MY EOT LIFE
By Eev. John Oabeoll, D.D.
BEN OWEN.
By Jennie Pbbebtt.
MY BOY LIFE,
PRESENTED IN A SUCCESSION OF TRUE
STORIES,
BY
JOHN CARROLL, D. D.
"The child is father to the man.*
—WordswortTi,
A BOOK FOE OLD OR YOUNG,
TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS,
78 & 80 Kino Sirkst East,
1882.
Entered, accordinsr to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and cigbtj'-one, by the Rby. Wtlliam. Brigqs, in the
Office of the Minister of Agriculture, Ottawa.
ERiNDALE ■
COi-LEGE
LIBRARY
JDcbication.
TO
ALL THE SELF-MADE MEN
(doth lay and CLEniCAL,)
IN OUrt WIDE CONNEXION;
AND TO ALL
THE NOBLE BOYS,
WHO INTEND TO BE
SUCH MEN AS ARE MEN
IS INSCRIBED,
WITH
SENTIMENTS OF PROFOUND CpNSIDERATION,
BY
THE HUMBLE AUTHOR
Ramblk Lodqb, Attgust 18, 188L
INTRODUCTION
FEEL myself honoured in being asked to write
an introduction to these autobiographic sketches
of my beloved and venerated friend, the Rev. Dr.
Carroll. I have read these sketches with pro-
foundest interest — often with moistened eyes, and
often with an irrepressible smile. The greater number
of them have undergone the practical test of publica-
tion in a periodical having a circulation of nearly
twenty thousand copies, and have proved exceedingly
attractive not only to juvenile but also to adult readers.
By reading these " True Stories of Boy Life " sixty
years ago, every Canadian boy and girl of to-day may
learn invaluable lessons. And those who have left
their youthful days far behind them will find here
X INTEODUCTION.
agreeable reminiscences of the past and a vivid insight
into the social condition of the early years of this
century in this province.
While thankful to God for the ameliorated circum-
stances of society at the present time, and the greater
educational and religious advantages enjoyed by the
youth of to-day, let us be thankful also to the grand
old pioneei-s who, by their lives and labours, have
made Canada what it is. Conspicuous among these
have been the Methodist Missionaries of Canada, who,
with Bible and saddle-bags, carried the glad message
of the Gospel to the lonely cottages of the frontiers-
men in the depths of the primeval forest; and con-
spicuous among these Missionary heroes has been the
author of these sketches.
By thousands all over this land to whom he has
ministered the bread of life, this record of the provi-
dential leadings of his early years will be read with
intensest interest; and to many more of a yoimger
generation, we trust, these pages will make kno^vn
the circumstances under which were developed that
genial character, earnest piety, and unwearying zeal,
which we all so much admire in him whom all who
know him love to call our revered and honoured
Father Carroll. Thousfh having more than reached
INTEODUCTION. Xi
the allotted span of threescore years and ten, his
heart is as young as when he was a boy. He still
possesses more vivacity and more energy ; he still
reads more books, writes more pages, travels more
miles and preaches more sermons than many a man
not half his years. May he long flourish in his
hale old age — full of years and full of honours — and
still enrich the world with his ripe and mellow
wisdom, and with still more of his racy and readable
books, is the earnest prayer of his friend,
W. H. W.
CONTENTS
PAcn
I. — ^Why this Book, and What About It 1
II. — My Parents and Nativity 6
III. — My Little Twin Brother 16
IV. — ^A Long Rough Journey Performed in Unconscious
Infancy 27
V. — My Eldest Brother's Beautiful Life and Tragic
Death 32
VI. — Our Indian Neighbours iO
VII. — Child Memories of the Alarms and Hardships
of War 49
VIIL— A Three Days' Coasting Voyage 72
IX. — Our First Places of Abode in York, and How
WE Came to Occupy them 75
X.— The War Spirit among the York Boys 78
XL — Neddie, my Little Playmate 83
XII. — Recollections of the Long-Log House 92
XIII.— Fond Memories of Certain Domestic Animals 101
XIV.— The Ghost Lore Current during my Childhood. . . 109
XV.— How I Earned my First Felt Hat 116
XVI. —The ♦' Elmsley Field," and its One Tragic Memory 121
XU CONTENTS.
FAGB
XYIL — ^The Rise of an Institittion which Influenced
MY Destinies for Good 129
XYIIL— How I Chanced to Get the First Prize 134
XIX. — How I Invested my Found Money 141
XX. — ^A Tramp to the Bush in Sugar Time with
Young Ladies 147
XXI.—" Old Gray," the Mill Horse 167
XXII.— Going ON A Bush Farm 163
XXIII.— Driving an Ox Team 168
XXIV.— More Work on a Bush Farm 176
XXV.—** Old Kate," the Mare, and 1 182
XXVI. — My Pets and Property in the Bush, and What
Became of them 192
XXVIL— A Christmas Week that Ended Wrong 204
XXVIII. — An Impulsive Act — ^A Sudden Departure from
the Bush 211
XXIX. — Some Account of my Dea.r Old " Boss " 219
XXX— Butternutting on Sunday and its Punishment 229
XXXI.— A Mis-spent Sunday that Ended Well 235
XXXII.— My Last Accepted Dram 242
XXXIII.— How I came to go among the Methodists 246
XXXIV.— The Crisis I have always called Conversion ;
AND When, Where, and How it took place. 253
XXXV. — What Modicums of Knowledge I Possessed at
Fifteen; and how I had Stumbled into
their Possession 260
XXXVI.— My Boyish Thoughts of a Business for Life,
AND THE One I FINALLY ChOSE 277
XXXVII. —A Summary and Connection of the Foregoing
Pages 285
MY BOY LIFE.
No. L
WHY THIS BOOK, AND WHAT ABOUT IT ?
IT will be perceived at a glance, that it is autobio-
graphical — and many will say, "therefore,
egotistical." If the word egotistical is used in the
sense of " vain and self-conceited," then I trust all
candid readers will exonerate me from the charge ;
but if it only means something about the writer's self,
then I accept the characterization, — albeit, I think
egoistical would be more appropriate. Besides, if I
live to finish the whole work, of which this is an
instalment, it will be much about other persons and
things, as well as myself, namely, almost all the leading
personages and events that have crossed my path in
the course of my humble journey through a long,
diversified life. These matters ouoht to be of some
2 MY BOY LIFE.
interest and importance, if I am of none. One word
in defence of works of this character in the abstract :
Some one has said, " Almost any one's autobiography-
would be valuable, if he only knew what to tell, and
how to tell it." Yes, and the more commonplace his
career, the more likely to come home to the business
and bosoms of the many. Say that John Carroll is
of no ^reat account, and I will agree with you ; but
it is all the more likely that the story of his life will
enlist the sympathies of the " common run."
A history of my own life and times is something
which scores of persons have urged me to write, for
years and years. And several years ago I commenced
to write what I entitled, " The Lessons of a Life-
time," and had written five or six hundred pages of
large foolscap, when other plans were suggested. In
that work I divided my life into natural epochs, and
gave in each an account of the outward and physical
circumstances of that period ; my mental or intellectual
life (including the development of my faculties from
childhood, my schools and schoolmates, such as they
were, and of my methods of inquiry and study) ; Tny
religious or spiritual life; my ministerial and official
life ; my literary life, &c., &c., &c., as the epochs tran-
spired, under separate headings, or departments,
deducing the lessons the events had taught me and
those which I thought others might learn from my
blunders, which were many. But I found that after
all the time, ink, and paper I had expended, I had not
MY BOY LIFE. 8
passed over a third of my career, and the unfinished
part was the most crowded and important of my
existence. With the many engagements I am con-
stantly drawn into, I did not see how I was to lind
time and strength to finish it ; I was not sure but that
a plan of work so complex and unusual would prove
tiresome ; furthermore, I saw it was going to be a
very expensive work to publish, and the question was,
would the sales defray that expense ?
At this juncture I was led to draw on some of the
materials for an account of my early life in a series of
" Stoeies " for the amusement and instruction of the
young readers of Pleasant Hours. These I found
interested many of the old as well as the young who
had read them. I rather anticipated they would
enoacre the attention of adult minds as well as
juvenile ones, for I myself had ever felt an interest in
accounts of the boyhood and youth of any person who
had attained to any measure of public attention, and
I also found it was the same with other people. Be-
sides the incidents I related, while they referred to
matters which would naturally take the attention of
young minds, were not told in nursery, but common
phraseology, which would command the respect of
adults, and which the well-schooled children of our
country in this day understand as well, or better than
grown people. Then, as to those particular remini-
cences, many of my friends wished to see them collected
and preserved in an accessible and permanent form.
« " MT BOY LIFE.
Therefore, after conversing with my scholarly and
versatile literary friend, the Rev. W. H. Withrow,
A.M,, whose taste and judgment I very much confided in,
I concluded to abandon the larger and more elaborate
project, and to cover the ground embraced in my his-
tory by a series of sketchy volumes, each one complete
in itself, and saleable as an independent book, yet an
essential part of a greater whole ; that if I did not live
to finish that whole, what I had actually accomplished
would not seem a mere fragment ; while each one of the
sections, in each volume, would be a microcosm — a little
narrative by itself and making a complete reading for
a sitting, yet bearing a relation to the other sections.
This, I imagine, will be particularly the case with
the first volume, which is largely made up of the
" True Stories," retouched, supplemented, and wrought
into a somewhat homogeneous whole. I say " some-
what," because, from the way it has come into being,
it will, perhaps, be found that some parts are rather
discursive and others repetitious.
As it is, the public have it. Take it, and make the
most of it you can ; for, on the subject of my boy life,
it is all you will get — except my blessing, which you
have already, and shall have. Amen.
Those who desire more of these lucubrations, relating
to further stages of my humble life, will please indicate
their wish to me, or to the authorities at our Publish-
ing House, that I may know how to act in the future.
The Author.
No. 11.
MY PARENTS AND NATIVITY.
IN many biographies, whether written by the sub-
jects themselves, or their friends, there seems a
great effort to conceal any thing like obscurity or
poverty, in their origin. This in my opinion, is weak
and despicable, and hints and innuendoes about the
nobleness of their ancestral line are still worse ; both
proceed from the silliest kind of affectation and vanity.
I, therefore, entirely concur in the truth and manliness
of the following from the poet Saxe : —
"Of all tho notable things on earth,
The queerest one is pride of birth,
In this our fierce democracy :
A bridge across a hundred years,
Without a thing to save it from sneers
(Not even a couple of rotten peers)
A thing for laughter, flouts, and jeers.
Is American aristocracy.
Depend upon it, my snobbish friend,
Your family thread you can't ascend,
Without good reason to apprehend,
6 MY BOY LIFE.
You may find it waxed at the farther end,
By some plebeian vocation ;
Or worse than that, your boasted line
May end in a loop of stronger twine,
That plagued some worthy relation.*'
I never heard that any of my forefathers, either on
the paternal or maternal line, had been hanged, but
the "waxed end" might be found if looked after in my
genealogy.
My father was a saddler and harness-miaker by trade
and understood well his handicraft; he was dis-
tinguished for substantial work, and excelled particu-
larly in the department of saddles and neck-draft
collars. In his time in America, people travelled two
or three, if not four times, as much on horseback as in
carriages ; hence the demand for saddles. Some of my
earliest recollections are of amusing myself among the
litter and scraps of his shop, and of some of the tools
he employed — such as his tack -hammer, his wooden
mallets (one faced with shark skin), and his long iron
"collar rods" employed in stuffing the rims of the
draft collars with long straw, which were left as hard
as wood and as polished as if made of marble. An-
other peculiarity was that the collars were left in an
almost circular form, he never using any collar-block
but the horse's neck, to which alone, he said, it must
be fitted. Nothing would arouse his anger so quickly
as for a visitor to his shop to squeeze a new collar into
an oblong shape, as they often felt an impulse to do.
MY BOY LIFE. 7
" Pox take it, you fool ! " he would say, " Do you know
the mischief you are doing ? "
Of my father physically, I have this to say : he was
an old man when I first remember him. He was full
twenty years older than my mother ; I and my twin
brother were the last of twelve children; he must,
therefore, have been close on to sixty years of age
when I was born. But from what I saw and learned,
he came of a strong, long-lived race of men. He was
considerably above the medium stature — about five
feet, eleven — he may have been six feet before he
began to settle down. He was big-boned and mus-
cular, not less than one hundred and eighty pounds in
weight. Had great weight of arm and hand ; and had
he never ill-used himself, he would have been for many
more years than is usual, a very hale and powerful
man. All the encounters into which his convivial
habits led him, were said to have issued in victory, but
the particulars would edify no one. One I will men-
tion because it shows how strength and daring may
serve a man's safety in a rude and lawless state of
society. When we lived at the Grand River in Canada,
among the Six Nation Indians, and the still worse
behaved white squatters on the Indian lands, just
before the war of 1812, when he could not have
been less than sixty years of age, occurred the fol-
lowing: He, having by his "Britisher" ways made
himself unpopular with the disaffected around, of
whom there were said to be many, was one day
8 MY BOY LIFE.
going to mill with a team of horses and grist of grain,
accompanied only by a half -grown boy, and called at a
tavern to rest his horses and warm himself. A well-
to-do and purse-proud Canadian Dutchman (one Staatz)
a younger and more vigorous man than himself, some-
what under the influence of liquor, came in, accom-
panied by several of a kindred character, and charged
the old man with having stolen his whip, who, when
father denied it and failed to produce it, began chasing
the old gentleman about the room. Father, except
when under the influence of liquor, was not particu-
larly passionate — and never quarrelsome — but rather
fair-spoken (though boastful and pretentious); and on
this occasion at first made no resistance ; but at length
he disengaged himself, stepped back, and threw ofi" his
great-coat ; and when his assailant approached again,
father knocked him down, like a bullock felled by the
butcher's axe ; and when he arose, knocked him down
again. This cooled the Dutchman's courage and awed
the rest. Now Staatz suddenly discovered that Mr.
Carroll was a most honourable and excellent man, and
proffered to treat him. My brother William, who
witnessed the scene, and twice related it in my hearing,
did not say whether the treat was accepted or declined ;
but, judging from the old man's well-known belief in
the potency of the social glass to feed, and clothe, and
satisfy, and compose all difficulties, and assuage all
evils to which flesh is heir, it is likely the glass was
accepted.
MY BOY LIFE. 9
Father was a native of Old Ireland (the ISTortu of it,
the County Down, and Town of Ballynahinch) but
came with his parents to America (the Old Colonies)
when quite young, and learned his trade in the City of
Philadelphia. The rest of the family lived near by, in
the town of Reading — on land, I suspect. His father,
who was a Roman Catholic, as far as he was anything
(not bigotted) and who often received the prefix or
Mac to his name by countrymen, had been tossed about
the world for many years as a sailor. Father said his
mother was, as he pronounced it, " a Presbytayrean."
If asked about his own religion, of which he had not
much to spare, he would answer, "Protestant." Though
far from being a truly religious man at any time of
his life, I am bound to say, that though sometimes
profane, he never treated sacred things with irreverence;
but could so talk on religious subjects as to leave the
impression on strangers, that he was a very religious
man, especially if he had a glass in his head, which, he
always maintained, used to " brighten his ideas."
He used to maintain that he was a blood relation of
the celebrated Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, in Mary-
land, who, he boasted "owned a whole manor;" but,
as he never liked to spoil a good story, I am inclined
to suspect that with regard to his claim to anything
like an intimate relationship to the celebrated signer
of the Declaration of Independence, he must have
drawn the long-bow somewhat. For, if a good tough
yarn were wanted, commend me to old Joseph Carroll
10 MY BOY LIFE.
at any time. Father's oldest brother "Jeems " as he
called him, however, was indeed a very respectable and
influential man of large means; and like Charles
Carroll, a great devotee of the American colonial cause.
. But my father early quarrelled with the colonists, and
joined the British standard, and served to the end of
the war. He must, however, have been committed to
the revolutionary cause for a time, for he was afraid
to retutn to the family upon the acknowledgement of
the Independence of the United States. His brother
James, however, wrote him word to come back, and he
would " intercede with Congress in his behalf." But
he had become so fierce a " Britisher " that he sent
word he would " see him and Congress d — d before he
would make any intercessions to them." The con-
sequence was, he never saw his relatives after. Father
never called the Americans anything but " rebels."
His department in the army was the artillery, and
he ranked as a bombardier, wearing a sword by his
side, one edge of which was a sword-blade, the other a
saw. He had sometimes acted as a sapper, and used
to show a scar from end to end of one of his fingers,
which had been laid open by the point of a pike that
he was parrying, which had been aimed at him while
with a detachment he was storming a stockade.
Some of his war stories would be thrilling, if there
were space to register them.
He was disbanded along with his corps in the West
Indies, where he had served some time. The discharged
My BOY LIFE. 11
troops were destined for Nova Scotia and New Bruns-
wick, but being embarked in an uriseaworthy old hulk,
(an East Indiaman), which had been repainted and in-
sured for a fabulous sum, and then intentionally run
upon rocks in the Bay of Fundy, they were wrecked. She
became a total loss, and a vast number of the passengers
perished, while the captain and crew, in collusion with
the fraudulent underwriters, escaped in their boats.
Those of the passengers who escaped, of whom my
father was one, did so mostly by constructing a raft
out of the broken timbers of the ship, after father
personally had been " eight and forty hours on a
spar." To tie their raft together they made cordage
out of an old cable, the only means of cutting which
was a dull razor, while they tore out the several strands
with their teeth. Two men, one of whom my mother
afterwards knew and esteemed, were wafted ashore on
two puncheons lashed together. The raft was picked
up and the suffering freight brought into port totally
destitute, my father among the rest.
My parent selected New Brunswick as his place of
residence, where he drew a small, poor lot of land — I
think on the shores of the Nashwaak. He might have
succeeded well in a worldly point of view, only for
some defects ; he had rather superior powers of mind ;
had education sufficient to transact business ; his con-
versational powers were adapted to prepossess people
in his favour ; and he was almost the only person with
a knowledge of his most necessary trade in a wide
12 MY BOY LIFE.
new country. So lately as 1853, almost a century
after, I was visiting relations in that part of the
Province, and met with those who told me of his
celebrity for skill in his business, and said that speci-
mens of harness he had made were still in preservation.
But sad to say, he was a poor manager ; changeable
in his plans — trying, from time to time, hunting,
fishing, lumbering, and farming, as well as his own
proper vocation. Then his convivial proclivities,
induced by his song-singing and story-telling gifts,
with the love of liquor acquired in his seven
years' soldiering experiences, during which he used to
boast, that he sometimes drank a dozen glasses. of
liquor in a morning and passed muster on parade as
a sober man. He was not, however, a lazy man, but
quite disposed to labour, had not his work been often
interrupted by the causes I have mentioned ; and the
avails of his labour squandered despite the industry,
capability, and economy of the woman it is a wonder
he ever gained.
My TYiotliev was in all respects the opposite of my
father. The young and lovely daughter — for she was
a most comely woman — of a grave Quaker man, of a
singularly amiable disposition, only eighteen when
she was induced, clandestinely (in the absence of a
mother's guardianship, who had died ashorttime before)
to marry a man of forty (claiming of course to be
much younger). Oh ! what poverty, privations, shifts
and turns, neglect and abuse, that poor woman sufiered
MY BOY LIFE. 13
by being * Inred " by the songs, blandishments, and
persuasive tongue of a man, vastly her inferior, " from
her native home," a home of full and plenty. Heroically
she struggled with insufficient supplies of provisions
and covering for day and night, living in dilapidated
houses in that severe climate, to provide for and raise
her large family of boys, preparing the materials of
which their clothes were woven, and making it up
into garments herself when woven. The elder ones*
garments were made of the new cloth, and the little
ones' clothes of the cast-off coats and trousers of the
older ones. The first thoroughly new suit I ever wore,
at the age of eight or nine, was of striped homespun
carded and spun by my tireless mother's hands, while
doing for a family of ten or twelve, without any domes-
tic help — something she never had. Oh ! my precious
mother ! my soul is agonized by the remembrance of
thy sorrows ! And glad I am that I had the
chance of doing something to soothe thy mind in thy
later years !
