Roughing It in the Bush Part 18

"Humph! We have no such notions here. What was your father?"

"A gentleman, who lived upon his own estate."

"Did he die rich?"

"He lost the greater part of his property from being surety for another."

"That's a foolish business. My man burnt his fingers with that.

And what brought you out to this poor country--you, who are no more fit for it than I am to be a fine lady?"

"The promise of a large grant of land, and the false statements we heard regarding it."

"Do you like the country?"

"No; and I fear I never shall."

"I thought not; for the drop is always on your cheek, the children tell me; and those young ones have keen eyes. Now, take my advice: return while your money lasts; the longer you remain in Canada the less you will like it; and when your money is all spent, you will be like a bird in a cage; you may beat your wings against the bars, but you can't get out." There was a long pause. I hoped that my guest had sufficiently gratified her curiosity, when she again commenced:--

"How do you get your money? Do you draw it from the old country, or have you it with you in cash?"

Provoked by her pertinacity, and seeing no end to her cross-questioning, I replied, very impatiently, "Mrs. R---, is it the custom in your country to catechise strangers whenever you meet with them?"

"What do you mean?" she said, colouring, I believe, for the first time in her life.

"I mean," quoth I, "an evil habit of asking impertinent questions."

The old woman got up, and left the house without speaking another word.

THE SLEIGH-BELLS

'Tis merry to hear, at evening time, By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime; To know the bounding steeds bring near The loved one to our bosom dear.

Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise, Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze; Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time Responsive to their fairy chime.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er vale and hill, Their welcome notes are trembling still.

'Tis he, and blithely the gay bells sound, As glides his sleigh o'er the frozen ground; Hark! he has pa.s.s'd the dark pine wood, He crosses now the ice-bound flood, And hails the light at the open door That tells his toilsome journey's o'er.

The merry sleigh-bells! My fond heart swells And throbs to hear the welcome bells; Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er ice and snow, A voice of gladness, on they go.

Our hut is small, and rude our cheer, But love has spread the banquet here; And childhood springs to be caress'd By our beloved and welcome guest.

With a smiling brow, his tale he tells, The urchins ring the merry sleigh-bells; The merry sleigh-bells, with shout and song They drag the noisy string along; Ding-dong, ding-dong, the father's come The gay bells ring his welcome home.

From the cedar-swamp the gaunt wolves howl, From the oak loud whoops the felon owl; The snow-storm sweeps in thunder past, The forest creaks beneath the blast; No more I list, with boding fear, The sleigh-bells' distant chime to hear.

The merry sleigh-bells, with soothing power Shed gladness on the evening hour.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, what rapture swells The music of those joyous bells.

[Many versions have been given of this song, and it has been set to music in the States. I here give the original copy, written whilst leaning on the open door of my shanty, and watching for the return of my husband.]

CHAPTER VIII

JOHN MONAGHAN

"Dear mother Nature! on thy ample breast Hast thou not room for thy neglected son?

A stern necessity has driven him forth Alone and friendless. He has naught but thee, And the strong hand and stronger heart thou gavest, To win with patient toil his daily bread."

A few days after the old woman's visit to the cottage, our servant James absented himself for a week, without asking leave, or giving any intimation of his intention. He had under his care a fine pair of horses, a yoke of oxen, three cows, and a numerous family of pigs, besides having to chop all the firewood required for our use.

His unexpected departure caused no small trouble in the family; and when the truant at last made his appearance, Moodie discharged him altogether.

The winter had now fairly set in--the iron winter of 1833. The snow was unusually deep, and it being our first winter in Canada, and pa.s.sed in such a miserable dwelling, we felt it very severely.

In spite of all my boasted fort.i.tude--and I think my powers of endurance have been tried to the uttermost since my sojourn in this country--the rigour of the climate subdued my proud, independent English spirit, and I actually shamed my womanhood and cried with the cold. Yes, I ought to blush at evincing such unpardonable weakness; but I was foolish and inexperienced, and unaccustomed to the yoke.

My husband did not much relish performing the menial duties of a servant in such weather, but he did not complain, and in the meantime commenced an active inquiry for a man to supply the place of the one we had lost; but at that season of the year no one was to be had.

It was a bitter, freezing night. A sharp wind howled without, and drove the fine snow through the c.h.i.n.ks in the door, almost to the hearth-stone, on which two immense blocks of maple shed forth a cheering glow, brightening the narrow window-panes, and making the blackened rafters ruddy with the heart-invigorating blaze.

The toils of the day were over, the supper things cleared away, and the door closed for the night. Moodie had taken up his flute, the sweet companion of happier days, at the earnest request of our homesick Scotch servant-girl, to cheer her drooping spirits by playing some of the touching national airs of the glorious mountain land, the land of chivalry and song, the heroic North.

Before retiring to rest, Bell, who had an exquisite ear for music, kept time with foot and hand, while large tears gathered in her soft blue eyes.

"Ay, 'tis bonnie thae songs; but they mak' me greet, an' my puir heart is sair, sair when I think on the bonnie braes and the days o'lang syne."

Poor Bell! Her heart was among the hills, and mine had wandered far, far away to the green groves and meadows of my own fair land. The music and our reveries were alike abruptly banished by a sharp blow upon the door. Bell rose and opened it, when a strange, wild-looking lad, barefooted, and with no other covering to his head than the thick, matted locks of raven blackness that hung like a cloud over his swarthy, sunburnt visage, burst into the room.

"Guidness defend us! Wha ha'e we here?" screamed Bell, retreating into a corner. "The puir callant's no cannie."

My husband turned hastily round to meet the intruder, and I raised the candle from the table the better to distinguish his face; while Bell, from her hiding-place, regarded him with unequivocal glances of fear and mistrust, waving her hands to me, and pointing significantly to the open door, as if silently beseeching me to tell her master to turn him out.

"Shut the door, man," said Moodie, whose long scrutiny of the strange being before us seemed upon the whole satisfactory; "we shall be frozen."

"Thin faith, sir, that's what I am," said the lad, in a rich brogue, which told, without asking, the country to which he belonged. Then stretching his bare hands to the fire, he continued, "By Jove, sir, I was never so near gone in my life!"

"Where do you come from, and what is your business here? You must be aware that this is a very late hour to take a house by storm in this way."

"Thrue for you, sir. But necessity knows no law; and the condition you see me in must plade for me. First, thin, sir, I come from the towns.h.i.+p of D---, and want a masther; and next to that, bedad! I want something to ate. As I'm alive, and 'tis a thousand pities that I'm alive at all at all, for shure G.o.d Almighty never made sich a misfortunate crather afore nor since; I have had nothing to put in my head since I ran away from my ould masther, Mr. F---, yesterday at noon. Money I have none, sir; the divil a cent. I have neither a shoe to my foot nor a hat to my head, and if you refuse to shelter me the night, I must be contint to perish in the snow, for I have not a frind in the wide wurld."

The lad covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.

"Bell," I whispered; "go to the cupboard and get the poor fellow something to eat. The boy is starving."

"Dinna heed him, mistress, dinna credit his lees. He is ane o' those wicked Papists wha ha' just stepped in to rob and murder us."

"Nonsense! Do as I bid you."

"I winna be fashed aboot him. An' if he bides here, I'll e'en flit by the first blink o' the morn."