our parents very often entered into our play.

Sunday was a day of enjoyment as well as rest. There were but few places of public worship, and those were generally far apart. In most places the schoolhouse or barn served the purpose. There were two meeting- houses--this was the term always used then for places of worship--a few miles from our place on Hay bay. The Methodist meeting-house was the first place built for public worship in Upper Canada, and was used for that purpose until a few years ago. It now belongs to Mr. Platt, and is used as a storehouse. The other, a Quaker meeting-house, built some years later, is still standing. It was used as a barrack by the Glengarry regiment in 1812, a part of which regiment was quartered in the neighbourhood during that year. The men left their bayonet-marks in the old posts.

On Sunday morning the horses were brought up and put to the lumber waggon, the only carriage known then. The family, all arrayed in their Sunday clothes, arranged themselves in the spacious vehicle, and drove away. At that time, and for a good many years after, whether in the school-house or meeting-house, the men sat on one side and the women on the other, in all places of worship. The sacred bond which had been instituted by the Creator Himself in the Garden of Eden, "Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife; and they shall be one flesh," did not seem to harmonize with that custom, for when they went up to His house they separated at the door. It would have been thought a very improper thing, even for a married couple, to take a seat side by side. Indeed I am inclined to think that the good brothers and sisters would have put them out of doors. So deeply rooted are the prejudices in matters of religious belief. That they are the most difficult to remove, the history of the past confirms through all ages. This custom prevailed for many years after. When meeting was over it was customary to go to some friend's to dinner, and make, as used to be said, a visit, or, what was equally as pleasant, father or mother would ask some old acquaintances to come home with us. Sunday in all seasons, and more particularly in the summer, was the grand visiting day with old and young. I do not state this out of any disrespect for the Sabbath. I think I venerate it as much as anyone, but I am simply recording facts as they then existed. The people at that time, as a rule, were not religious, but they were moral, and anxious for greater religious advantages. There were not many preachers, and these had such extended fields of labour that their appointments were irregular, and often, like angels' visits, few and far between. They could not ignore their social instincts altogether, and this was the only day when the toil and moil of work was put aside. They first went to meeting, when there was any, and devoted the rest of the day to friendly intercourse and enjoyment. People used to come to Methodist meeting for miles, and particularly on quarterly meeting day. On one of these occasions, fourteen young people who were crossing the bay in a skiff, on their way to the meeting, were upset near the shore and drowned. Some years later the missionary meeting possessed great attraction, when a deputation composed of Egerton Ryerson and Peter Jones, the latter with his Indian curiosities, drew the people in such numbers that half of them could not get into the house.

There were a good many Quakers, and as my father's people belonged to that body we frequently went to their meeting. The broad brims on one side, with the scoop bonnets on the other, used to excite my curiosity, but I did not like to sit still so long. Sometimes not a word would be said, and after an hour of profound silence, two of the old men on one of the upper seats would shake hands. Then a general shaking of hands ensued on both sides of the house, and meeting was out.

Many readers will recall gentle Charles Lamb's thoughtful paper on "A Quakers' Meeting." Several of his reflections rise up so vividly before me as I write these lines that I cannot forbear quoting them. "What," he asks, "is the stillness of the desert, compared with this place? what the uncommunicating muteness of fishes?--here the goddess reigns and revels.--'Boreas, and Cesias, and Argestes loud,' do not with their interconfounding uproars more augment the brawl--nor the waves of the blown Baltic with their clubbed sounds --than their opposite is multiplied and rendered more intense by numbers, and by sympathy. She too hath her deeps, that call unto deeps. Negation itself hath a positive more and less; and closed eyes would seem to obscure the great obscurity of midnight.