Father's changeableness led to a great many weari-
some moves, till at last, through my mother's per-
suasions, he resumed his own proper business in
Fredericton, and a pretty home was bought, and
through her economy money enough was saved to pay
for it. During the time the family resided there was
the one green spot in their domestic life, the only
oasis in a wide, dreary desert But, alas ! that was not
to last ! From the Masonic lod^ie he and others would
14 MY BOY LIFE.
adjourn to the tavern. There, while mellowed into
maudlin generosity, he was induced to become
responsible to a large amount for a brother mason —
that brother failed without securing father ; father
seeing the storm rising, under cover of coming to
Upper Canada to look after securing the claims he
had for services rendered to the British Government
for land, stepped out of the way, and dear mother and
her four eldest boys, the youngest only four years of
age, were left to face the tornado, which swept all
away. He was gone two years and five months, during
which, though the second eldest boy lost his sight
during the time, mother maintained herself and children
tn tidiness and comfort. Nor was her husband's
return, though he vaunted a grant from Gov. Simcoe
Jt'or a thousand acres of land in his pocket, anything
but a source of anxiety to his wife and hapless boys.
Oh ! drink, thou art a demon, and thy name is legion !
Several years longer residence in New Brunswick
added two more boys to the family, and brought down
our history to the spring of 1809.
Then it was resolved to remove to Upper Canada to
locate and settle on their thousand-acre demesne. In
a boat they descended the St. John River to the Bay
of Fimdy; but they must perforce remain in the
fisheries in Passimaquody until the four eldest boys,
Joseph, James, William, and ThoTiias, could earn
money enough to enable the family to complete their
journey to the much anticipated land of promise.
MY BOY LIFE. . 15
Father always located his hapless family in some out of
the way place, and on this occasion he pub them in one
of the three only huts on the islet known as Saltkill's
Island, so named after its owner, John Saltkill, a
bachelor Quaker, who had obtained a grant of it for
services during the Revolution, my mother in imminent
nearness to a confinement. There twins were born, of
which two I was the eldest. There was just one
family on the island besides ourselves, a Mr. Isaac
Clarke and his wife. The circumstances of our birth
are described in the next section. I was named John
Saltkill after the proprietor, who wished to keep me
and make me his heir ; and my mate was named Isaac
Clarke after the other resident — christening there was
none. None in the family were baptized till long
after (which they all were, except poor Isaac and
Joseph), one now, and another then. My brother did
not live long enough to assert his middle name ; and
I threw Saltkill away, and kept to John alone, when
I came to choose for myself.
Ko. IJL
MY LITTLE TWIN BROTHER
^F sisterly affection — that is, of a sister's love to
a brother, or the tender attachment which the
kind ways of a sister will awaken in the heart of a
brother — I know nothing, having never set my eyes
on my only sister, who was born and buried many
years before I came into existence.
Of the attachment between brothers of diffierent
ages I know something. I know that the beauty and
tenderness of little brothers will awaken a feeling of
care and kindness in the heart of a " big brother "
when rightly constituted. Of Joe, the oldest and best
of brothers, who died at the age of twenty-two, when
I was no more than two or three years old, I had
long a dim recollection, probably stereotyped by the
oft-recited traditions in the family of his sympathy
for our weakly mother and her two last-born infants.
Indeed poor Joe's beauty of person, nobleness of
character, early piety, and early and almost tragic
MY BOY LIFE. 17
death, dwelt upon again and again, was an heir-loom
and species of almost ancestor-worship in our rude
household.
For the next oldest, Jim, I had a peculiar kind of
affection, because he was very big and very strong,
and would good-naturedly allow half a dozen little
ones to cling to his legs and neck while he thus carried
us about the house, and allow us to make a horse of
his knees, wdiile he trotted us up and down, and
allowed us to belabour the imaginary horse with a
stick from time to time. I am not under so great ob-
ligations to him for teaching me to box when a little
older ; but in time there was a better attachment
between us. He loved books and reading ; but about
the age of manhood his sight became so impaired by a
disease, which fell into his eyes from serving his King
and country in the militia, during the war of 1812,
that he could no longer read for himself. But I early
became an expert reader and fond of a book, and being
very small of my age, I could sit on his knee next to
his best ear (for his hearing was also defective), and
read to him by the hour. Our interviews were not
only " readings," but discussions the while. I remem-
ber the questions and talk to which the perusal of the
blessed Bible, the Pilgrim's Progress, and sundry
histories we read gave rise.
The next oldest brother, Bill, and I were never so
intimate ; he was long absent in the army, and soon
after returning from the wars he married, and lived
2
18 MY BOY LIFE.
apart from the rest of the family. There was an at-
tachment between him and me, but it was distinct
from any of the rest.
The next brother, Tom, was more among us, and we
younger ones had occasion to feel for him as clients
towards a patron, or preserver, if not of children to a
parent. Dear Tom, thou wast noble and lovable;
but in the end somewhat unfortunate, yet rest on in
thy fifty years' sleep in the dust of the earth.
George was six years older than I, and somehow
gave me a marked patronizing regard ; but as he was
peculiar and a little whimsical in his likes and dislikes,
I had to treat him a little cannily.
Nat was the next one to me who survived for any
length of time ; and there being scarcely four years be.-
tween us, gave us a greater community of feeling than
between me and any of the others, excepting one. But
when young, like all children and boys, we had our
contentions as well as our social pleasures.
Of that other one, my mate, or twin brother, I set out
with the intention more especially of writing. As he
died before quite ten years of age, all I have to say will
bear the impress of childhood, and will be more likely
to interest children than older persons; although there
is something to be learned by the old in recalling the
experiences of childhood.
My parents said we were born within half an hour
of each other — I the first, he the last — on a small island
in the Bay of Fundy, on a very foggy night. We
MY BOY LIFE. 10
were nnnsually small — our traditional weiglit, or light-
ness, though often mentioned, I have forgotten ; but
this I remember to have heard them say, that one of
the tiny teacups of that day, not more than a thir'l as
large as the smallest now in use, easily covered the
entire of either one of our visages. We were born on
the journey from New Brunswick to Canada, partly
by water and partly by land, and resumed our way-
faring three weeks after our birth. We must have
suffered great discomfort as well as our poor mother,
for we cried almost every w^aking moment till our long
journey was ended, and for long after. We were both
weakly, but I was said to be the stronger of the tw^o, and
soon began, it was said, to help myself, learning to sit
alone, by being placed in a horse's draft collar on the
floor, at the age of six months, and took to my pins
and stubbed about the floor at eight months.
Being largely cast on my own resources, I think my
mental faculties must have been very precociously
developed, especially observation and memory. I re-
member, almost consecutively, since, at my mother's
knee, my nose and chin just overtopping it, I had to
be fed by her with a spoon, when I could not have
been more than two years old, if I was that. In all
those visions of the past, my memory recalls a little
white-headed* child, rather less than myself, standing
by my side, grovelling with me on the ground, or lying
in the same cot, such as it was. Our attachment to
each other became very great. We were inseparable
20 MY BOY LIFE.
in our little plays and amusements, which were mostly
extemporized, our playthings being invented by our-
selves, no money ever being spent on toys for us.
Some of these may be particularized before I have
done. Before we could speak plainly, our gibberish
was understood by ourselves, when no others could
interpret it. This gibberish at length crystallized into
a kind of dialect, which was used, between ourselves,
from choice when it was no longer a necessity. Thus
salt was "sock," crvbst was "pick-pick," and water
was "tubity." On one occasion I was not to be
found, and great alarm was felt on my account. The
adjacent premises were searched, and my name was
pronounced by all the older members of the family
without eliciting any answer, but when my little mate
came near where I was seated and hidden in the
growing grain, and called out in his piping little voice,
" Donny ! Donny ! " I responded " No ! " Whether I
was thus refusing to disclose myself, or whether we
used no for yes, I cannot say ; but the noise I made
revealed my hiding-place. I think we were both pre-
disposed to solitary amusements ; certain I am that
we seldom asked or had more to join in the play than
our two selves, for neither of us ever admitted that he
had more than "one brother." Like all children's
amusements, they were mimic occupations of men, in
which imagination supplied the place of real re-
semblance. The stirring scenes of the war-time filled
us with military ideas and occupations ; by bestriding
MY BOY LIFE. 21
a rod of elder and putting a yellow, tassel-like wild
flower in our caps, we imagined ourselves light horse-
men, and galloped away on some important express ;
or square bits of leather, purloined from the regimental
shop, arrayed in paralled rows, were opposing armies,
while a bullet or marble rolled by each alternately
won the battle for the General the fewest of whose
soldiers were knocked down.
When, "wild war's deadly blast was blown, and
gentle peace returning," we imitated the rural occupa-
tions to which the erstwhile soldiering family came
back, suggesting the idea of fields and flocks. Com-
partments made by chalk-marks, on the floor or hearth,
were the fields — parti-coloured beans were the various
kinds of cattle, and downy willow buds were the sheep.
Many a fort or farmstead, according to our fancy, rose
among the bushes or elsewhere ; and partial to the pro-
fession of the baker and pastry cook, we perpetrated the
usual number of mud cakes and pies. We sometimes
went a-fishing and caught chub, but we were seldom
favoured with any more artistic tackle than a pin-hook
tied to the end of a piece of thread.
We were very much alike, and neighbours with the
confidence that they knew us apart, almost always
called us wrong — John for Isaac, and Isaac for John.
My mother also, once when we were stripped for bed,
mistook us, and ^ave me a flo2fo*inoj she intended for
him. We knew each other's thoughts almost in-
stinctively, and our opinions almost always coincided.
22 MY BOY LIFE.
His capacity, however, was slower than mine, and he
was always one class behind me at school. As I was
the eldest, I was invariably the spokesman when we
were sent of an errand together ; and although I am
sure he had more physical courage than I (that is, he
was not so cautious about boyish quarrels and fights),
yet I seemed always to assume the position of patron
and protector to my little brother. Our affection for
each other was very great, and one uttered the most
piteous pleadings when he saw the other about to re-
ceive a flogging. We seldom told tales on each other,
but were very loyal to one another, concealing each
other's faults and misfortunes, or anything which was
likely to humiliate the other.
When we were between nine and ten years of age,
we were introduced for the first time into a newly-
formed Sunday-school, the first ever held in the Town
of York, now the City of Toronto, and one of the first
in the Province. We frequented it together from
November, 1818, to the following June, when, un-
happily, a Sunday night's play-spell led to his death.
My mother had become a Methodist about a year
before, and became exacting about the proper observ-
ance of the Sabbath ; but there were neighbouring
children and boys, not over well conducted, who
sometimes lured us from the right way. One Sunday
evening after supper, some of these congregated in the
yard at the back of our house, and we all joined in a
noisy play. Our mother came out and forbade its
,IY BOY LIFE. 23
continuance; and from the quietness that followed,
she thought we had returned to the house and gone
to bed. But we had removed to a back street, out of
the way of those in the house, and resumed our play.
It was a very active one, called " Hunt the Bear."
Isaac received some roufjh treatment from one of the
boys, at which he took offence, and withdrew from
the play, and threw his heated person, reeking with
perspiration, on the wet grass under the falling dew.
Neither he nor we had sense or reflection enough to
rescue him from the peril. At a somewhat late hour
we stole into the house and went to bed. In the
middle of the night he awakened his mother by crying
out for a drink, saying, " O mammy, I am burning up
inside ! " A blighting fever was upon him. In the
morning the family physician was summoned, and did
his best according to whatever skill he had ; and our
mother tried her simple remedies. His hip, where he
had lain on the grass, was in violent pain and much
swollen, and I was sent to the fields to gather wild
herbs supposed to possess healing virtue (Oh ! with
what painful desire and hope I gathered them) ; and
hemlock boughs were brought, and placed in tubs of hot
water, over the steam of which he was fomented ; but
alas ! after the lapse of eight days, during the most
of which he raved in delirium, God released him from
his sufferings. True, he had lucid intervals, when he
confessed his sins and prayed earnestly for himself
and for all his friends. For days he rejected food, but
24 MY BOY LIFE.
at length called for some and ate it with voracity,
saying there was a hollow place in his stomach where
he wanted to put the food to remove the distress.
Oh ! how tearfully did I watch his bed-side, agonized
by his want of recognition and appreciation of me.
What would I have done to save him, or to call him
back when he was gone ? Oh ! it was a cruel blow
and blight to my young heart.
The company present after death and at the funeral
in some measure diverted me from my sorrow ; but
when the people were dispersed, and the current of
affairs returned to its usual channel, the desolation and
loneliness I felt no tongue can tell. It seemed more
than I could possibly bear. I gathered up his little
playthings — among others a tiny house-frame — and
shed my tears over them. Long after his death, my
desire for his company became so agonizing and un-
bearable that, although I knew it was vain, I went
out by myself and called him aloud. Often I dreamed
that he came to life : once, that he came up from the
graveyard in his shroud to the potato-field where I was
hoeing the potatoes we had planted together, looked
through the fence to my unutterable joy, and said,
" John, I will go up to the house, put on my clothes,
and come back and help you." The ecstacy awoke me
to the sad certainty that I was bereaved for ever of
the dear, ever-present companion of my ten years' life.
I should have said earlier, that I followed his body
to the grave, borne on young men's shoulders, walking
MY BOY LIFE. 25
next the coffin, hand in hand with my poor stricken
mother, to whom he had always shown the doting
affection of an infant (much more so than I ever did
myself). We laid him in a grave dug in the comer of
St. James' Cathedral Square, Toronto, where the
parochial school-house now stands ; but when the clods
began to rattle on the coffin lid, it was more than I
could bear to see my dear little brother Ike buried up
in the earth, and I begged to leave. A kind-hearted
neighbour boy, John Harper, about two years older
than myself, kindly accompanied me the half mile or
more which intervened between the churchyard and
our house, and very considerately came over often to
keep me company and assuage my grief and loneli-
ness. He is still alive, a respectable old gentleman
doing business in this city. We have been life-long
friends.
A tender incident occurred soon after. The little
grave never had a headstone ; we nevei; passed that
way but we stopped to look through the fence, and
sometimes to weep, but always to feel intensely. One
of the first times a member of the family went that
way after his burial, he beheld a pretty young rose-
bush planted on his grave, about where his breast
might be supposed to be. It surprised and delighted
us much ; but for a length of time we were kept in
ignorance as to who had performed the graceful act
of kindness. At length a widow lady informed my
mother that her little son, about a year older than I
26 MY BOY LIFE.
and my brother, had returned weeping from the funeral
(he had not been a playmate, but was one of the
Methodist Sunday-School with us), and begged of his
mother to allow him to dig up one of the only two
rose bushes growing in ^heir garden. She consented,
and he loosened it from its place, and planted it on
the dead Sunday scholar's grave. When I discovered
who had performed this soothing act of kindness, I
made his acquaintance, and ever felt an almost
brotherly affection for dear, generous Nelson Reece.
After the lapse of years many of our town boys be-
came scattered like autumn leaves, and I lost sight of
Nelson, but never forgot his kindness. If still living,
I should like to see and thank him once more before I
die. At least I pray that I may meet him in heaven,
where I expect to join my brother.
"Oh ! tliat will be joyful,
To meet and part no more ! *
It will heal a wound that has been made to bleed
afresh (though sixty years ought to have obliterated
the scars), by recalling the companionship and loss of
my Twin Brother.
This story has its moral ; but every child can and
will moralize for himself, and I will not insult his
intelligence by doing it for him.
No. lY.
A LONG ROUGH JOURNEY PERFORMED IN
UNCONSCIOUS INFANCY.
JjTC T least, so said my parents, for often and often
A^l^ I heard them dwell on the wearisome details.
Some reference to those details is necessary
as a connecting link between my first sketch and the
second. When the infants were only three weeks old,
as a necessary first stage of our intended removal to
Upper Canada, father transferred his family in some
sort of boat from Saltkill's Island, near the Province
line, to Campo Bello Island, just beyond the American
line ; so that I barely escaped being born a citizen of
the United States ; but " a miss is as good as a mile,"
and with the Britisher sentiments in which I was
brought up, I was exceedingly glad of that miss, and
was none too well pleased, when I became old enough
to know the facts, that I so early inhaled the air of
Yankee-land — a land the inhabitants of which my Tory
28 MY BOY LIFE.
father persisted in calling " rebels." Knowing my
sensitiveness to any aspersion on my loyalty, when
my brothers wanted to teaze me, they need but call
me " Yankee ! " to put me in a rage. My next oldest
brother had a trick of doing that, much to my annoy-
ance. I had a way, however, of turning the tables
upon him; he had one vulnerable spot : he was a seventh
son, and his father used to call him "Doctor," of which
the little fellow would have been very proud, but for
an unlucky surname he involuntarily received. On our
voyage he had the misfortune to fall down the hatch-
way into a large pan of batter ready prepared for a
breakfast of pancakes, from which immersion he re-
ceived the cognomen of " Dr. Batter ; " and when he
annoyed me beyond endurance by calling me "Yankee,"
I generally silenced his battery, by telling " Dr. Batter*
to shut up — I might say, that the juvenile physician's
invariable prescription, when asked for advice, was a
" bread and milk poultice."
Our passage from Campobello to New York, in a
small sailing vessel, heavily laden with plaster of Paris,
was a very rough one. The waves ran mountains
high, the decks were drenched with salt water, and the
hold was flooded nearly all the time. The poor weak
mother suffered much ; and as to us infants, it was said
the briny baths to which we were subject, chafed the
skin off our tiny bodies, and made us as red as a couple
of boiled lobsters, which we very much resembled in
size and otherwise.
MY BOY LIFE. 29
Friends found in New York solaced the family
somewhat for a short stay ; but we soon embarked in a
sloop on the Hudson for Albany ; which, though crowd-
ed, was a slight improvement on the first stage of our
journey. At Albany, father hired the horses and wag-
gon of a farmer, whom he met in the market, by the
name of Canlield, a Methodist, who proved a good man,
(who I surmise, for certain reasons, afterwards became
a travelling preacher), to drive us forward, through
the long length of the " Empire State," from its Capital
to the Niagara River, the dividing line between New
York State and Upper Canada. It was a terrible
journey to a person in my mother's circumstances.
The narrow box of the waggon was crowded with
some effects, which mother had broug^ht from her
father's affluent home, when she left it first, and had
not parted with, but which she clung to with tenacity
to the end. The twins and the next two youngest
boys rode in the waggon. Tom, always a good nurse,
must have often ridden, to relieve his mother of the
infants. Ever faithful and sympathising Joseph
walked on one side of the waggon and William on the
other. James, always a favourite of the old gentleman's
accompanied his father, who walked on ahead, under
pretence of pioneering and preparing the way
which largely consisted in testing the liquors at all the
dram shops on the road. It is but just, however, to
say, that his story-telling and song-singing capabilities
constituted the key which unlocked some hearts to-
30 MY BOY LIFE.
ward US. So also his knowledge of Low German
which he spoke fluently, having learned it when a
youth in Pennsylvania, stood us in good stead. Once
the waggon had stopped for the night at a Dutch tavern
in the Mohawk V^alley ; the babies were very cross and
the people looked very glum ; and mother, who had
ridden all day in a springless waggon over logs and
stones innumerable, was ready to faint with fatigue.
A gloomy night seemed in store for her. But when
father came in and accosted the people in Dutch, all
was changed ; the old Dutch landlady wore a pleasant
smile ; one stout Dutch girl took one baby, and another
girl took the other ; and mother was ensconsed in the
rocking chair, received a good supper, got early into a
soft bed, and had one good night's rest.
We passed through Schenectady, and the incipient
villages of Auburn, Cayuga, Canendagua, Onendaga,
Batavia, &;c., now more cities than anything else ; but
the country as a whole was new, and a great part of it
a howling wilderness. Mudholes were countless, and
sometimes nearly bottomless ; the family avowed that
sometimes all that was visible of the horses were their
heads. The greatest difficulties and sufferings were
encountered in the Tondawanda Swamp, of far famed
length and depth. Mother's memories of its holes and
causeways were excruciating.
The Americans are proverbially inquisitive, and in
their then ruder state they were especially so. With
patriotic zeal to secure settlers, they were anxious for
My BOY LIFE 31
US to stop in the country, and wished to know "Where
we were going ? " Through all the earlier stages of
the journey, father answered, " The Holland Purchase."
This was true, for we were going there — though much
farther. His answer served its purpose until we passed
beyond the " Purchase," when something else had to
be tried ; what it was I never learned. At length, our
almost interminable journey drew towards its close,
and our American Cousins learned we were going to
Canada to augment the number of Kin^ George's sub-
jects. We infants were only six weeks old when we
reached our journey's end.
We crossed the rapid Niagara with such facilities as
the backward civilization of the day afforded, and
spent the first -winter in Queenstown. From there we
removed to the Ten Mile Creek, living both at the
" Lower Ten " and then at the " Upper Ten," consuming
in all, I suspect, the best part of two years. Just as
we were preparing to leave the place,- the greatest
possible affliction fell on our hapless family, which I
assign to a section by itself.
-^^^
Ko. V.
MY ELDEST BROTHER'S BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND TRAGIC
DEATH.
JOSEPH, or simply " Joe," as we called him in the
family, was my mother's first-born, given her
before she was twenty years of age. Beautiful
in mind and body was he in infancy, childhood, and
youth. Before others followed and " pov^erty like an
armed man " came on apace, he received more
attention as to his dress and education than it was
possible to bestow on the rest. He was reported by
all who knew him to be sweet in his disposition and
pleasing in his manners. His love for his mother was
very great, and in the desperate out-post of humanity
she was charged to defend, he was a great solace and
help to her — her companion during her dreary noc-
turnal vie^ils. About the ao^e of sixteen, an accident he
suffered (cutting his foot with an axe) led him to
serious reflection, and, his fond mother believed,
issued in a thorough religious change, so serious,
MY BOY LIFE. 33
devout, and conscientious did he become. 'Tis true '
neither he nor his mother, up to the time of his death,
had joined any Christian Church, nor was the thing
practicable to any one of a family so circumstanced
and with such a head as ours. But the son and mother
held sweet religious communings ; he was an impres-
sive reader, and read to her out of the Sacred Volume
and such few good books as were attainable to them ;
and employed his fine voice in singing such revival
melodies as were in circulation among the "Newlight"
Baptists of New Brunswick, who were the most
demonstrative professors known to them. Mother had
been brought up in Qaker sentiments, and she knew
very little of the few Methodists who had found their
way into our native Province. Our people coi^ld
pronounce the names of Black, of Mann, of McColl,
and a few other itinerant preachers, who made certain
" angel visits" through the land, but that was nearly
all. Joe amused his friends by humble attempts at
verse-making.
When we arrived in the Niagara country, my
precious maternal parent's strength and nervous
system were in a pitiful state of prostration. At an
untoward time she first heard the Methodists, then
very high in their professions, boisterous in their
announcements, and denunciatory in their addresses to
the unconverted. She used to say their ministry
stripped her of her self-righteousness, but did not
inspire her with the Gospel hope. It was very inoppor-
34 MY BOY LIFE.
tune that she heard only those " sons of thunder," she,
whose bruised spirit so much required to meet with
the ministrations of a Barnabas. She gave up hope of
every kind, and sank into a complete state of
despondency, indeed of settled religious melancholy.
She, who had been so exemplary in the care of her
family, now gave up all effort for time or eternity.
We infants, suffered from the neglect to such an
extent, that I cannot bring myself to repeat her after
descriptions of our pitiful condition. She could only
sit and w^eep, and nurse her sorrows. Poor Joe, the
only one who understood her case, and tried, though
vainly, to comfort her. "Be of good cheer, mammy !"
he would say, " the more the ground is ploughed the
deeper the seed will be sown ; you will live to yet
minister grace to the hearers " — a prophecy which was
fulfilled; but which he himself did not live to see
accomplished.
Perhaps I have somewhere else said in these diffusive
sketches that father tramped around the lake to the
Capital at York, to locate his thousand-acre grant of
land from Governor Simcoe ; but the system in the
Land Department was bad ; the state of the public
mind was unsettled by coming events ; and a new
executive had arisen which " knew not Joseph "
Carroll. The authorities advised him to defer the
location of his land till matters became more settled
(a time which never arrived to him) and that for the
present he had better take a cleared farm, and train
MY BOY LIFE. 35
his eight boys big and little, in agricultural work
against the time they went on land of their own.
Acting on this advice, father, with his usual extra-
ordinary judgment, made choice of the wild region
about the Grand Eiver ; and we afterwards lived in
two several places on those outskirts of civilization :
namely, at Fairchild's Creek and in the Indian Eeser-
vation itself on the banks of the noble river.
Every arrangement was made for the journey. A
team of horses and a waggon were purchased and our
family effects were got together, and preparations were
made for a start. In mother's unhappy prostration of
mind, nearly all the little arrangements for domestic
comfort were made by Brother Joseph. A few days
before our sad catastrophe he was said to have fondled
his tiny twin brothers upon his lap and expressed his
solicitude lest they might not live to be men, such was
our delicate appearance. Of some such caresses within
the brawny arms of our sainted brother, is all the
recollection of him that lingers from the morning
twilight of my existence.
Alas ! had brother known, he might have wept for
his own early fate instead of ours. Nay, mother
thought he had some premonition of that coming fate.
A few days before his death, the family heard him
pour from his melodious throat the hymn commencing :
•' The race appointed I have run,
The combat's o'er, the prize is won,
And now my record is on high.
And all my treasure's in the sky.
86 MY BOY LIFE.
**T leave llic world without a tear,
Fare for the friends 1 hold .so dear ;
lint in compassion. Lord, descend,
And tu tlio liicndlcss prove a friend."
If there vras any personal application made of the
lines, his mother, no doubt was referred to in the latter
ones. When he grew up to manhood a fierce spirit of
severity and intolerance had sprung up towards him in
cur father's mind. There ^vero several causes for this*
the junior's moral superiority was a standing reproof
to the senior ; tho latter may have been jealous that
the reverence which he himself should have con-
strained was trans!:*erred to the eldest son and brother;
that son loved his mother, and was passionately loved
by her in return ; although allowing himself only a
fraction of his earnings, he dressed genteelly and was
attentive to his person, which somebody else was not.
Once when he came in with his hair fashionably cut
like other young men, the senior with a ridiculous zeal
for Christian plainness angrily pronounced it "the
mark of the beast," and approached with shears in
hand and haggled off, what he called the " cock's
comb." It vras pitiful to see a six-foot young man
thus humiliated, and fain to slink away and weep like
a child. Often did he say to his mother, "Dear
riiauuny, only for your sake, before I would submit to
v.hat I do, I would go as far as the King has a foot of
land ! " Poor fellow ! he did not say " to the utmost
verge of this green earth," he had no idea, with the
MY BOY LIFE. 37
loyalty in his blood, of going anywhere but within the
Dominion of the British King. The last winter wo
spent in our native Province the eldest boys were
ca,lled to do militia duty, to be ready for threatened
emergencies. They learned the manual exercise, and
Joseph's activity of mind made him particularly
expert. So much so that when he arrived in Canada,
he was employed to drill the local militia. His fine
personal appearance, pleasing manners, military bear-
ing, musical voice, and versifying powers, joined to
his pure and innocent social qualties, rendered him a
general favourite. And had he thought of matrimony,
no young man could have married more advantageously
than he. Indeed, a wealthy yeoman pressed his comely
daughter upon him, with the promise of a good settle-
ment in life. But his answer was " I will never leave
home so long as my mother lives."
But I must hasten to the close. The country was
very subject to the ague, and Jossph had been rendered
miserable by an attack of it for some wrecks ; and was
very anxious to get it "broken," as it used to be
termed, before the family's intended removal. An
old Dutch quack recommended a decoction of prickly
ash bark and whisky. The nostrum was prepared and
made strong, and Joseph took a glass, and, upon the
advice of his mother, he soon after took another, so
anxious were they to be rid of the wearisome com-
plaint. But the draught seemed too potent, he was
seized with spasms. Seeing his deadly pallor, and his
38 MY BOY LIFE.
distorted features, his mother approached him ; but he
spent his last lucid moment and his failing power.? of
speech in striving to comfort and fortify her against
her prospective bereavement. Soon he lost all con-
sciousness, and struggled out of one convulsion into
another for eight and forty hours. Six or eight strong
men tried to restrain his throes (no doubt a foolish
mode of treatment) till the skin was literally worn
from his body. During this time the house was a
scene of confusion and passionate lamentation. All
felt relief, therefore, when his great vitality was
exhausted, and his spirit passed away, relieving him
from his bodily pain. "When the shocking strife was
over, his features returned to their placid expression.
There he lay, a well proportioned young man of
twenty-two, whose coffin measured six feet three inches.
Profuse were the tears shed upon the extinguishing
of this light of our household ; and we never ceased to
talk of our brother, or forgot to weep for him. His
memory was an influence for good in the family.
He was laid in his grave among strangers, no
stone telling where he lay. After the stupefaction
which this stunning blow produced had somewhat
passed off*, we picked up our traps, and drove away up
through the townships of Gratham, Clinton, Grimsby,
Saltfleet, Barton, and Ancaster ; on through the Grand
River swamp, (in which they encountered great
obstacles and hardships, aggravated by the passionate
tyranny of one who should have soothed and sustained
MY BOY LIFE,
39
US all.) Alas ! alas ! alas ! for depraved human nature,
aggravated and demonized by drink ! But the goal was
reached at last. My child memories, and traditions of
our experiences there will be detailed in the next
section.
No. vr.
OUR INDIAN NEIGHBOURS.
IrHAVE a good memory for things that I have seen
I and heard. I don't think I ever met a person
who could remember so many things from so early a
period of his life as T can. I remember a great many
things, here and there, since I stood at my mother's knee
along with my little twin brother, and was fed with
a spoon, when we could not have been more than two
years' old. From the age of two to three years and a
half our family lived on a large Indian farm on the
banks of a noble river of Canada — the *' Grand Kiver "
— with more Indians than white people for neighbours.
To begin with, I will tell some of the little incidents
I remember of that period, which was immediately
before the war of 1812, which may interest my readers,
and will be the best introduction to what I will tell in
the next section.
I remember having had the ''dumb ague" very
badly for a long time. I must have become very
MY BOY LIFE. 41
much attenuated — that is, very poor and thin. My
arms are disproportionately long and slender at any
time, but one day during that time I stripped down
the sleeve of my slip, loose at all times, and held out
my right arm, not thicker than a walking-stick, and
cried out boastingly, " See what long arms I've got."
A burst of laughter from the family revealed my
simplicity in sporting my deformity. I remember,
furthermore, how plenty the red plums were on the
flats of the river, large baskets of which were brought
in by the bigger boys and set on the floor, of which wo
little ones ate without stint. From that time the ague
left me, and I got as fat as it was my nature ever to
be. Perhaps the knowing ones would say that, in the
absence of quinine, there was something in the bitter
rinds of the plums of an antifebril tendency. Probably
the bitter of the rind broke the fever, and the sweet
pulp under the rind put the flesh on my bones.
jSIot far from the door there was a calf pasture, or
pen, with a high fence around it, in which a calf was
turned loose. We little ones loved to look through
the fence and admire the bossy, and pat his meek little
nose and head through the rails. But one morning we
awoke to see a very sad sight; bossy lay stretched on
the grass, with a great hole in his throat. The family
had been awakened by a great bellowing from the old
red cow, whose looks are stamped on my memory ever
since. The wolves were devouring her darling ; but
she could not surmount the fence, or else I guess she
42 MY BOY LIFE.
would have given some of them a hoist with her horns.
No one went to the rescue in time to save poor bossy
from the ruthless destroyers. Many a tear we shed
for our meek little pet, and much sorrow was felt and
expressed for poor Old Red, which fed us with her
milk, for the loss of her baby.
I remember the woods were full of pigs living on
grass, acorns, wild plums, and whatever they could
steal. They would be considered very unusual in
appearance now ; they were streaked from head to
tail, somewhat like a chipmunk. One of them, a blue
pig with dark stripes, I claimed as my own. Since I
became older, I have learned that the colour and marks
I have mentioned give place to more thorough domes-
tication, they being the colour of the wild hog. I
cannot remembor what became of my pig.
The flats of the river, on the farther side, constituted
a natural meadow, where the cattle were pastured. I
remember seeing the oxen, when loosed from the yoke,
driven into the river, followed by some one in a canoe,
and swimming across to join the herd in the glades
beyond the river. It was a picturesque sight.
Very near our house, at one part of the time, was
the residence of a dignified Mohawk Chief, Thomas
Davis. He and his wife were large people ; and
though Mrs. Davis had a copper-coloured skin, she had
a kind, motherly heart, allowing us to take the eggs
the hens laid in a box in the porch, and furnishing us
liberally with maple sugar whenever we went to see
MY BOY LIFE. 43
her ; the Indian name of which I learned and still
remember — Chick-ha-tah. I may here say, that we
used to play with the little Indian children, in their
only garment of a printed calico shirt, and sometimes
without even that, and learned to talk with them as
readily in their language as we could in our own.
The old chief had a son, a growing youth, from
fifteen to twenty, named Joseph. We all liked Joe very
much, and he was a favourite companion of my three
eldest brothers. He thought he could talk English
very well, but he spoke it with the Indian idiom and
accent — that is, what you might call " wrong end
first." One day, one of the boys away from the house
wanted to remind his next younger brother that the
horses required to be watered; and he sent a message
to him to that effect by Joe Davis, which he delivered
thus : "Tom, drink de horses, Beel says !"
Sometimes our Indian experiences were not so good
a joke. After war was proclaimed, the country became
very much disturbed. There were a great many
American people, disaffected to the Government,
squatting here and there on the Indian Reservation,
who hated my father, an old Loyalist soldier of
the Revolution, and very demonstrative in his
loyalty to the British Crown. They threw down his
fences and turned in the cattle by night ; and I have
heard father and mother say, that of a hundred acres
of wheat sown, they never reaped a handful. Perhaps
those Yankees stirred up the Indians, too, to be unkind
44 MY BOY LIFE.
to father. I was going to tell of two ugly scares that
we children received at that time. . A young Indian
man, perhaps a little intoxicated, came to the door of
our house, which stood open, dressed in a blanket coat,
with cap. or capote, of the same, forming part of the
garment, furnished with projections like horns, dancing
and brandishing a knife, which he stabbed or stuck
into the door. You will not be surprised that I
screamed and fled to the other side of my mother's
chair for protection. What she could have done for
us, poor woman, I know not, for she she was unarmed
and alone ; but to soothe us, and show her contempt
of him, she evinced no signs of fear, whatever she may
have felt ; and after a time the foolish fellow went
away. At the other time I refer to, mother was away
at a neighbour's, some miles distant, and, as it turned
out, lost her way coming back. The two eldest boys
and father were a long distance from home ; a, brother
about ten years' old was living with a neighbour; and
the only one of any size — Tom, about fifteen, but very
strong, and with the heart of a lion — being tenderly
attached to his mother, became alarmed at her remain-
ing quite into the gloaming, and went to seek her.
This left the three youngest of us by ourselves. iNat.
was eight years old, and we twins were scarcely more
than three. The sticks of which the chimney was
made took fire, and we became very much alarmed.
Two Indians passed, to whom we made known our
troubles, but they only laughed. We twins could only
MY BOY LIFE. 45
do what the little girl did, described by Dr. Novrton,
when a little brother fell into a stream and was nearly
drowned, although he was eventually rescued and
brought home. The father asked one of three boys,
" What did you do towards saving your little brother ? "
" I plunged into the stream after him and brought him
to the bank!" Turning to the other boy, he said,
" What did you do ? " "I carried him home on my
back, sir!" And accosting the little girl he said,
" Sissy, what did you do ? " " Why, pa, I began to
cry, and I cried as hard as I could all the time." Said
the doctor, " Perhaps her crying did as much towards
the rescue as the efforts of her brothers ; it stimulated
them to exert themselves to the utmost." So our cries
stimulated Brother Nat. He was not big and strong
enough to fetch a pail of water from the spring on the
other side of the stile, but he went all the of tener with
the tin cup. But alas ! he had a bootless task. By
throwing the water on the burning spot, he contrived
to keep the flame from spreading for a time ; but it
did spread, and at length he became weary and dis-
couraged, and gave up. His next idea was to save his
mother s bed, and a chest with valuables in it, which
he intended to drag out of the house. Just at that
point deliverance came. Tom had found his mother,
and they were returning. When they came near
enough to hear our cries, he ran, and coming in and
seeing us covered with sweat, and tears, and soot, and
seeing the chimney on fire, caught a pail, ran to the
46 MY BOY LIFE.
spring, and returned with the pail running over — he
mounted the ladder to the loft, where he could dash
the water on the burning spot, which so effectually
checked the flames that the fire was soon extinguished.
This was a sad, but still useful occurrence ; for it
roused mother, who had been so sunk in religious
melancholy that she scarcely took any interest in her
family for several years. Our sufierings in the open
log-house, without a stove, which few possessed in
those days, had been very severe. Once I froze a
finger so badly which had been sticking out of bed at
night, that the nail came off, and the form of the new
one has been noticeable ever since. I could show it to
you now.
I have spoken about hens, and pigs, and cow, and
calf, and oxen ; 1 must say a word or two about our
two horses. In those days the land was mostly tilled
by oxen, but we had a span of horses for longer
journeys. They were what might be called " little big
horses ; " the favourite was almost a pony, but strong.
Their names were Jack and Pomp. Jack was as black
as jet ; Pomp, or " Pompey," as we usually called him
out of fondness, w^as of a peculiar colour— I never saw
exactly the like of him in all my long life. Pompey
was a delicate mouse-colour, diversified by copper-
coloured spots over all parts of his body, nearly the
size of a copper, and quite as round. As his head,
neck, ears, mane, body, legs, and tail were beautifully
formed, he was very handsome. No wonder we all
MY BOY LIFE. 47
caressed and petted him very much. He was so gentle,
they often hitched him to the back-log intended for
the fire, and drew it into the house, he coming in at
one door, and passing out at the opposite. After intro-
ducing you to Pompey, I will close this section. He
will appear again. I have concluded to add to what
was originally a " story " in a child's paper, an inci-
dent illustrative of the savagery in which we lived,
which happened to my brother James, prepared for a
more elaborate autobiography, which will not now, it
is likely, see the light. Brother Jim was the eldest son
living, now that dear Joseph had gone. He was a
young man only about twenty-one, but very muscular
and strong, though embarrassed by defective vision,
which ended five or six years after in total blindness.
He could yet see to work, and even to read and write
— though the last two became impossible before the
war was over, by the measles caught while doing
militia duty on theJines, before any of the rest of the
family became identified with the army, from the disease
settling in his eyes ; but what I have promised to
relate belonged to a period somewhat earlier. War
was declared, and a government proclamation required
all the Indian warriors to make their appearance at
Squire Hatt's, near Burlington Bay, within, I think,
" three days." Some whites and some Indians were
talking over the requirement at some place of meeting,
my brother James and a great strapping Mohawk
among the rest. Powless did not see how he could go
48 MY BOY LIFE.
— ^lie"liad no moccasins." James, who was intimate
with him, said playfully, " Powless, I guess you're
afraid !" Perhaps this was too true ; for Powless took
it in dudgeon, and said angrily, " You go get your gun
and see if me afraid ! " Brother laughed it off, and
thought no more of it ; but the next morning, havins:
occasion to pass the Indian's house, Powless opened
the door and called him in ; and when he had got him
within the walls, he began to upbraid him for making
the charge of cowardice, and commenced to stamp,
and rage like a madman. Presently he sprang for his
knife, which was run in a crack of the wall ; James
sprang towards him, and clapping his hand on the
Indian's, just as it grasped the handle, the blade broke
off in bhe log. Foiled in that, he sprang for his axe,
in a corner of the room, and grasped the helve ; but
Jim was as quick as he, and stronger besides ; he
seized him by the shoulders — flung him on the floor —
wrested the axe from his grasp, and threw it away.