"To pace alone in the cloisters, or side aisles of some cathedral, time- stricken;

Or under hanging mountains, Or by the fall of fountains;

is but a vulgar luxury compared with that which those enjoy who come together for the purposes of more complete, abstracted solitude. This is the loneliness 'to be felt.' The Abbey-Church of Westminster hath nothing so solemn, so spirit-soothing, as the naked walls and benches of a Quakers' Meeting. Here are no tombs, no inscriptions,

--Sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings--

but here is something which throws Antiquity herself into the foreground--SILENCE--eldest of things--language of old Night--primitive Discourser--to which the insolent decays of mouldering grandeur have but arrived by a violent, and, as we may say, unnatural progression.

How reverend is the view of these hushed heads, Looking tranquillity!

"Nothing-plotting, nought-caballing, unmischievous synod! convocation without intrigue! parliament without debate! what a lesson dost thou read, to council and to consistory!--if my pen treat of you lightly--as haply it will wander--yet my spirit hath gravely felt the wisdom of your custom, when sitting among you in deepest peace, which some outwelling tears would rather confirm than disturb, I have reverted to the times of your beginnings, and the sowings of the seed by Fox and Dewesbury.--I have witnessed that which brought before my eyes your heroic tranquillity inflexible to the rude jests and serious violences of the insolent soldiery, republican or royalist sent to molest you--for ye sate betwixt the fires of two persecutions, the outcast and off-scouring of church and presbytery.

"I have seen the reeling sea-ruffian, who had wandered into your receptacle with the avowed intention of disturbing your quiet, from the very spirit of the place receive in a moment a new heart, and presently sit among ye as a lamb amidst lambs. And I remember Penn before his accusers, and Fox in the bail-dock, where he was lifted up in spirit, as he tells us, and the judge and the jury became as dead men under his feet."

Our old family carriage--the lumbering waggon--revives many pleasant recollections. Many long rides were taken in it, both to mill and market, and, sometimes I have curled myself up, and slept far into the night in it while waiting for my grist to be ground so I could take it home. But it was not used by the young folks as sleighs were in the winter. It was a staid, family vehicle, not suited to mirth or love- making. It was too noisy for that, and on a rough road, no very uncommon thing then, one was shaken up so thoroughly that there was but little room left for sentiment. In later times, lighter and much more comfortable vehicles were used. The elliptic or steel spring did not come into use until about 1840. I remember my grandfather starting off for New York in one of these light one-horse waggons. I do not know how long he was gone, but he made the journey, and returned safely. Long journeys by land were made, principally in summer, on horseback, both by men and women. The horse was also the young peoples' only vehicle at this season of the year. The girls were usually good riders, and could gallop away as well on the bare back as on the side-saddle. A female cousin of my father's several times made journeys of from one to two hundred miles on horseback, and on one occasion she carried her infant son for a hundred and fifty miles, a feat the women of to-day would consider impossible.

Then as now, the early fall was not the least pleasant portion of the Canadian year. Everyone is familiar with the striking beauty of our woods after the frost begins, and the endless variety of shade and colour that mingles with such pleasing effect in every landscape. And in those days, as well as now, the farmers' attention was directed to preparation for the coming winter. His market staples then consisted of wheat or flour, pork and potash. The other products of his farm, such as coarse grain, were used by himself. Butter and eggs were almost valueless, save on his own table. The skins of his sheep, calves and beef cattle which were slaughtered for his own use, were sent to the tanners, who dressed them on shares, the remainder being brought home to be made up into boots, harness and mittens. Wood, which afterwards came into demand for steam purposes, was worthless. Sawn lumber was not wanted, except for home use, and the shingles that covered the buildings were split and made by the farmer himself.

Some of our plays bordered very closely on a dance, and when our inclinations were checked, we approached the margin of the forbidden ground as nearly as possible. Among these I remember one which afforded an opportunity to swing around in a merry way. A chair was placed in the centre of the room, upon which one of the girls or boys was seated. Then we joined hands, and went dancing around singing the following refrain:--

There was a young woman sat down to sleep, Sat down to sleep, sat down to sleep; There was a young woman sat down to sleep, Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho!

There was a young man to keep her awake, To keep her awake, to keep her awake; There was a young man to keep her awake, Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho-! Heigh-ho!

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