But as Mrs. Powless had fled so soon as the scuffle
began, Brother did not know but she might soon have
a pack of Indians on his back, and thought it prudent
to make his escape. The next time they met, Powless,
was unusually deferential. Nothing answers so well
with an Indian as a thorough subjugation
No. VII.
CHILD MEMORIES OF THE ALARMS AND HARDSHIPS
OF WAR.
I HAVE already given some recollections of events
which affected my childish imagination and feel-
ings, that must have taken place in the early
part of the War of 1812-15, while our family was
still living far from the " lines/' as they were called.
I heard at the time, and often afterwards, that father
became disgusted with the lawlessness and insecurity
which prevailed almost everywhere in the .country, and
especially among the savage and half-civilized peoples
of our vicinity, and thought that he and his family
would suffer less annoyance even wher^ the danger
might be supposed to be greater : rightly judging that
martial law was better than no law at all. The result
was, that in one of his visits to the frontier he had an
interview with the military authorities ; and owing to
his demonstrative loyalty and his old-time memories
of, and proclivities for, military life (for he belonged to
50 MY BOY LIFE.
the artillery through the "Revolutionary War"), he was
induced to join the army again as a volunteer (he was
too old for legal enlistment), and to enlist two of his
sons, who, though men for strength, were yet minors.
The department to which they all became attached
was what has been sometimes called the "Flying
Artillery," or Royal Artillery Drivers, i.e., those
who handled the moveable guns upon gun-carriages.
My father was a skilled saddler, harness, and collar-
maker, and he was put in charge of all the harness,
etc., with the title of " Master Collar-maker ;*' his sons
were enlisted as drivers and harness-makers : they
learned the drill, and upon occasion rode the gun-
horses and even served in action, but in the long
run were mostly required in the regimental shops.
William held the rank of "Collar-maker," about
equivalent to that of sergeant.
As soon as the roads were suflficiently dry to travel,
in the spring of 1813, our indispensables were packed
into the double horse waggon, and mother and the
children, incapable of walking, were placed in it also ;
and our faithful Pomp and Jack were the force which
dragged us along. We must have taken our weary-
way from the Grand River (above where Brantford
now flourishes), through the Indian Reservation till we
reached the townships, passing through the sloughs of
the " Grand Rivpr Swamp," till we sighted Burlington
Bay, where Hamilton now spreads its ample breadth,
at which point we must have descended th.e mountain.
MY BOY LIFE. 51
passing along under its shadow, and crossing " Stoney
Creek," the "Fifty Mile Creek," the "Forty," the
"Thirty," the "Twenty" (now called Jordan), the
" Sixteen," the "Twelve," the "Ten," the "Four Mile
Creek," and last of all the " Two Mile Creek," shortly
beyond which we found ourselves in the old town of
Niagara, at the military headquarters.
I have told my readers of my remembrance of many
things which happened before that journey ; but I
must confess that of the journey itself I remember
little or nothing, except the black coat of sturdy Jack,
and the pretty spots of our soon- to-be-lamented
Pompey. The causes of forgetfulness were, perhaps,
my mind was not yet enough expanded to know what
it was all about ; and I rather guess that a good part
of the journey was in the night, and that I and my
twin brother must have slept a good deal of the way.
Happily that refreshment comes to children at least.
But my attention was destined soon to be awakened
and my consecutive or continuous memory was to
commence its register of all passing events, thus con-
necting my childhood with my old age in a conscious
identity throughout. The event which caused the
awakening referred to was the Battle of Niagara,
which happened May 27th, 1813, when I lacked two
months of being four years old.
We had been in the town about a fortnight ; our
team of horses were grazing on the commons ; and the
mother and the youngest children had found a tem-
porary home, or shelter, with a former acquaintance.
52 MY BOY LIFE.
One morning my mind was attracted by a great
bustle. The militiamen, with their muskets in hand,
but in coloured clothes, were pouring into the house —
each to receive a badge of white cotton, or linen (in
those days it was mostly the latter, cotton not yet
having come into such general use as now), which was
tied around an arm by the women, many of whom
were in tears. You will say, What was this for ?
Why, we were on the eve of the famous battle of
Niagara. Our relatives, the Americans, were prepar-
ing to cross, or were in the act of crossing, the river.
Unhappily, both sides employed Indians, and Indian
warfare consists largely in massacre ; and the Indians
would naturally think that all persons found in arms,
not dressed in red, were " Yankees," who wore dark
uniforms. Therefore, our militiamen, whose clothes
were mostly dark, were fain to have some badge to
distinguish them from the enemy, lest an Indian's rifle,
or fusee, should be levelled at them, with the certainty
of being tomahawked and scalped when down.
Father and our boys were as bad off as the civilians,
for they had too lately arrived to be, at least, " fitted "
with their uniforms. What my father and eldest
brother, who were in the action, did, I cannot exactly
say ; but I remember father's coming bustling in with
a drummer's coat for Tom, to demonstrate by its scarlet
and lace that he was British.
The next thing I noticed was ranks of red-coated
soldiers drawn up in lines near the house, nerforming
MY BOY LIFE. 53
various movements ; and anon I missed them. Then
began sounds of bang, bang ; pop, pop, pop. Mother
said " the balls flew like handfuls of peas." Presently
a crashing sound went through the house ; it was
a cannon-ball which passed through both walls of
the room we were in, over our heads. Mother, wdio
had been several years in a state of religions melan-
choly, so that she had largely omitted her old-time
care for her family; now, to use her own words,
" ceased caring for her soul, and commenced caring for
her children." The war cured my mother. Her first
measure was to take us out of the house, wdiere she
thought we were more exposed, because of splinters,
than we would be in the open. She spread a blanket
on the ground, to obviate the dampness, under a fence,
with the road in front and a wheat field, green and
bright, behind us, on which we all sat down. Just as
we had begun to congratulate ourselves on our safety,
a cannon-ball struck in the field behind us, ploughing
up the ground, as they always do ; next,- another ball
struck in the road before us, and covered us with dirt.
I thought it all "very funny," but had not sense
enough to be frightened, and cannot say whether the
older children were or not. But I know that mother
thought it " time to flit." We went back to the house,
tied up a feather-bed and some bedding in a sheet,
or blanket, and a brother ten years old staggered
away w^ith it on his back, we all taking the road
towards the " Ten Mile Creek " on foot. It was a great
54 MY ]60Y LIFE.
providence we escaped with our lives ; for I remember
that the cannon-balls struck the stumps before and
behind us (mother said), even when we were a mile
out of town. We little witless things had no sense of
danger, for we could scarcely be restrained from look-
ing after the balls, thinking it a kind of ball-playing
on a large scale ! We trudged or toddled on a distance
of four miles before we stopped. Fortunately, we got
into good quarters considering the times. Our horses
fell into the enemy's hands, and the house we left was
burned and all our household efiects were consumed.
An old farmer by the name of George Lawrence,
near the Four Mile Creek, took us in. He was a
Methodist class-leader, the brother of John Lawrence,
one of the first New York Methodists, and sometimes
even then met his little class in the house. Mrs. Law-
rence had a good voice, and used to sing the old-
fashioned spiritual songs which suited the martial ideas
of the time, representing the members of God's church
as an army, ending with the lines —
" We'll then march up the heavenly street,
And ground our arms at Jesus' feet."
At first (till a part of the British forces, which had
after their defeat retreated to Beaver Dam, returned
and threw up defensive works on the north-west bank
of the " Creek," about a quarter of a mile from Mr.
Lawrence's house), we were at the mercy of the forag-
ing parties from the American camp in the town. It
MY BOY LIFE. 6$
is but just to say, however, they paid for whatever
they got, which is more than the old people could say
of the British soldiers when they came, who stole
everything they could lay their hands upon. Even
the dear old man went unpaid for the boarding of the
officers' mess, which was entertained in the house ; and
was so abused at one time because the victuals were not
better, that he sat down and wept to think his devoted
loyalty should receive such a cruel recompense. Before
the return of the British, our position was made a little
lively by the appearance from time to time of Ameri-
can officers. One day, who should make his appearance
but our old favourite, Pompey, bestrode by an American
cavalry officer, well groomed and richly caparisoned ;
it was enough to make us sorrow deeply to see him
wrested from us, and in the enemy's hands. We could
hardly have felt worse if it had been one of our
brothers we saw in captivity.
The summer passed very pleasantly at Mr. Law-
rence's. It was a sort of house of refuo^e for a number
of many diffiirent sorts of people. As there was a guard
of thirty strong posted at; the house, with sentries out
upon all the roads or avenues, and as there was an
officers' mess the members of which came there for
their meals, it was no doubt thought to be a safe
retreat for the otherwise defenceless refugees. There
was old Mr. and Mrs. Stivers, Dutch people, whose two
sons, Hans and Hinery, were doing duty in the " Pro-
vincial Dragoons," and riding express to various parts
56 ^rr boy life.
of the country, and a Mrs. Cassady, who came there
to nurse a sick daughter, who performed, as we shall
see, two very heroic acts, the last day of our stay in
that place. I might tell of a good many queer things
which happened while we were there ; but I will only
speak of the things which impressed my childish
mind, and the relation of which would be likely to
interest children.*
The garden had its plants and flowers, and contri-
* So I had concluded when this section appeared in the form of a
" story ' for Pleasant Hours ; but I will, in this fonn, relate
one incident on which I often heard my mother dwell with glee : —
Some person in the house had lost ten dollars (in two five dollar bills,
I think), and search was made for it in vain ; and every person dis-
claimed all knowledge of the money. But a hired girl, out of a low
family, one Maria Gesso, because of her antecedents, was suspected,
but denied the perpetration of the theft. Mother devised a plan of
detecting her, or frightening her to return the money. One day she
she said, in the cook-house without, to young Mr. Peter Lawrence,
purposely, when Maria was within hearing, "Peter, I have a plan for
finding out the money-thief." "How is that, Mrs. Carroll 1*
'* I will go to-night to the barn and fetch in one of the young roosters,
and put it under a tub ; and, every person in the house shall put his
hand under the tub and stroke the chicken's back ; and when the
person who stole the money touches him, he will crow. Her intention
was to daub the back of the fowl with something which would adhere
to the hand. She knew that the guilty person would fear to touch
him ; and when palms were scrutinized, when the course of stroking
was gone through with, the person with a clean hand would be charged
with the theft, and if necessary searched. But the necessity for this .
*^ hocus-pocus" work was rendered unnecessary by the money being left
on one of the beds in plain open sight, where the guilty person knew
it would be found. It was found, and restored to its owner.
MY BOY LIFE. 57
buted its share to our enjoyment. To watch the sheep
was very pleasant, and to see them penned up every
night in a high "bay " in the barn for safety, seemed
curious. It afforded us pleasure to wander in the
fields to play and look for flowers. One day, however,
we twins got considerable of a fright. We were
always taught to keep a safe distance from a bull, and
we knew his bellow ; while at some distance from the
house we heard what we thought that animals droning
bellow — boo-o, boo-o — and we broke and ran for the
house, upon returning to which we found the noise
proceeded from one of the upper rooms, where a hired
girl was driving a large spinning-wheel, only ! That
was the bull.
The soldiers of the guard seemed to extract a great
deal of amusement out of us little ones, by doing what
was not uninteresting to us — such as dressing us in
soldier's array, putting a " forage cap " on our heads,
furnishing us with a stick for a gun, and lading us
with a knapsack. Once when thus harnessed up, I
fell over backwards with the weight, and could not
extricate myself till some one came to my relief. But
all this was trifling compared with what happened on
the last day of our stay, and those that followed
thereupon.
Children tired with play, usually fall asleep early in
the evening ; and '' early to bed " makes them often
" early to rise.',' On a certain beautiful summer or
autumn morning, at an early hour, not too early for
58 MY BOY LIFE.
the sun to be up, I and my little mate were up and
out ; and though we had not yet breakfasted, each had
provided him with a rod of elder, easily broken from
the bushes, which we straddled, and our imaginations
invested it with the attributes of a horse, and we were
galloping up and down the road in front of the house,
in imitation of Hans and Hinery Stivers, who had just
cantered by, to execute some military command. The
people of the house were rather about the door and
yard than within doors. The table, with its white
cloth, was laid for the officers' mess, but they came
not ; yes, Lieutenant McLeod, the captain of the guard,
was there, and urged to take his breakfast, but he ate
not; he looked very pale, and his hand trembled so badly
that the cup of tea one of the women had handed him
spilt its contents over his sword, which, in its sheath
lay across his knees. He was a coward, and his fears
were awakened by what was occurring without. What
it was all about we little ones did not comprehend at
that time, but we soon were brought to understand
better — only I remarked that all the grown people
looked anxious, and no one touched the breakfast.
Our mother suddenly called us in from our sport ; and
not expecting that it was, as far as that place was con-
cerned, destined to end forever, we carefully stabled our
imaginary horses in a corner of the garden. The grown
people heard, what we took no notice of, sharp but ir-
regular shots of musketry here and there. Presently a
little Irish soldier, who had been posted somewhere in
MY BOY LIFE. . 69
the orchard, came running, scrambled up the steps, and
attempted to enter the door, exclaiming, "Lord Jaysus !
Where will a fellow hide ? " To which Mrs. Cassady,
the heroine of the hour, replied by pushing him heels
over head down the steps, responding that he should
" Go fight like a man ! " Paddy turned on his heel,
and scampered away to seek some other hiding-place.
Poor old Mrs. Stivers the while walked the house and
wrung her hands, uttering the piteous lament, " Och,
mine poor Hans! och, mine poor Hinery!" In the
meantime it was said that American Indians appeared
in the road south of us, and the guard turned out and
prepared for action. But the officer, not so minded,
swore that he would " cut the first man's head ofi who
fired a shot;" and then formed his guard and started
in double-quick time for the cantonment on the banks
of the Four Mile Creek. Thus this valorous lieutenant
and his thirty armed soldiers left an old man and a
house full of women and children to the tender mercies
of what proved to be only ten Indians ! .
Presently the dreaded Indians appeared, not in a
body, but Indian-like, in ones and twos and threes,
stealthily surrounding the premises, some skulking
behind this corner, and others behind that. Those
that showed themselves seemed strapping, stalwart
men, with painted faces, clad only in the indispensable
waist-cloth and in gaudy-coloured printed calico shirts.
Quarrels were frequent through the war between our
own Indians and soldiers, and the gravest heads in our
60 MY BOY LIFE.
company for a time, such as my own mother, Mr.
Lawrence, and Mr. Smith, a corporal of a Provincial
corps, who had just come in from visiting the sentries
concluded it was an emeute between British Indians
and soldiers. The confab was in this state when some
of the Indians appeared before the front gate, upon
which the good man of the house went out, and offered
one of them his hand, and it was accepted; but
another savage came up with a scowl on his face, and
seized Mr. Lawrence by his neck-cloth and made him
his prisoner. Seeing this. Corporal Smith, whose gun
did not chance to be loaded, put his hand behind him,
and was in the act of taking out a cartridge from his
cartouche-box, when an Indian, who was skulking
among the weeds of the garden, levelled his fusee and
shot our would-be defender through the hand and the
cartouche-box into the small of his back, where the
ball remained. He would have fallen, but he caught
by the garden gate, and by the aid of his musket con-
trived to help himself up the steps, which were high,
and into the house, whither the Indians rushed after
him. To ease his pain, he lay down on his back in the
middle of the floor.
With the curiosity of a child, I watched it all. Two
Indians advanced towards him, and one stood over his
head with an uplifted tomahawk, while another stood
at his feet and presented his loaded fusee towards his
breast, as though they would despatch him at once.
At which the courageous Mrs. Cassady rushed forward
MY BOY LIFE. 61
and with her unlifted arm knocked the tomahawk one
way and the fusee another, exclaiming, " Don't murder
the man in the house." Her courageous bearing awed
the Indians ; and at her direction they assisted her in
taking off his accoutrements, and after a little while
he was led away a prisoner ; and we afterwards learned
that death put an end to his sufferings, three days after
receiving the wound.
When the search began by the Indians through the
house, mother thrust us four little ones into a pot-hole
under the stairs, and stood with her back to the door
and her face confronting the Indians, like a bear at
bay against the hunters defending her cubs. Still
cherishing the idea that they were British Indians after
all, as one of them passed she patted him on the shoulder,
and asked him if he were not "a friend to King
George." She was the object of an ugly frown, but
received no material injury. Our assailants passed
through the house, upstairs and down, but, strange,
to say, took no booty of any kind. The whole aliair
was so singular throughout as to lead to various con-
jectures as to who they were and what their particular
object. Some doubted their being Indians at all, but
thought them disaffected white men in the country
around, only disguised as Indians, and that their object
was to surprise and capture or kill the members of the
officers' mess.
The surprise and sorrow of that day w^as increased
by a son of the family, George Lawrence, jun., who had
62 BIT BOY LIFE.
been out on duty with the militia company to which
he belonged, being brought in with a buckshot wound
in the thigh, which he had received in the skirmish
which was general between the advanced pickets of
both armies — the American, which lay in the town of
Niagara, and the British, posted at the Cross Roads.
I think there did not prove to be any reason for it,
but the Lawrences resolved to retire further into the
interior ; and a waggon was got ready, furnished with
a feather bed, upon which the wounded militiaman
was placed, and they moved off, to be further away
from the scene of conflict. And mother thought she
must needs go also. She had no one to lean upon
for guidance or support ; father had been taken
prisoner at the battle of Niagara. He had, it is true,
been discharged on his parole of honour, and we had
seen him once through the summer. But as he had
taken service after his parole, it would have been death
for him to fall into the enemy's hands; on which
account he attended only to such duty in his depart-
ment as lay farthest from the lines. The British
army was preparing to vacate the camp at the Creek
and to retreat. Mother with her children prepared to
follow in its wake. We had eaten no breakfast, but
each child had a large "sea biscuit" in his hands.
When we arrived at the fort we met our brother Bill,
just mounting his military horse to come and see what
had become of his mother. He, too, had been on short
allowance, and when we met him we were so glad to
MY BOY LIFE. 63
see him that, with the generosity and improvidence of
childhood, we forced our biscuits upon him, and, as the
result, never broke our own fast for twenty-four hours.
What with our smallness, and feebleness, and the
bundles we had to carry, it took us till the sun went
down to toddle over the causeway and mud through
the six miles of the dreary "Black Swamp Road,"
mostly skirted with woods. We found the road
strewed with military articles shaken off the waggons
in the flight from the approaching enemy. Some
articles were picked up by the oldest boy, and preserved
as souvenirs as long as the family held together, but
alas ! we found no food. Towards evening our fright-
ened British Indians began to steal back to their camps,
very anxiously inquiring of us if we had " seen any
Yankees?" One of these poor fellows lay in the
road, very sick with the " shaking ague." The violence
of his headache led him to ask our mother for a
" string," in default of a handkerchief, to tie around
his head. Alas 1 she had none to give. The two older
boys had a hard time of it, having had to carry us
two little ones on their backs from time to time, my
little twin brother pleading most piteously, the while,
to be allowed to " lie down and die." But they tugged
him through, and about sunset we arrived at Brown's
Tavern, at the " Upper Teh Mile Creek," and got a
supper of weak tea, bread, and skim-milk cheese, for
which mother paid five dollars — a dollar for each one.
Sleep that night was refreshing to us, weary and foot-
sore as we were.
64 MY BOY LIFE.
I had hetter not spin out my story in dwelling on
any details excepting those which illustrate the topics
on which the title of the present section pledge me to
write. It is sufficient, then, to say that the mother
and children found shelter in a small log-house, with a
roof of bark, occupied by a woman who also had
several children, to whom there was another added
while we were there. During her sickness we had to
make a fire out in the neighbouring grove, and stop
there. I think, however, we did not fare very ill :
there was a large orchard near, fruit was pretty well
matured, and in war time all things were conmion, so
that we treated ourselves to roast apples, not wholly
without other accompaniments. Once we disturbed a
nest of reptiles coiled together, preparing, perhaps, to
hybernate for the winter, which gave us a great fright ;
but as snake stories are not very agreeable, I dwell
upon it no further. When it began to be cooler, we
removed two miles further westward, and stopped for
a time at the " Twelve Mile Creek," near where St.
Catharines now flourishes. But I do not remember
much of our residence there. There could have been
nothing very stirring, or I should have been likely to
have remembered it.
In the fall it began to be unsafe, or at least it was
thought so, to remain so near the frontier. It was
after Proctor's defeat, and the British army was con-
centrated (intrenched) at Burlington Heights, at the
head of the bay on the margin of which the City of
MY BOY LIFE. 65
Hamilton now spreads itself abroad, and thither it was
thought necessary for us to go. But how should we
get there ? All the horse teams were impressed to
convey military or Government stores. Mother, how-
ever, now thoroughly cured of her religious despond-
ency, was pretty energetic. She found a man who
owned a yoke of oxen and cart, with whom she bar-
gained to convey us the thirty miles, more or less, to
the " Heights," for the sum of $20. We were piled in,
and off we started. The jolting in that springless
vehicle over the rough roads of that day did not, how-
ever, so shake up my ideas as to enable me to remem-
ber much about it.
We had an acquaintance at the Bay, who had often
shared our hospitality, a Mr. Nathaniel Hughson,
whose name is commemorated in that of one of the
streets of the " Ambitious City." His place was sought
for and found, and they did not repel us ; but what
could they do ? His house was not very large, consider-
ing his family, at the best; and he had the meat
contract for the army, which required a great many
assistants and made a great deal of "clutter" — besides
which, the house was crowded with soldiers and
teamsters. Mother was fain to make a " shake down"
on the floor, fencing its boundaries with such impedi-
ments as came to hand, into which we five turned for
the night, and slept the sleep of the just.
Our next move was to the house, or place of a
worthy German family, by the name of Smuck, or
5
QQ MY BOY LIFE.
''Smoke/* as they were called, near the Binkleys,
about half wary between two distinguished places,
which were then in the womb of the future — Hamilton
and Dundas — we used to hear of a village of some
celebrity then, some miles away, Ancaster by name,
but I never saw it till forty years after. Our good
entertainers were new settlers and had enough to do for
themselves. There was a one-roomed old log-house,
with an open fire-place, with loose boards for flooring.
Then there was a newer part, an addition to the old
house, also of logs, unfinished. Half of the place was
floored, and half unfloored ; but the chinking had not
been put in between the logs, and there was no
chimney, and there could be no fire, although the
weather now began to be quite frosty. Although
there was a sick officer in bed in the old part, we some-
times stole in to warm ourselves at the fire. This made
the floor boards always to rattle, which greatly dis-
turbed the weak nerves of the sick officer, made more
irritable than his wont by the ague. One day he bid
his " orderly " to bring his brace of horse-pistols (he
belonged to our corps, the flying artillery) and
threatened, with the emphasis of an oath, to " shoot a
dozen of us." Happily he did not cairy out his threat
or I should not be writing these chronicles. Then he
turned to my mother, and said, " Mrs. Carroll, I intend
to have your husband tried by a court-martial and
shot ? " " Why, Colonel, what has he done ?" " Why,
for not sending you to Lower Canada ? Do you not
MT BOY LIFE. 67
know that there was an order for all soldiers' wives to
depart to Lower Canada ? " "I hope you do not rank
me with ordinary soldiers' wives, because my husband
saw fit to turn out in troublous times to help defend
his country — I shall not go." The mother defeated
the Colonel, at least she silenced his battery ; and next
day he retreated himself.
But though the Colonel had left, there was not
much room for us in the apartment warmed by the fire,
and our part was too cold to be endured ; so we were
forced to lie in bed, by day as well as by night, to keep
from becoming starved with the cold, a confinement
rather irksome to restless childhood. At length our
biggest brother, Jim, made his appearance : he had
been in the militia, and took the measles, which
affected his eyes, and, to a great degree, deprived him
of his sight, on which account he was unfit for further
service and was exempted. He had hovered about
our path, and employed his time in working for the
farmers, now in much need of assistance." He built a
good fire for us in the shelter of the oak bushes : there
we spent a good part of the day-time, alternately
roasting and freezing, first one side and then the other.
Once a playful puppy took my mother's pocket to
play with, containing all her money, to the amount of
SlOO perhaps, and she would likely never have seen it
more, if he had succeeded in pulling it under the logs
of the new house.
After a while, we got narrower, but warmer quarters.
68 MY BOY LIFE.
In default of barracks, the sappers and miners and
their assistants had made huts by digging places,
perhaps, ten feet square, in the ground, to which there
was an entrance made at one side, by means of a
trench, like the descent to a root-house ; the roof of
slabs rested on the surface of the ground, and met in
the centre ; and the only light obtainable was what
came down a low, but capacious chimney, and what
entered by a hole in the door, about the size of an
ordinary pane of glass, but innocent of the glass
itself ; so that if you received the light, you had to
let in the wind; and if you closed the aperture to
keep out the storm, you excluded the light. Once the
hole was left open, — a snow-storm occurred through
the night while we were all asleep, and the snow
drifted in so badly, that we could not get the door
open till the snow was removed by the slow process of
shovelling it through that narrow hole. By barring the
door, we were tolerably secure from intruders. Once
there was a dreadful free-fight between our own
Indians and soldiers, and some of the former were
very badly beaten. One of them lay groaning all
night by our chimney, but we were so alarmed with
the fray without, that we dare not unbar the door to
succour him. We hoped that the warmth of the
chimney might keep him from totally perishing. Once
our mother had to dress the back of a thieving
soldier, who had been whipped till it was a complete
jelly. Such is sin ; and such the severities of martial
MY BOY LIFE. 69
law. Our water was obtained from the Bay by an
almost interminable flight of steps cut in the very
steep bank, while the slipperiness of the steps from
the ice with which they were encased was such that we
went down and up at the risk of breaking our necks.
When the winter was well on, a residence for the
family and regimental harness-maker's shop for father,
in one, was provided near what is now the centre of
the City of Hamilton. It was more spacious than our
last abode, but much colder. The far end of the
chamber (reached by a flight of very steep stairs
without a baluster) was unfinished, and a floor —
nothing but lath and plaster between us and a shop
below, kept by an old Scotchman. Once a dishonest
artilleryman, billetted upon us, was prowling about in
that dark, unfinished part of the loft, went through, and
fell under the ire of the old shopman. There was no
stove, you may be sure, and only a feeble fire on the
hearth: to enable father to have his "waxed ends"
soft enough to rive freely he had to keep a pot of
coals by the side of his work -bench. The place was
too open to expose us to any injury from the emission
of the poisonous gas. While in this place we had to
eat pork instead of butter ; and eat it raw, for want
of cooking. Sometimes the bread was without salt.
The spring came, and with it a genial sun, as also
an order to advance to the Niagara River once more,
the American army having evacuated the country. A
well-known army teamster came and conveyed us along
70 MY BOY LIFE.
the road at the base of the Mountain, through the
streams J have already mentioned, which interested me
very much to pass. I learned the names of his fine
span of mares, and have not forgotten them till this day;
let " Jin " and " Doll " go down to posterity. In due
time, we reached Queenston, where the regimental
harness-maker's shop was located — over that of the
blacksmith. There we were again a united family for
a time — father, mother, Tom and Bill, and even poor
camp-follower Jim was there from time to time. We
also made the acquaintance of several non-commis-
sioned officers, who were often in, each of whom had
an individuality of his own, and felt his importance
quite enough : there were Sergeant-Major Whittam,
Bugler Eastham, old Mr. Thomas, the farrier (very
pretentious), Petrie, the good-natured blacksmith ;
young Francois, the French-Canadian, who " blew and
struck," the merriest fellow of the whole. The cold
had passed away ; we knew nothing of style, and did
not hanker for it ; and simple, but satisfying devices
beguiled the time, such as the music of the Jew's
harp. Petrie could manufacture them (the tongue cut
out of a sword- blade), and play on them when made.
I never heard that his range of tunes went beyond, —
*' Molly, put tlie kettle on,
We'll all drink tea,
Molly, take the kettle off,
It will all boil away."
But he practically received many an encore, for we
MY BOY LIFE. 73
never tired of the one, but called for it again and
again. We had also an extemporized puppet-show of
a character I never heard of since, except among those
who learned it then and there, which was witnessed
with unbounded delight. But it would take too much
space to describe it so that one who never witnessed it
would have a mental view of the play. I will not,
therefore, go into details unless they are called for.
Our social hilarities were brought to an end, by a
journey required to be performed by father, who took
mother and the four youngest with him, which will
furnish incidents enough for a section by itself. Some
will say, "Why have you not said more about
religion ? " Alas ! there was no religion to tell about
in those days.
No. YIIL
A THREE days' COASTING VOYAGE.
IN my last section I described our family's residence
in Queenston during the latter part of the winter
and the spring of 1814. As soon as the spring
was well open and navigation was considered safe, my
father was ordered by the army authorities to go to
York, now Toronto, and take charge of the military
saddle and harness-making and mending department
in that place. It was arranged for my mother and the
four youngest boys to go with him. The eldest of
these boys was about eleven, the second eldest nearly
nine, and we two youngest five soon after we arrived
in York.
The Government had provided for our transport in
something like a schooner, called the St. Vincent,
named after General Vincent. She was a poor old
craft, rigged up hastily for the service. "We embarked
from the banks of the Niagara River, and dropped
MT BOY LIFK 73
down the stream till we arrived at its mouth, the
location and character of which my readers know from
their school atlases, which are something we had not
in my earliest school days. Arrived at Fort George,
we did not dare to stand boldly across the lake, even
supposing our frail craft could have endured the winds
and waves, in which case, with a fair wind, we might
have run across in half a day ; but, alas ! there was a
cruel war between two English-speaking nations — a
very wicked state of things, and just then the United
States had the upper hand on Lake Ontario. Besides,
our old schooner was very frail, and I guess was im-
perfectly armed. I remember there was at least one
big gun on board, for I heard them fire it off, but I
could not say if there were any more. So, also, there
was a small company of marines (or sea soldiers) on
board, for I saw them perform drill ; and there were
several military men on board, belonging to other
branches of the service ; but whatever they might
have done on land, I think they would have been no
great protection to our vessel. Besides, many of them
were invalids, sick and wounded, who were being sent
from the dangers on the " lines " to the hospitals at
the capital.
From what I have said, it will be seen that we were
not in a state to brave the enemy and the winds and
waves, by seeking to scud straight across the lake, but
we had to coast the great angle of the lake towards
its " Head," as it used then to be called. Fortunately,
74 . MY BOY LIFE.
I think, our craft was so flat-bottomed that she could
go quite near the shore, to which we could tie up at
night, which was done. I am very sorry to say, that
I have every reason to believe that the soldiers and
sailors on board were arrant thieves, and instead of
being the defenders of the peaceful farmers, they con-
trived to elude the watch, and to go on shore in small
marauding parties under the cover of darkness, and
bring away anything they could find. I know they
brought calves, for one of them gave me a great fright
by my encountering his bleat and his glassy eyeballs
in the darkness of the " hold," to which I had gone,
which sent me screaming for protection to my parents.
It was said, though I am not sure that I saw it myself,
they brought away a colt one night in mistake for a
calf! Alas! all the tender things fell under the
butcher's knife, but poor coltie was pitched overboard I
Sin causes war, and war is always attended with
cruelty and wrong. Let us pray that the " Gospel of
peace " may so prevail, that the nations may " learn
war no more." About the third night after leaving
Niagara, we entered Toronto Bay, and moored the
vessel under the guns of what is now known as the
" Old Fort," though it was then called the " New
Garrison." How this change of terms came about,
perhaps I will tell at some future time.
No. IX.
OUB FIKST PLACES OF ABODE IN YORK, AND HOW WE
CAME TO OCCUPY THEM.
I SUSPECT we spent the first night in what you
now call the " Old Fort," if we did not remain in
the vessel ; a sleepy-headed child might be excused
from not taking in the scene correctly at once.
Soldiers' families were not allowed in the barracks, but
a friendly artillery-man, a Mr. Elder, shared his hut
with mother and the children. It was very small, and
stood on the brow of an escarpment over the Bay,
and the ground on which it stood, more than a genera-
tion ago, tumbled into the water. Mr. E. was well-
conducted and kind, a well-informed Scotchman, but
his wife had fallen into the too common fault of
women connected with the army — drink. She may
have mended when she got out of it. Years after,
Mr. Elder became respectable in a civilian's position ;
and his son was often a good-natured playmate of
mine. Poor Aleck Elder, once tried for his life ! The
ordnance land was then covered with swamps, which
76 MY BOY LIFE.
gave rise to little rills of water falling over the bank.
In the mouth of one of these near the hut, George made
a net of a basket, and caught as many little fish as
both families could eat.
We were crowded and annoyed ; we were neither in
garrison nor town, and mother was exceedingly desirous
to get out of the place ; besides, father needed room
for his mechanical department. There was an amiable
and gentlemanly young officer, belonging to the 104th
regiment, a native of New Brunswick, by the name of
Haskings, who knew the respectability of mother's
relations, the Eidouts ; who, when he heard who she
was, came to see us ; and afterwards interested him-
self very much to get us a place. After we became
acquainted with the people of the town, we learned
how that Capt. Haskings, had ridden about the streets
for days in search of a house. But every place was
full, and no whole house could be secured all to our-
selves. Our first abode was a tall, weather-beat*en
framed house, with a passage- way running through it,
on the north-west corner of Duke and George Streets,
the low two rooms on the east side of the hall of
which we obtained as a matter of favour, and ate our
first meal off a large chest. A little cross-legged pine
table soon followed, and we began to exist. Still
there was another family, besides ourselves below, and
the upper part of the house was full of French-
Canadians. A few mornings after our arrival, mother
made an agreeable acquaintance. A comely young
MY JBOT LIFE. 77
married woman, by the name of Barber, occupied a
neat little house across the road from us. They met
in the street, and found that both (at least Mrs B.'s
parents) were from New Brunswick ; and as they
both knew, or at least knew of, many of the same
persons, they began to question each other about this
and that individual ; and they soon found that they
had a common knowledge and friendship of many
people, which was, as we all know from experience, a
source of pleasure. At length, said mother, as the
plot thickened, " I wonder whatever became of Sally
Eodney ? " At this the young woman burst into tears
[the first time I ever saw a person weep for joy,] and
said, " Why she's my mother ; and is alive, and living
out on Yonge Street." Sally Rodney was a sinister
daughter of Lord Rodney, a naval officer, who spent
some time in New Brunswick, and lured one of the
handsomest young women of the country from the
paths of propriety; and Sally Rodney was the result.
Sally had married fairly well, and we afterwards often
met her. This her daughter married an agreeable
man, an American, with some education, who was
afterwards my first efi*ectual school-teacher, and will
come into view in the next section. Across the way
from our place, mother renewed her acquaintance with
the family of Stephen Jar vis, Esquire, respectable people,
from Fredericton, grandfather of the present sheriff" of
the County of York. This was a solace to her. She and
old Mrs. Jarvis were life -long friends and intimates.
No. X.
THE WAR-SPIRIT AMONG THE YORK BOYS. •
C\HILDREN will always take notice of little things,
;/ like themselves. A little boy or girl going
along the road with a friend will draw the
friend's attention to all the chickens, and birds, and
kittens, and lambs, and rabbits, and squirrels in the
journey. So, also, boys are more observant of other
boys they meet with, or see, than their adult friends
would be likely to be. On this principle, it is not
strange, especially as I had two brothers a little older
than myself, who were quite as observant as I,
with better means of knowing ; it is not strange, I
say, that I should become acquainted with the
sayings and doings of the York boys from about the
year 1814, to, say 1818, if no further, when my years
ranged from five to nine.
Boys, alas ! are only too apt to be boisterous, rude,
and quarrelsome in any place or time ; but in York
and its vicinity, during the war, and until Sunday-
MY BOY LIFE. 79
schools began to spring up in 1818 or '19, they were
very much imbued with the war-spirit, and found
great enjoyment in mimicking the military doings and
manoeuvres which they witnessed around them. True,
there was no actual fighting to be seen after the battle
of York, yet there were some " sham battles." One of
these, especially, I witnessed, intended to represent
a bush-fight, enacted on the outskirts of the town
northward across the fields, perhaps into the woods,
which then were quite near. The only victory accom-
plished was that of frightening all the hens and chickens
and timid horses, and that of scaring the poor docile
cows out of a day's milk, and far away into the
woods.
This kind of work captivated the imagination of
the youngsters, and they arrayed themselves, in twos
and threes and larger numbers, against each other,
pelting one another with stones and clods almost every-
where, insomuch that it was dangerous to walk the
streets. As far as there were any schools, one school
was arrayed against another, even on to a later day,
as Dr. Scadding has shown in his " Toronto of Old,"
besides the one I have described.
The two great hostile sections arrayed against each
other were those of the " Old Town boys " and the
" New Town boys." What we now know as Jarvis
street was the boundary between their respective
dominions. All on the east side of that street belonofed
to the " Old Town," and were expected loyally to bear
80 MY BOY LIFE.
fealty to its military commanders ; and all on the west
side of the above-mentioned street were ruled as
bearing allegiance to the " New Town " and its military
authorities.
Henry Glennon, the son of a deceased physician, a
neglected, unruly, bad youth, was accepted Captain-
General of the Old Town boys ; and Master Chewett,
a youth more respectably connected, but quite as
foolish, was the Commander-in-Chief of the New Town
boys. I should think their forces pretty well balanced
in point of numbers ; for if the Old Town had the more
compact, or dense population, the New one had a
wider area to draw from.
They had had various encounters, " scrimmages," and
parleys ; but at length they met on a common near
the dividing line between the towns, and adjacent to
the residence of the deceased Dr. Glennon, a part of
which house my father occupied as a residence and
regimental harness-maker's shop ; that is to say, at the
corner of what is now known as George and Duchess
streets. This I witnessed, though none of our family
were allowed by our parents to take part in the
misdoings. At first they were drawn up in two
bodies, confronting each other ; still they seemed to
hesitate to encounter the danger and responsibility of
actual conflict, and flags of truce passed between them,
and a parley was being held. This, however, was
interrupted, and an action was precipitated by some
New Town boy shying a pebble which struck the Old
MY BOY LIFE. 81
Town commander on the top of his head. His fol-
lowers rushed upon the others to avenge the msult,
and the battle became general, and missiles of all kinds
flew about in a manner dangerous to all. Both sides
had provided themselves with ammunition in the
shape of small stones, which, however, being heavy to
carry about, could not be largely accumulated, and was
soon expended ; and both armies were fain to supply
themselves from the bed of McGill's Creek, which
meandered in a valley where Queen street now extends.
Parties were sent from both sides to the Creek to
obtain the necessary supply of the munitions of war,
and on meeting at this common arsenal, conflict
ensued. One instance I mention. A large boy,
Alexander Hamilton, of the Old Town, took up a large
stone, and threatened to crush a smaller boy, fighting
on the other side, unless he surrendered, and marched
him in a prisoner, and he was bestowed in the garret
of the Glennon house.
Nevertheless, "the New Town boys had the best of
it, and the Old Towners retreated and sheltered them-
selves in and around the common residence of the
Glennons and my father. Matters now became too
serious for any further toleration — every window was
in danger of being broken. The old " Master Collar-
Maker," a soldier of two wars, became aroused, went
out, and soon quelled both armies — and there was a
lull in hostilities. Whatever conflicts they may have
had after that, they never came in near proximity to
6
82 MY BOY LIFE.
US. Thus we were saved from a spectacle we could
well spare.
The case of poor Lloyd, the prisoner, was peculiar ;
he geographically belonged to the Old Town, for he
had lived on the east side of Jarvis street. He was,
therefore, regarded as a traitor. They detained him in
durance vile, away from his widowed mother, till the
next morning. A court-martial was assembled, which
condemned and flogged him, and then released him, on
condition of takinor his oath that he would fight no
more against them while he remained in the Old Town.
In default of a Bible, he was sworn on a Eoman
Catholic Prayer-book ! He escaped the consequences
of his oath by the family moving, a few days after,
into the New Town.
All I have narrated must justly seem to the well-
taught boys of this day as very silly, as well as very
wicked. It was the result of bad training. Gospel
preaching and Sunday-schools came in a few years
after, and rescued into the paths of Virtue some of
these boys ; but my young friends must not be sur-
prised to learn that many of them turned out ill —
idle, drunken, and profane — coming to poverty and an
early death. Learn to be thankful for your oppor-
tunities, and to improve them.
No. XL
"NEDDIE," MY LITTLE PLAYMATE.
^B" FTER our parents came to live in the Town of
^Sj^ York proper (for we stopped some time in an
' artilleryman's hut on the bank of the Bay,
near the garrison, which many years ago fell into the
water from the encroachments of the waves), we took
up a house, or two rooms of one, on the corner of what
are now called Duke and George streets. One of the
first walks we children took was up George street,
then overgrown with grass, till we crossed what is now
known as Duchess street, into the farm property of
Secretary Jarvis, which came down to the north side
of said street, which, however, was innocent of a fence,
for the soldiers had stolen it for fuel, such being the
morals of war-time. Coinciding with what we now
call George street, or in continuance of it, over the
creek and ravine which I described in my last section,
there was a bridge, which two park-lot holders had
built on the line between their property as a means of
84 M7 BOY LIFE.
reaching the back parts of their respective farms. It
had once been a waggon-road, but the most of the
planks had gone the same way as the fence rails (Oh !
war, thou art indeed " a civilizer !") ; but some of the
planks, however, were left, and were laid lengthwise
of the bridge, so as to furnish a means of egress and
ingress to foot passengers — a pretty ticklish one too,
for the bridge was high.
In crossing the narrow pathway for the first time,
we met a little boy, who was returning from beyond
the creek, whither he had been alone — for, as we
afterwards found out, he was a fearless, self-reliant
little fellow. He was dressed in a little black slip —
mourning, perhaps, for a dead father ; for he was the
orphan son of a deceased physician, who had been in
his lifetime capable, and in a good practice, but who,
alas ! had fallen by the hand of a destroyer whom
doctors at least ought to know enough to avoid, but
who, alas ! has laid many of that profession low, as
well as myriads of others — namely, Dkink. He was
a plump, ruddy, pretty little boy ; and, contrary to
the custom among boys in York, we neither abused
nor tried to frighten him, but asked him of hisparents,
hii^ name, and age. He told us he was named Edward,
that he was four years old, and that he was the son of
Mrs. Glennon.
His father's late property was hard by, at the corner
of George and Duchess streets, the then northern limits
of the town, and his mother stiU maintained her
MY BOY LIFE. 85
possession of a third of it ; and it turned out that the
remaining two thirds of it soon after was hired by my
father for his regimental shop and residence. Thus it
happened that our two families became very well
acquainted, and Neddie became the constant playmate
of my twin brother and myself. And after that brother
died, he became dear to me because he had known my
dear playmate. He told us when we first met (I mind
it well) that he was " four years old." He was there-
fore within a year of our own age, for we were five.
Our tastes were consequently very much the same,
and what was sport to one was sport to the other.
Though, childlike, sometimes we had our disagree-
ments and battles, upon the whole we agreed very
well, and we longed for each other's society when
apart.
After two or three years we both removed to other
places ; my family to a more convenient and permanent
residence, and his mother and family to a little house
on Yonge street, not far above Queen, given in lieu of
her claim on what was afterwards called the " Lons-
dale House," from that of the purchaser. Our respec-
tive houses were still comparatively near together,
and continued so, although other moves afterwards
took place. The " Old House," where we lived together
under the same roof, was still to both of us a subject
of fond and frequent reminiscence and a tie of afiection-
ate regard.
Edward's parents had been born and brought up
86 MT BOY LIFE.
Roman Catholics ; but his father was no more ; and,
there being no stated services of the Roman Church in
the town in that early day, and the Protestants having
befriended the widow in her destitution, his mother
had become more liberal than is usual with members
of that Church. And well she might have been.
Knowing that she had a great many mouths to feed —
for there was Henry and John, Kitty and Theresa,
Eliza and Edward — soon after her bereavement, that
quaint but benevolent early citizen of York, Jesse
Ketchum, drove a noble milch cow one day to the
door of the widow, and never resumed the loan. The
Church ' of England parson also called and gave her
a present of money ; but as he very judiciously coun-
selled her to " take up some industry," his gift was
not highly-prized ; Mrs. G , alas ! like too many
brought up in genteel idleness, regarded the advice to
work for herself as an " insult," according to her own
declaration. She sometimes, however, attended the
ministrations of Dr. Strachan, and I should not wonder
if Neddie, her youngest child, had been dedicated to
God in baptism by the Doctor's hands. Sure I am,
the boy learned the catechism of the Anglican Church
in the public school, of which the Doctor was Rector,
where the orphan received his tuition free. Once, on
a vacant day, finding him playing at the door, Neddie
took me through the school building, where, for the
first time in my life, I saw an artificial globe. Show-
ing how much my playmate was petted, I may tell
MY BOY LIFE. 87
that a well-dressed man on horseback meeting ns that
day, or near that place on another day (I won't be
sure which), accosted my little companion kindly, and
on opening his purse presented him with a large silver
dollar ! Upon the donor and his dollar hangs a tale,
and as I do not pretend to be methodical, I may as
well now tell it. It should teach my young readers the
evils of dishonesty, untruthfulness, and boastfulness,
and that unlawful gains are usually soon squandered.
I do not call the well-dressed young man on horseback
a gentleman, although at that time he had plenty of
money to spend, and claimed to be a German Count,
kept the most aristocratic company, and it is said that
some of the most pretentious fair ones of the little
capital were dying for love of him. He then had
plenty of hard cash, but it was soon spent, and the
last I heard of him was, that he was fain to support
himself by attending a tavern bar. It was known
afterwards that his only claim to German nobility was
a German name ; that his previous place of residence
was the United States, where he had filled some clerk-
ship, perhaps in a bank, or some Government office ;
but that being entrusted with a very large sum of
money to convey from one place to another, he had
decamped with it and fled to the British dominions,
where at that time, I surmise, there were no arrange-
ments for extraditing such felonious runaways. The
rest of his history has been already told.
But to return to my playfellow. I have said enough
88 MY BOY LIFE.
to indicate which way the religious proclivities (if they
might be termed such) of the G family were tend-
ng. Ours, at our first acquaintance, were without any
decided Church leanings — certainly not to either the
Romish or Anglican Church. In 1818 the Methodist
meeting-house was built, and my mother became a
member of the Church, while I attended the Sunday-
school ; so that the religious affinities of my early
friend and myself led to a divergence, and when, at
the age of fifteen, I became converted, our intercourse
was entirely broken off". For that I am sorry now, as
I think I might have possibly done him good, if I had
still conversed with him from time to time.
Yet I kept him in sight enough to know that his
course was doubtful, if not downward, of which I am
now to give an account for the purpose of admonition.
Sympathy for the mother would have opened promi-
nent places for the children, if they had steadfastly
remained in the places they had from time to time
obtained. The mother had very little domestic
authority, and the children did pretty much as they
liked. The marked unsteadiness of the eldest son was
enough to give all the others a wrong direction. He,
often changed from place to place till he came to
manhood, when he left the country. The two eldest
girls did fairly well, considering their disadvantages.
The youngest girl was subject to fits, lost her reason,
and, at the age of fourteen or fifteen, fell into the fire,
of which injury she died, thus releasing her friends
MY BOY LIFE. 89
from further solicitude. John, the second son, was
the most stable and industrious of the lot ; obtained a
situation in Lower Canada ; and in the long run rose
to respectability and wealth, and did somewhat for
his relations.
But now, to confine myself to Edward, my hero.
Had he been wise and industrious, he might have done
well. He was a comely boy, and naturally attracted
people to him — he was popular among those of his own
age. Then, he was favoured by the gentry, and might
have obtained a good education free of charge ; but
he was averse to study, and only went to school by
fits and starts. He did not like work any more than
study, and when at home, did not render that aid to
his lone mother he might have done. As a specimen
of what a good son would never do, when his mother
requested him to provide her some wood before he
went away to play (wood was then to be had for
picking up — it lay about the common), he flew into a
passion, and exclaimed, "Mother, you .are eternally
wanting wood !" And I do not know that he would
have procured her any, only I offered to bear him
company and help him. A few armfuls of limbs, and
roots, and big chips, procured me his companionship
for the rest of the day. He who will not work for
his widowed mother is not likely to work for others
He went to be shop-boy ; commenced learning the
printer's trade, &c. In short, he was
** All things by turns, and nothing long.**
90 MY BOY LIFE.
After I went out into the ministry, at the age of
nineteen, when he must have been about eighteen, I
ahnost lost sight of my childhood's playmate for many
years, although I often, as I do now, thought of him
with tenderness and pity. I heard of him at long
intervals, and I believe that this is about the substance
of what happened to him during those years. He had
picked up more education than had fallen to the lot of
the most of his early associates ; and he was hand-
some in young manhood ; was naturally graceful ;
and, through his mother, had seen good society,
which had exercised a measure of its refining influence
on his external manners. Moreover, his brother had
tried to introduce him to the means of self-support,
and helped him in various ways. But I have reason
to believe, that he had grown up an idle changeling,
not wholly free from the vices of drink, licentiousness,
gaming, and general wastefulness.
About middle life with me, I was appointed to a
large western town, now for some years a city. There,
by some means, I learned that a few years before a
young man of the name of my early friend had come
to the place, and, under the auspices of a wealthy
brother in Montreal, opened up a large stock of goods,
and commenced business as a merchant. He was pre-
possessing, and people thought well of him for a time.
Genteel families opened their doors to him. In one of
these there was an exceedingly fascinating young lady
from New Brunswick, to whom E. G. paid his addresses
MY BOY LIFE. 91
for a time, not without encouragement, till she dis-
covered certain flaws in his character, and saved herself
in time. He idled away his time, neglected his busi-
ness, wasted his substance, and fell into debt. His
brother had to rescue him and close his business up ;
and was well content to be rid of the responsibility by •
giving him a small annual stipend, on condition that
he would keep at a distance. He now sank to the
position of a common loafer ; and when I arrived at
the place, he was the hanger-on of a tavern in a neigh-
bouring country Village, where he held some paltry
position.
Before I left those parts, I took to preaching in that
village, and I have reason to believe he once in a
while came to hear me preach. Being one day in a
shop in the place, a person came in with a dissipated
look, but trying to maintain a shabby gentility in his
appearance, in whose features I saw traces of my early
playfellow. He affected not to see or know me, but I
arose, went across the room, and, for the first time
in twenty-five years, accosted him. Reaching out
my hand, I said inquiringly, "Edward Glennon, I
believe ? " Affecting to suddenly recognize me, he
said, "Mr. Carroll." But he was not inclined to be
communicative, and soon withdrew. He never
amended his course, but died soon after of the fruits
of his irregular habits. Alas ! alas ' my young friend
No. XIL
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LONG-LOG HOUSE.
IF I have ever spoken or written in glowing terms
of the pleasures of the fireside, the images have
been a reproduction of the remembrance of
homely domestic enjoyment in the same long-log
house.
The close of the war of 1812-15 found father,
mother, the eldest son and brother, and the four
youngest children, or brothers in York, and the
second and tliird sons " on the lines," or in the
neighbourhood of Niagara River. Although I think
there was no need of it (they could have come by
themselves), father went after those two, saw them
get their discharge, and returned with them to our
humble home in York. The weary journey was
performed on foot. I remember the day of their arrival ;
and we were all glad of their return. We had not seen
them for a year, and they were more manly-looking
than when we had seen them last. They were yet in
MY BOY LIFE. 93
their regimentals. Tom was only eighteen ; Bill was,
perhaps, twenty-one ; but both were large, powerful
men. One of their pleasures when they arrived at
home was to have little John, a child not quite six
years old, climb on the knee of the eldest brother and
read a part of the paraphrase beginning with —
*' Behold, the mountain of the Lord
In latter days shall rise,"
to show his proficiency in that art — ^gained by spelling
out the words by himself.
War times are wasteful times; and they had not saved
much of their pay and prize money. They had been
discouraged in trying to save by a disheartening inci-
dent. One of them had saved $100, which he inclosed
in a letter, in ten golden " eagle pieces," and entrusted
to a comrade, who was coming to York, to fetch it to
his mother ; but the messenger " got on a spree " by
the way, and broke the letter open, and spent the
contents in drink. True, after a time, he. brought the
letter, minus the money, with a drunkard's remorseful
confession when his debauch was over, but never made
good the money. Such is one of the painful fruits
of drinking, then, alas 1 more common than now — too
common although it still is.
The whole family had to turn to some industry.
Two cows were purchased, and first an ox team, and
then a span of horses, and the cultivation of neigh-
bouring farms and fields, with teaming, wood-chopping,
94? MY BOY LIFE.
and wood-hauling, became their business ; so that I
will have no elegancies or luxuries to speak of.*
To have room for the whole family and labouring
men whom they sometimes hired and boarded, and
accommodation for their cattle aifd teams, they had to
have larger premises. One of these was secured on
the corner of what we now know as Bay and Rich-
mond Streets, the only house then on those four
corners, then the property of the late Andrew Mercer,
from whom the Reformatory is named. The building
was only of logs, but they were new, and they were
dressed, or " hewed," as it was called. True, there
was only five rooms in all, besides a capacious cellar,
which served to store our potatoes and apples. There
was also a barn and horse-stable, with sheds.
The reason why the remembrance of this homely
* Father and brothers cultivated what was called the * ' Jarvis Farm. "
It being the property of Secretary Jarvis and afterwards of his son,
SamL P. Jarvis, Esq., which intervened between Capt. McGill'sfarm (the
centre of which was McGill Square, where the Metropolitan Methodist
Church now stands), on the west side, and what then used to be called
the ** Selby Lot," then swampy and wild, (afterwards the property oi
Col. Allen, on the east side. The front of the Jarvis farm came down
to Duchess Street. George Street's northern extremity ended at the
Jarvis farm gateway, and Jarvis Street went through the centre of the
Jarvis farm— through the very house itself. Quite a large stream ran
across the front of the farm, now concealed by subsequent improve-
ments. Beyond the creek was an orchard, which I used to be set to
watch against the depredations of school-boys when the apples became
sizable ; but such tiny defenders as I and my twin- brother were
treated with jeers by the lawless invaders.
MY BOT LIFE. 95
place is so precious to me is this: all the brothers
excepting William (lately married) were still at
home, and he was often there. There was then
a- great deal more talking than reading. Most
persons were dependent on conversations ou oral com-
munications for learning and mental entertainment ;
and our household contained several very great talkers.
The oldest boys had all seen life, and had their war-
stories to rehearse. Scores of old comrades or war
acquaintances called and remained a longer or shorter
space. Father was an old man of long observation in
the world — in Ireland, the old Colonies, New Brunswick,
and Canada. He had exp»eriences as a mechanic, a
soldier in two wars, farmer, lumberman, hunter, fisher,
and I know not what else, with a great memory
and great volubility. Mother, too, had her tales from
her own side of the house, relating to two or three
generations, which extended back to New Brunswick,
and both New and Old England. Then, there were some
half-dozen others, who in some way belonged to the
household and joined the circle around the large open
fire in the largest room, which was kitchen, parlour^
dining, and sitting-room all in one. Among the work
hands, or boarders, there was Nickerson, a journeyman
wood-chopper, whose scheme it was to earn money
enough to take him to Germany, where he expected to
prove his heirship to an estate, and become a gentleman.
There was " Old Boatswain " (or "Bosen "), a constant
drinker, with a red face, an American, who had been
96 MY BOY LIFE.
in the American army, I think, whose dialect was New
Englandish, with some frequently recurring expletives
to help him in his lack of words. One of these
phrases was, " Not that alone." Once, one of the com-
pany irreverently expressed a wish to go to heaven if he
could have "a keg of rum along." Boatswain, equally
profane, instantly assented, and true to his Yankee
instincts, said, " Not that alone, but a kittle of biled
corn." There was Sayers, an American, too, and
unmistakeably such in dialect, who once undertook to
sing what he called " an old seafarin' song," which
wound up with an expectation, when his voyages
were over, of —
Sending for his friends and relations,
And gittin' a bar'l of beer."
He, too, 1 think, had been in the American army.
There also was Mitchel, who lived with his French
wife in a room upstairs, who was an Irishman by birth,
and a Protestant by education, who had learned the
French language in the cities of Quebec and Montreal,
but tad turned Catholic to reconcile his father
and mother-in-law to their giving him their " Shar-
lette," as he called her, whom, however, he had borne
far from a well-to-do home in Montreal. Mitchel had
been in the Voltigeurs during the late war. There was
also an ignorant, uncouth fellow, a Canadian, whose
name I have forgotten (I am sorry, too, it suited him
so well). He had served in the navy on the back
MY BOY LIFE. 97
lakes during the war of 12, whose narrative of
adventure ran upon "Lake Sincoe" and "Pena-
tangashin." He was a widower, I believe, and was
sometimes accompanied by a freckled, wrinkled, and
wizened-faced little boy with a red head, who looked
as though he had been whipped up rather than
" brought up." It was said his father used to tie a
rope around him and throw him overboard into the
water to "make him tough," pulling him up again
after he had a spell of struggling for his life. Old Cole,
now partially blind, who had known brother James in
the militia, sought refuge with us for a time, was an
interesting song-singer.
Next to story-telling of all kinds, song-singing was
one of the ingredients of our social enjoyment. None
of these songs were very bad, but I fear they would
all fall under the condemnatory prohibition of John
Wesley, as those which " do not lead to the knowledge
and love of God." Father was a melodious singer,
with a memory well stored with songs of all kinds,
embracing love, war, and Masonry. His "Jemmy
Eiley," the Irishman who stole the heiress, and
thought to escape the penalty by putting her on the
horse before him, to make it appear that she ran
away with him, and not he with her ; " Love in
a Tub," which told that a lover obtained a rich wine
merchant's daughter by getting her headed up in a
particular cask, and purchasing it, closing the bargain
by saying :
7
98 MY BOY LIFE.
** I ve bought it, and paid for it.
And so it is mine,
Let what wUl be in it,
Beer, ale, or wine."
He had party songs, relating to nis native isle; among
the number were such as the " Green to the Cape,"
Croppy Lie Down," and others. Sometimes he gave
us a refrain in the native Erse, or Irish. I remember
some of the words, but fear to undertake putting
them on paper. He usually sang " Burns' Farewell "
with great pathos, and others equally pathetic. The
time would fail to undertake to recount his stories ;
they were endless. Mitchel used to create unbounded
hilarity by singing the Frenchman's aspirations of
invading England " mit his flat-bottomed boat, to land
zoost at Dover," which attempt John English, "mit his
big ship;" "and ball big as a pumpkin," always frus-
trated. For of him the Frenchman sang : —
**He tump us, he 'trike us,
He make so much clattare ;
He make tree, four, verra good ship
Fall down in the vatare."
This, of course, had reference to Bonaparte's threatened
descent on England, which he could never carry out,
the remembrance of which gave the listeners ecstatic
pleasure ; for all the Britishers were intensely loyal,
so recently had they come out of the French and
American wars. This feeling was also flattered by a
song relating to a sea victory, which used to be sung
MY BOY LIFE. 99
by a young man, Barney Glennon, often in, who had
served in the lake marine during the war. This related
to the "boasting La Pique," which had "been taken
by the brave British tars of the Blanche." Nickerson
was a singer, and also gave us one song describing a
nautical victory achieved by " Old Dreadnought," —
** Whose sides were oak, her keel was hox,
Launched off the stocks,
Bound to the main.**
One of Nickerson's Masonic songs, relating to Solo-
mon's Temple, supplied us with some scriptural
knowledge before there was a whole Bible in the
house. About this time, however, the entire Bible
came. Before that, there had been only a large Testa-
ment with a metrical version of the Psalms, the
Paraphrases, and a few hymns,, including some of Dr.
Watts' and Bishop Ken's. Other books were rare, and
of a very ill-assorted character for the most part.
True, there were a few school books containing some
good pieces in prose and verse, such as the " American
Selections " and the " English Reader." The eulogies
on Washington and Franklin, and other American
notorieties, used to call out vehement denunciations
from father's "Britisher" tongue. An allegory read in
the family about this time, relating to John Bull and
his son Jonathan, who had run away from home and
cleared him up " thirteen farms " (corresponding to the
then number of the United States), whom the old man
100 MY BOY LIFE.
would not suffer to enjoy the use of the mill-pond,
used to tickle father's risibles, and produced bursts of
laughter. A volume of songs about Robin Hood, Will
Scarlet, Little John, and the rest of the outlaw's men
and their joint exploits, gave us about all the
knowledge we had of mediaeval England. That work
and the Newgate Calendar, with the doings of Jack
Sheppard and others of that ilk, were not likely to
give us youngsters very law-abiding notions. Nor had
the autobiography of Philip Quarels, the bigamist,
and Stephen Burrows, the jail-breaker, any better
tendency.
How thankful my young readers and their parents
and guardians should be, that the young are not now
left to the companionship of such books 1 At present,
I dismiss the long-log house and its memories.
No. XIIL
FOXD MEMOEIES OF CEETAIN DOMESTIC ANIMALS.
IT is good to have children brought up among the
cats and dogs, horses and cows, and hens and
chickens, to mention no more. The children learn
something by watching the animals ; the animals are
company for the little ones ; and the companionship
nourishes domestic affections in a family. The brute
animals owned by our family I know had the effects
mentioned on me.
Our first span of horses, after the war, were old Jack
and Bob. Jack was black, with a red nose, like a
certain species of bear in our country. Bob was a bay,
not so large as the other, but able to keep up his end
of -the double-tree pretty well. He was the favourite,
as he was good-tempered. Jack was peevish and cross ;
he would bite if he was not pleased, and we children
kept a prudent distance from him. Bob would not
bite, but if you gave him a smart slap on the side with
your hand, he would give a piteous groan. If you
102 MY BOY LIFE.
were on his back and gave him a kick with your heel,
as is often done, to urge him along, he would utter this
groan. I never observed this peculiarity in any other
horse. By this habit we once recovered him when he
was lost. But more of this a little further on. We
bought this span of horses after the war from an army
teamster, who had allowed, if he did not encc>urage, the
horses to go as fast down hill as they liked. Hence,
when they came to the brow of a descent, they wanted
to run, instead of "holding." This, of course, was
very undesirable and dangerous ; but father, being an
old man, seemed unable to curb them, and the vice
seemed rather to increase than otherwise. In one
journey, father broke and lost a portion of his load, and
was pretty badly injured himself. But Tom was a stout,
resolute young man, and leaving another employment,
he came home and took charge of the te^m, and soon
reduced them to submission. His method was, to hold
them with a strong hand, and to chastise them severely
with the whip for any disposition to run ; so that they
became afraid to repeat it. This lesson may be of
value to my young readers, if they ever should become
teamsters, and have to deal with horses which have
this trick.
Tom, like most young men, when he came of age
fancied a horse of his own, and usually had one for
his pleasure. His first purchase was of a first year's
colt, which died before spring. His next purchase
was a funny little pony, which rejoiced in the name
MY BOY LIFE. 103
of Button — which name I suppose he received because
he was so small and so round. He was so round
that it was almost impossible to keep a saddle upon
him; and the boys, in striving to gain his bare back,
often rolled off on the farther side. But then, that
was no great disaster, as they had not very far to
fall. How many hands high, or low, he was I do
not now remember ; or what breed of horses he was
of. I should say he was a cross between a Shetland
and a French-Canadian pony. He was, however,
very beautiful, being very symmetrically formed, and
as black as a coal. He might have drawn a carriage
adapted to his size and strength, but he was not big
enough to be matched against an ordinary-sized
horse ; yet we were once so forced to try and match
him. Some dishonest person took old Bob out of
his pasture and rode him far away, and we were
ignorant of his whereabouts for several weeks. In
the meantime the family ran out of wood, and
some must be drawn from the cordvvgod piles in the
"bush."* But as we had no single-horse waggon or
cart, with harness to suit, there was no way for it
bat to try and extemporize a mate for old Jack,
long enough to draw a few loads. Button was, there-
fore, caught, and harnessed up in Bob's harness, by
making alterations, and giving him what the teamsters
call " an advantage on the double-tree," so as to make
* Our folks bought large areas of standing timber and cut it up into
cordwood, and drew it to town, and sold it for fuel.
104 MY BOY LIFE.
his draft power correspond with his stronger mate.
Yet, after all, poor Button seemed to cut a sorry-
figure. He seemed like a boy of ten years old put in a
man's clothes, and made to keep up with a full-grown
man in some piece of combined labour. Button's legs
were too short to keep up with the other, and his
strength too small to compete with the other member
of the team. Besides, Jack seemed to feel contempt for
his tiny mate, and to look down upon him with scorn ;
and when " Butty" failed to keep up, Jack's constitu-
tional ill-nature broke out, and every now and then he
turned and bit the poor little fellow severely, for
which ill conduct Jack himself received chastisement
with the driver's whip. But the mutual unpleasant-
ness ended at last.
My father heard of a stray horse far back in the
country, and went in search of him ; but as he was a
great pedestrian, and preferred walking, he went
on foot. Besides, I do not know but that Jack was
employed in ploughing, assisted or hindered by little
Button. About the time he might have been expected
home, and a few hours before he did arrive, one of the
younger boys came in with breathless haste, saying he
had seen a man ride old Bob down Yonge Street
towards the centre of the town ; saying that he knew
it was our horse, for as the man started on, after
stopping to inquire for " the nearest tavern," he urged
the animal on with his heels, upon which Bob uttered
his accustomed complaint. And by this utterance he
MY BOY LIFE. 105
*was claimed, by an older brother, who chanced to be
" down street " for an evening's walk. In those days,
at the corner of what we now call King and George
Streets, there was a well-known hostelry, or tavern,
kept by a Mr. Hamilton, before which on that occasion,
several persons were congregated, among whom was
my brother Tom. A stranger rode up and dismounted,
and my brother went forward and said, " You have
got my horse." The man said he did not know whose
he was ; but an old man, tired of riding, had offered
him the horse to ride into town, with instructions to
stop (as he understood it) at the first tavern. " Well,"
said Tom, " to prove that he is my horse, when I slap
him on the side he will groan ;" and suiting the action
to the word, he did slap him, and the horse complained
as usual, and the stranger resigned the possession of
him. The man had been guilty of no dishonest inten-
tion as circumstances after proved. My brother
brouojht the horse home to the "Lono:-loo: House," and
Bob was put into his old stall, and received the
welcoming whinny of his old mate, that had gone with
him through the war, laying by for the nonce his con-
stitutional crabbedness. Not long after the horse's
arrival, father came in, and expressed great disgust
that the man should have disobeyed his directions.
But the truth was, the man did not understand the old
Irishman's terminology. In those days, on the east
side of Yonge Street, a few yards north of where
Queen Street now crosses it, the Widow Glennon had
106 MY BOY LIFE.
a little house, and kept " cakes and beer " tor sale.
Father had said to the stranger : " I am tired of riding ;
take this horse, and ride on till just as you enter the
town, you will see a shebeen shop ; leave the horse tied
there for me, and I will find him." " Shebeen " was
the word he misunderstood for tavern, and hence the
mistake. That was a pleasant evening around the
wood fire in the "Long-log House." Bob, that had
been lost, was found ; and father had returned. That
old team served the family several years, and when
ihey were sold, in their old age, to strangers, I was
very sad and sorry. It went to my young heart to see
them led away.
But my strongest attachment was to the "old brown
cow," The family had several cows, first and last —
sometimes three or four at a time — but Old Brown
was a fixture and an institution in the family. My
dear mother preferred her to all others, and that was
enough. She had been the favourite cow of an artil-
leryman, about to be removed from York, and he
reluctantly ofiTered her for sale, and my parents
bought her. She was of the very best type of Cana-
dian cows, than which there are no better for milk, no
matter what breed they are ; she was large and long,
with smooth horns, brown in colour, plentiful in very
rich milk, and easy to be milked, for being gentle in
temper, she readily " gave it down," as it was termed,
and often yielded milk till the day of calving.
Other cows were bought and sold, but Old Brown was
MY BOY LIFE. 107
kept ; and when we had but on« cow, she was that
one. Often was it my task to feed her in the winter,
and often to seek her on the extensive commons and
free pastures that stretched away north and west
(especially) from the town, until I began to feel all the
regard for her which I felt for other members of the
family — and more, for others at times offended me,
but she never. Alas ! at about the age of twelve there
was a dispersion in the family, and most of our effects
were sold, and among the rest the old cow. This
affected me much, and I could not bear to see her
removed. Upon this change, I went to live with an
older brother settled on a new farm, fourteen or fifteen
miles from the town, for the space of , over a year, of
which sojourn I may have something to say before my
stories are ended. Often I had to walk, on one
errand or another, ^o and from the town. In one of
my journeys, I discovered that a farmer on the road-
side had purchased and possessed " Old Brown." The
thought that any one else than ourselves should
possess our old friend filled my heart with grief and
eyes with tears. As my eyes affected my heart, so I
used to turn away from what seemed " Old Brown's *
captivity. This grief was increased when I discovered
that she had met with an accident, and had been cut or
maimed by a falling tree, or limb, and had to wear
habitually a large swathing of canvas around hor body.
I could not bear to look at her — her eyes seemed to
reproach the family for allowing her to go among
108 MY BOY LIFE.
strangers, in her oM age. The sorrow produced oy the
sight of her was of a mingled kind : it recalled the
happy early associations of a family then dispersed,
though destined to be afterwards gathered for a time,
yet never under very happy auspices.
The great Linnaeus, the naturalist, believed that
instinct would survive death ; and John Wesley, on
Scriptural grounds, believed in the resurrection of the
brute creation. If there is any such resurrection, I
shall be glad to see " Old Brown " again — and many
a faithful horse which I have since ridden.
No. XIV.
THE GHOST LORE CURRENT DURING MY CHILDHOOD.
J^^
FTEE. looking over the foregoing section,
giving an account of the various entertainments
around the large open fire of the Long-Log
House, I am reminded that one of the most exciting
subjects of conversation was omitted, namely, that of
" Spooks," or apparitions. These were a subject of
confabulation in our family before going there ; nor
were they entirely extinguished by our removal from
that place.
Our previous residence, at the corner of George and
Duke Streets, was near an old dilapidated, unfenced,
neglected burial ground ; that in the midst of which
now stands the old Central Presbyterian Church-
There were a few graves in this resting-place of the
dead upon which considerable care and expense had at
one time been bestowed. Some of the palings were
yet standing, but they were grown full of wild shrubs.
One grave was covered with a large, table-like tomb-
110 M7 BOY LIFE.
stone, resting on four pedestals, covered with an
elaborate inscription, the purport of which I once knew
well, but of which I can now remember nothing pre-
cisely. The tradition which figures faintly in my
memory relative to that grave was something like
this : a young gentleman of respectable, well-to-do, if
not wealthy connections, coming from Kingston on
horse-back post haste to York, undertaking to cross
the Don before there was a bridge, or at a time of its
temporary removal, was unfortunately drowned. His
body was afterwards recovered and buried in the
grave described. The spot was afterwards reported to
be haunted. A luminous vapor was said to have been
seen to exude from graves in that burial spot, which
might have arisen from the emission of some kind of
gas generated perhaps by the decomposition of animal
remains. Yet like a true orthodox ghost, it was only to
be seen at night. The result was, although myseK
and other children often amused ourselves in that
graveyard in day-time, and conducted various kinds
of plays on the tombstone, no possible persuasion
could have induced us to go anywhere near it after
night-fall.
Apropos of the sprites which lingered around that
locality, after we had removed to the Mercer House,
at one time the following tale received a " nine days"
currency : One Barney Maguire, an ex-soldier of the
Glengarry Highlanders, who had escaped with his life
from the decimation inflicted on that corps in the
MY BOY LIFE. Ill
charge made by that regiment into the ranks of the
invaders at the battle of Niagara, had married the
daughter of a worthy citizen, who lived on what we
now call Ontario Street, had been with his wife on a
visit to his father-in-law on the night in question, and
remained till a late hour, and then started for his re-
sidence to the west of us on Newgate Street (now
Adelaide) ; but, for some reason, on his return walk,
he had kept one street nearer the graveyard than his
most direct route, so the story ran. Opposite the "city
of the dead " a human form came out and followed
the party, apparently desirous to speak to Maguire ;
but for fear of alarming the ladies (his wife and some
female friend) he abstained from accosting the appari-
tion. When, however, he reached home, he went in
and confided the child he was carrying to the hands of
its mother, and went out again, and opened a colloquy
with the mysterious visitor. It was the spirit of the
drowned man, who confided some important message,
or agency, to Barney, the purport of which was then
given with minuteness and particularity, (for such
tales have usually all necessary details supplied as
they pass around to make them consistent); but I con-
fess they have all passed from my recollection, es-
pecially as interviews with Maguire exploded the
whole as a canard. Nevertheless, the rumour in
the meantime, led each person in our fireside circle
to refurbish the ghost lore he had in his possession,
handed down to him from several foregoing generations
112 MY BOY LIFE.
of his ancestors, and to relate it for the delectation of
the company.
Some of these were pokerish enough. One of them,
from my mother, related to New Brunswick, and was
to this effect : A solitary resident in a little house on
the banks of the St. John River was cruelly murdered,
after that the place was undeniably haunted, so much
so, that no boatman, fisherman, lumberman, or indeed
any traveller, would peril his night's rest by lodging
under that roof. However, a party of wild young
blades in going up or down the river, were driven by
stress of weather to seek the shelter of that deserted
house for one night. On entering, one presumptuous
fellow, as it was very dark, cried out, " Come, old Blank,
strike up a light ! " When suddenly to their great
dismay, the place became as luminous as day, and old
Blank sat crouchingin a corner. Deponent said they left
more hastily than they came. Mother also told how
she had seen a man's double in day time, before his
death, at a moment when he was proved to be miles
away, near a spot where he was soon after buried.
This was related to show that there were more things
in heaven and earth than were dreamed of in the pre-
vailing philosophy. There were many of our Highland
Scotch and Roman Catholic Irish acquaintances who
related tales by the hour, not only of fairies (the good
people) — uttered softly — but of the " Banshee," and the
"Brownie," which we liked the excitement of listening
to. I cannot say that any of our people believed in
MY BOY LIFE. 113
them ; but in the possibility of apparitions and in the
authenticity of their occurrence in many cases, we
had the heartiest belief. The belief grew in me, and
as Dr. Stephens said the apparition of old Jefiry in
the Wesley family, " opened the right of way for the
supernatural " in my soul.
But the belief occasioned me a great deal of super-
stitious terror. And while the spook stories went
around (a baneful thing to allow among children),
I always stole from the outer edge of the fireside circle
to the inside of the circle, despite the burning heat of
the fire, and the danger of being roasted alive. For
hours the sweat would pour off me, but I dared not
stir. The hold which these stories had taken of those
who listened to them, especially the younger ones,
could be seen in their staring looks, or the dilation of
the pupils of their eyes and their glistening eye-balls.
Scarcely less exciting were the recitation of the
barbarous incidents of the Indian wars, which had
passed out of New England into New Brunswick.
Those were mostly authentic, and so the more terrible.
One of my mother's stories was of a woman, who heard
her little child at play in the door-yard to shriek out.
She knew that the savages were upon them, and it
would not do to go out, even to look after her child,
but to stick to her only means of defence : — She was
making soft soap, and a large pot of it, scalding hot,
was simmering over the fire, over which she stood ladle
in hand, and as the Indians opened the door, the front
8
114 MY BOY LIFE.
rank met a hot reception. They yelled and broke,
but she stood to her guns, and as each successive rank
came forward to the assault, they were welcomed in a
similar way. Till at length they all scampered off,
writhing and screaming with agony. When she ven-
tured out her child was dead, but she herself was un-
disputed master (or mistress) of the fort and field.
Many, many years after, when there were but few
remnants of the aborigines left, and no danger was ex-
perienced from them, a scarred old Indian called and
asked for something to eat. She gave him a comfort-
able meal and otherwise treated him kindl}^ So com-
municative did he feel that he said to her in a way of
inquiry, " You no remember makum soap of Indians ? "
" Yes ! was you one of that band ? " " Well, what be-
came of the scalded Indians ? " " Some berry sick, good
many die." " They deserved it, the rascals ! " was her
reply.
These reminiscenses might be multiplied indefinitely
but the reader has had enough for illustration ; and
perhaps he will say, " more than enough. "
But, perhaps, before I dismiss things terrible and
improbable, I shall tell that about 1816. A report was
raised that a wild man, or yahoo ( "yo-ho," it was pro-
nounced) had been seen on Yonge Street, near the
Gallows Hill, by one Whitesides, if not others, which
obtained currency for a short time. No one seemed to
think the thing unlikely. My own father spoke, as a
parallel case, of having seen a wild man, naked but
MY BOY LIFE.
115
hairy, by the roadside, in one of the Southern States
or Provinces, by whom, or which, his horse was very
much frightened. I mention these particulars to in-
dicate the beliefs or credulity of the people, and the
kind of conversation which obtained among those by
whom my childhood was surrounded, and the con-
sequent influences under which my own mind had
to be developed
h
No. XV.
HOW I EAKNED MY FIRST FELT HAT.
IP WAS then about eight years of age, ever since which
I I have done something towards my own support.
Do not suppose that I had gone bareheaded till
then. I had worn a cap, and that cap of home manu-
facture, sometimes of one material and then of another
— of yellow nankeen, or green baize, ornamented some-
times with a tassel at top, and when that could not be
obtained, by a large covered button and an appropriate
f orepiece. But then, that was only a cajp, and not " a
store cap either." I can remember how consequential
I felt, years after, while wearing at my work, a
peaked cap of red-worsted, known as a bonnet rouge,
bought with my own earnings " out of a store."
Yet up to the age of eight years, as I have said, I
had never owned a veritable hat ; and I sighed to have
one — it would be so much more manly. Every boy of
any manlike pretensions wore a hat ; and if I only had
a hat, it would be a long stride towards manhood.
MY BOY LIFE. 117
And was it not a happy day when mother went to the
hatter's and brought home a hat for each of the three
youngest boys ! But how great was my boast, com-
pared with the others, as I could say, "I earned mine! "
It had been paid for by my own hoarded earnings, a
lot of little pieces of silver, amounting to one dollar.
The way in which I earned the money was this: we
still lived in the " Long Log-house," on the comer of
what we now know as Bay and Richmond Streets.
The square directly opposite eastward all belonged to
one man, who owned a great part of York besides
(indeed he owned the land on the three opposite
corners to us) enclosed with a high picket fence. The
fence, or stockade, protected a meadow and an orchard.
The gentleman's residence was on the south-east corner
of the block, that is to say, on the north-west comer
of what we now know as Yonge and Adelaide Streets-
That gentleman was the son of a shiftless, if not
drunken father, who ill provided for his family, and
bound out his son where he suffered great hardship
and cruelty, from which he had relieved himself by
running away and coming to this Province, where he
had an older brother then living. Industry and good
habits marked him ever after ; especially he foreswore
all intoxicating liquors, in a day when the evils of
drinking were not generally seen. He fell into good
business habits, married prudently, came to York and
bought out the business for a song of an American
leaving the Province on the eve of the war ; prospered
118 MY BOY LIFE.
and made wealth with Tmcommon rapidity. But, in
his prosperity, he did not forget his early hardships ;
but the remembrance of them made him thougfhtful of
his poor relations and sympathizing to all in destitu-
tion, especially to poor boys, particularly if they were
industrious and trying to rise. /
This person was homely in his ways and quaint, or
odd, in his expressions. This, joined to his known
benevolence and kindness of heart, caused him to be
familiarly known by his neighbors as " Uncle Jesse."
Uncle Jesse had, among several other dependent
persons. living with him, a nephew — a sister's son —
by the name of John Jones. John was four years
older than I, but being small of his age, and very fond
of play, he seemed to be a mere boy for many more
years. Among other boyish characteristics, John did
not like to work alone. Unless he had company, he
was not very perseveriag, if not looked after.
In the early spring of 1818, Mr. Ketchum had
caused a two-acre field, bounded by Queen, Yonge,
Richmond, and Bay Streets, then without a building
of any kind upon it, to be ploughed, manured, and
every way prepared for a crop of potatoes. The seed
was brought on to the ground, and John Jones was
set to work to plant them. He was wholly alone, and
it seemed a formidable undertaking for him. He
naturally hailed any boy that passed to get company
out of him, if he could not induce him to help. During
tlie first day of his operations, I and my little twin
MY BOY LIFE. 11 D
brother were passing, and he called'us in, and asked u.s
to drop the potatoes in the drills for him while he
hoed the earth upon them. My mate refused and went
home ; but, being naturally obliging, I complied, and
John started to work with renewed vigour. In a few
hours the uncle came to see how his nephew was
getting on, and was not a little pleased to see him so
reinforced and prosecuting his work so well; and being
desirous to reward and encourage me, he opened his
buckskin purse, filled with small pieces of silver, and
offered me a piece of what was called " cut money "
(money used to be cut up in lesser pieces in those days
to make change), one half a quarter doller cut in two ;
but showing my preference for a piece of "round
money," he gave me a regular " York shilling." There
was no stipulation between us, but, at John's earnest
solicitation, I went every day ; and every day the good
man visited us and gave me a York shilling. Eight
days had elapsed before we had completed our task.
Every day I took my piece of money "to my mother,
and at the end of the eight days I was the owner of
a dollar. With that dollar, as I have already said, my
mother bought me a hat.
Like all children, we wanted to put our hats on at
once ; and needing hats very much we were allowed
to wear them. But going to work with them on in a
very warm day, and being employed in burning the
brush that had been cut down on a field, then farmed
by the family (a field which now constitutes the
120 MY BOY LIFE.
Queen's Park), the coloured glaze which stiffened the
crimson lining of our hats, and which we had greatly
admired, melted and lost its colour and its gloss, and
caused us sorrow and disappointment : so unstable are
our earthly delights !
But I was consoled by the good opinion which I had
earned of Mr. K., which led him to propose to my
parents to have me come and live with him ; and
although I did not immediately comply, I went into
his employment in after years, and enjoyed his friend-
ship until the good old gentleman's death at a very
advanced age. My little story carries its own moral
on its face.
No. XVI.
THE *' ELMSLEY FIELD, AND ITS ONE TRAGIC MEMORY.
THIS field was a block of land facing Yonge Street
from its west side, containing about forty
acres, perhaps at the time when it first came
under my observation, mostly cleared, well fenced, and
with a large barn in the centre of the clearing. It
was the northern half of the block, formerly possessed
by Chief-Justice Elmsley before his death. If any
person is curious to know the history of that particular
portion of his property he has only to turn to Dr.
Scadding's " Toronto of Old," page 392. At the time
to which I refei*, Chief-Justice Elmsley was deceased,
and the heir-at-law of the northern section of his
property in that locality (he who was afterwards
known as the Hon. John Elmsley), was a minor, and
living in Europe, probably for the purpose of complet-
ing his education ; and the property was managed by
Alexander Wood, Esquire, who kept a shop on the
north-west corner of King and Frederick Streets.
122 MY BOY LIFE.
I have already said or intimated that my father and
brothers purchased wood lots, and cut and sold the cord-
wood from off them, and farmed various pieces of land.
About the time the Jarvis farm was to pass out of
their hands, they engaged with Mr. Wood to till and
crop a large part of the Elmsley Field, he himself
cultivating, in the most approved Scotch method, the
other part. My brother James was the principal
manager of this particular enterprise, but all the
younger ones were more or less employed from time
to time about the place. The tima it was in our
possession must have included the years 1817 and 1818,
the former certainly.
I have several minor memories of the field, mostly
of a pleasant kind ; such as its broad expanse, and the
fragrant " smell of a field which the Lord had blessed;"
the pasturing of our two cows there, with the pail of
milk " Old Brown " gave one morning before she went,
and the beautiful calf that followed her from the field
at night (of Pink, the calf herself, I had my special
memories); the pleasant memory of burning brush and
rubbish. And where is the boy that does not like to
kindle a fire and see a blaze ? And the not so pleasant
memory of riding, along with my little twin brother,
our span of horses, round and round, on the barn
floor, to thresh the grain, in the absence of modern
appliances for that purpose. I say " not so pleasant
memories," for ever and anon my bare feet got a
scraping between the horse's side and the boarding of
MY BOY LIFE. 123
the barn, which tore off the skin and made them
bleed.
But I am to relate a tragic memory of that place.
I will be likely to tell elsewhere how that we two
youngest boys attended school the whole of the sum-
mer of 1817, at what was the extreme east end of the
town, that is to say, on King Street, east of Ontario.
On arriving at the school-house for the afternoon,
after partaking of our dinner, on the 11th of July of
that summer, the children who had remained at the
place told us that there had been a squabble on the
street, and that one gentleman had given another
gentleman a caning ; and while they were talking, the
person who had used the cane made his appearance
with two or three others, to whom he seemed to be
describing what had happened. He was a very young
man, but tall and large. He was dressed in a frock-
coat and white pantaloons.
We neither heard nor knew anything further for
that night ; but, on the morning of the i2th, at a very
early hour, my brother William, who was married and
living in a small house which he had erected on Yonge
Street, near the corner of what is now Yonge and
Albert Streets (the first erected in McCauley Town),
was getting his team ready to start with a load of
Government stores to the Holland Landing, a method
of forwarding which then furnished employment to
those who., like my brother, kept teams for hire. The
sun was scarcely risen, the dew was on leaf and spray
124 MY BOY LIFE.
and all nature seemed in repose, save that a close car-
riage (almost the only one kept for hire in the town),
belonging to William Darius Forrest) generally called
" DTorrest," who kept the most flashy hotel in the
town), was proceeding very slowly, almost lingering,
and stopping — till there was the report of a pistol
heard, and a few seconds after another. Upon
which my brother observed that the driver on the box
of the carriage whipped up his horses, and put them
at the top of their speed. After another short
interval, the carriage was seen returning not very
fast, but with no person visible but the driver. My
brother said to him, " What have you there ? " He
answered, "The body of John Bidout: he has been
killed in a duel by Samuel Jarvis."
These names reveal the two principals in the broil
and in the death-dealing duel. It is, perhaps, too early
for the history of the inside details of the quarrel
which led to this sad catastrophe. Suffice it to say,
that there had been a family feud of some standing
between the Ridouts and the family of Secretary
Jarvis ; and George Ridout and young Samuel Jarvis
had been prevented some time before, from satisfying
their inj ured honour by the arbitration of pistols, through
the vessel in which they had set sail for Niagara,
where the duel was to have been fought, being so long
becalmed outside the Point, that she was overtaken
by the officers of justice in a row-boat, brought
back to town, and bound over to keep the peace. But
MY BOY LIFE. 125
unhappily the quarrel was resumed between Samuel
Jarvis, a young man from 20 to 30 perhaps, and a
younger son and brother of the Ridout family. On
that fatal 11th of July, Samuel Jarvis had called John
Eidout into his office, and after some altercation told
him to leave, or he would kick him out. The same
day they met in the street, and the younger man
(being the larger and stronger) inflicted chastisement
on the other. For the further and fatal issue of the
quarrel they were both answerable. Each challenged
the other, and the whole was evidently arranged that
night, while their mothers, sisters, and other friends
were sunk in peaceful repose. Jarvis obtained Henry
John Boulton as his second, and Ridout secured James
E. Small as his second. And, oh ! sad mockery of law
and justice, both were legal men ! Boulton was Solici-
tor-General, and Small was an able pleader at the bar;
and both of them afterwards wore a judge's ermine.
The story told of the duel was, that Ridout being
young and nervous (it was his twentieth birthday),
had fired by mistake at the word " two," instead of
waiting for the true count ; his ball cut the necktie of
the other. Seeing his mistake, he rushed forward to
his antagonist, and exclaimed, " I hope I have not hurt
you ? " What a pity that at this stage of the deplor-
able business, there could not have been some means
employed to prevent the matter from going further,
and the loss of a promising young life prevented ! But,
alas, no ! they were all cowards, afraid to infringe the
126 MY BOT LIFE.
injunctions of a barbarous code of law, the poor victim
was put back at his eight paces, and deliberately shot
at, the ball passing through his chest, the seat of
vitality. He fell, and was carried into the bam and
laid on a board with his head a little elevated The
carriage presently arrived. Those accessory to the
homicide placed him in the coach, and then each one
consulted his own safety by flight, leaving the dying
man to pour out his blood and give up his life without
friend or foe to witness his death. He died before
the carriage reached town. Those of our family who
went early, as usual, to their work in the field found
the blood-stained board in the bam, and the spot where
he fell still wet. Some time after, I can remember
seeing the grass stiffened with the clotted gore now
dried by the sun.
A reward of ten pounds was offered for the recovery
of the ball, and two of my young brothers, respectively
of the ages of twelve and fourteen, searched a wide area
around for the bullet a number of times without suc-
cess. To say nothing of the passionate or stunning
grief of his relatives, there was no right-hearted person
but felt sorrow at seeing a promising young gentle-
man thus led as an ox to the slaughter. His violent
death made a strange, vivid impression on my own
childish heart and mind at the time.
The particulars of the principal's trial and acquittal ;
as also the failure of an attempt to criminate the
seconds, after the lapse of ten or twelve years, are
MY BOY LIFE. 127
given by Dr. Scadding in the work above quoted. But
there is reason to believe that Mr. Jarvis was never
able to acquit himself at the bar of his own conscience
from the "cry of his brother's blood," and that he
lived and died an unhappy man.
Some months after the occurrence, when public ex-
citement had somewhat abated, the feeling in our
family was awakened anew by an occurrence in the
Elmsley Field, which our brother James related at the
fireside the evening after. A genteel stranger, a
young man, came to him in the field and asked him if
he could point him to the spot where John Ridout
fell in a duel. Brother said, " I can put your hand on
the spot that was wet with his blood," and led him to
the place. The person seemed very much struck and
moved indeed.
'* This stranger's eye wept,
That in life's brightest bloom,
One gifted so rarely,
Should sink to the tomb."
Seeing him put his pocket handkerchief to his eyes,
James presumed to remark, " You knew him, sir ? "
" Oh ! yes, he was a very, very dear friend of mine in-
deed." Brother did not recognize his appearance as
of one he had seen before, yet did not presume to ask
what had been the relation between him and " the
loved and lost." Whether they had been fellow
students or companions-in-arms (for though young,
128 MY BOY LIFE.
they were old and large enough to have shared with
almost all the other young gentlemen of the country
in its defence during the recent war), or what other
tie had bound their friendship, we never knew.
NO. XVII.
THE RISE OF AN INSTITUTION WHICH INFLUENCED HT
DESTINIES FOR GOOD.
T^HIS was the building of a Methodist meeting-
house, and the establishment of regular preach-
ing and other services in the Town of York. There
was an English Church in the town at the time of our
arrival, and for long before. But it was then in a very
dilapidated state. It had never been much of a
structure, not large, a framed, clapboarded building,
which had never had a steeple, or a toat of paint.
Some low wag scrawled upon its w^alls —
" Doctor Strachn,
" If you'd have the good-will of the people,
" You must paint your church and build a steeple."
Report said that the building had been used as a
military hospital at a time of pressure during the war.
The church lot had been fenced with rails, but the
soldiers and the rabble had burnt them up. As it was,
9
130 MY BOY LIFE.
it was the only place where the decencies of public
worship had been statedly conducted until the event
to which I am about to refer. Transient preachers,
among the rest the Methodists, had given occasional
sermons, — in the Parliament buildings, in hotel ball-
rooms, and in private houses, but no other denomina-
tion had a church of any kind, and, therefore, could
not collect, much less preserve a congregation. The
Episcopalians were the most regular church-goers of
that day; and they were principally, though not wholly,
of the aristocratic class, such as our aristocracy then
were. Thus, the best bred and most pretentious
people had most of the form of religion, so far as it
related to public forms. You could see on a Sunday
forenoon our would-be aristocrats in their gigs and
elegant coaches, with liveried footmen up behind,
driving to that old church, the servants, dogs, and
horses awaiting in the street their more devotional
masters, or owners to issue from the sacred enclosure.
Some indeed walked : among these was a remarkable
pair, who passed our door on almost e\cry Sunday
while we lived at the corner of George and Duchess
Streets, coming down the oblique waggon track from
Don Flats, looking, as a woman of my acquaintance
used to say, " like a couple of old-fashioned picturs,"
the old gentleman with dangling cue, I think, three-
corned cocked hat, sloping, single-breasted coat, long
buff waistcoat, with large pockets, breeches, stockings,
and shoe buckles; and the old lady dressed e(^ually
MY BOY LIFE. 131
primitively, with scoop-bonnet, kerchief on her
shoulders, fcc, but all of the best material. This was
old Colonel Playter and his wife, in the costume of
the early reign of George III.
The religious notions of our family, as far as we
had any at that time, strange as it may seem of a
family which had been identified with the army, were^
of a Quaker cast. Consequently, the ritualism of the
Church of England was scarcely adapted to attract us
to her altars. True, the Presbyterian family into
which William had married were temporarily going, off
and on, to the Church ; and William and Annie's first
baby must needs be carried to the Church and chris-
tened ; but then the parson would not perform the
rite upon the child until the father was baptized, which
was conformed to by him, — the first one of our house-
hold who received water baptism. But this conformity,
as yet, was not attended with any vital religion.
In the summer of 1818, just before we removed
from the Mercer house to a home of our-own, provided
for the family by Brother Tom, I came one day from
the nearest store (and the only one for a long ways)
and tqld my mother, that I had met the man who had
come in from the country to put up the meeting-house,
speak of raising the frame that day, and that, contrary
to the usual practice of the times, there would be only
cakes and beer, (instead of raw whisky) given at the
raising. My father loaned them the log chains which
drew up the timbers. Soon it was enclosed, and ser-
132 MY BOY LIFE.
vice commenced before it was finished. Next, one
Sunday, after we were settled in our new home, father
and mother went to the preaching, and father returned
alone, for mother had "stayed to class." In that meet-
ing she joined the Church on trial ; and not fong after,
while a hymn was being sung, she found the peace of
God for which she had sighed nine or ten weary years.
After that she went every Tuesday night to class at
the leader's, Mr, Patrick, and I usually accompanied
her with the tin-lantern of the day, over holes
and hillocks across the commons for company. As in
duty bound, she received baptism ; and I being the
only one of the family she could control, she led me
forward one night when baptism was being attended
to, and asked the rite for me. As I was a sizable boy,
I had to promise for myself, as well as my mother for
me. The notable James Jackson performed the
baptism. The Sunday-school, which I have elsewhere
described, was commenced about a year before that.
In the meantime, my twin-brother had died — I think
without being baptized. During a severe fit of sick-
ness, from which he was expected to die, Thomas was
baptized. George and Nathaniel not for another five
or six years, at the time they made a profession of re-
ligion ; and poor sightless James, not till some years
later still. Thus, one by one, here and there, all the
members of our Quakerized, nondescript family were
formally initiated into the visible Church of Christ.
But the frame meeting-house became our religious
MY BOY LIFE. 133
home as far as we availed ourselves of it, and countless
blessings, even of a material kind, resulted therefrom.
In that spiritual birth-place of my mother, and as I
shall have to describe in due time, I myself most
assuredly passed from death imto life. In this short
sketch, I have supplied a Ifnk, necessary to make the
chain of events in my lowly boy-life continuous.
NO. XVIII.
HOW I CHANCED TO GET THE FIRST PRIZE.
k\IXTY-THIlEE years ago this September (1881)
there was no Sunday-school in " Muddy Little
York," now the fair City of Toronto, nor had
there ever been one. But there was one organized
soon after— that is to say, about November, 1818.
Sunday-schools were then new and rare anywhere in
Canada ; one had been set on foot in Brockville by the
Rev. Wm. Smart, in 1811 ; one was organized and
talight by the Rev. Thomas Burch, Methodist minister,
in Montreal, during the war of 1812, and when the
Wesleyan missionaries came to that city in 1815 they
likewise established one. But though the Rev.
Thaddeus Osgood, General Missionary, supported by
some New England society, spoke of such an insti-
tution in a humble school that I attended after the
war was over, it came to nothing till three years after.
In the autumn of 1818 my dear mother returned one
day from a visit to Mr. Ketchum's, and told us at homo
MY BOY LIFE. 135
that Mr. Osgood had been in town, and that Messrs.
Ketchum, Patrick, Carfra, and Morrison were going to
teach a school every Sunday afternoon in the new
Methodist meeting-house on King street, and it was
decided that we, the three youngest boys, should attend.
We were hardly in presentable trim to make our ap-
pearance there, in point of clothes and shoes especially;
but an extra effort was made by father and mother
(the particulars of which would make a strange story
by itself), and on the bleak November afternoon ap-
pointed we were there, and so early that we had the
honour of kindling the fire in the sheet-iron stove out
of the chips and hewings from the timber of which
the frame of the newly-built house was made. At
length the patrons and the intended teachers of the
school arrived, and we were called to order, and the
lessons began. There were few books of any kind in
that early day, and not enough Bibles and Testaments.
My first lesson was the fragment of a Bible, a psalm,
pasted on a shingle, which I read and, committed to
memory.
This school was under the patronage of the " Ameri-
can Sunday-school Union," which had provided spelling
and lesson books, bearing the device on the title-page
of clasped hands in token of union. Beyond this, I
do not remember that there were any appropriate books
such as Sunday-schools now have; no hymn-books,
for we sang out of the books for the congregation ; no
library books, certainly ; and no reward books or prizes
of any kind for a year or two.
1S6 MY BOY LIFE.
The first attempt of this kind was the offer of one
single book as a reward for the scholar who should
answer a certain question, which had been asked and
was under consideration for weeks. The question had
been addressed to the first class of buys — or young
men, almost, as some of them were — but soon the whole
school had come to be interested in the matter. It
was Christ's question to the learned among the Jews
(to be found in Matt. xxii. 42-44 ; Mark xii. 35-37,
and Luke xx. 22-44), How it was that Christ, who was
Doivid's Lord, could be also his son? The question
was not answered the day it was proposed, and they
were directed to take it home, and it made a great stir
in many of the homes of the children ; but it was not
answered the next Sunday. But the managers of the
school resolved that it should go to them again ; and a
book was to be bought for the one who answered the
question- This was bought, and exhibited to whet
the eagjerness of the contenders ; and, as it happened,
the first book purchased did not satisfy the teachers,
and another was bought. In the meantime, the ques-
tion was agitated in the several families represented
in the school for a period, at least, of two or three
weeks. At length the day was set when the inquiry
was to be determined, and all was eagerness and ex-
pectation, both in and out of the school.
I was not even a candidate, for I was not in the first
class, but in the second, a little boy between ten and
eleyen, while some of the first class were nearly or
MY BOY LIFE. 137
quite twice my age and size; nevertheless, I had
thought about the question, and with the aid of my
mother had made up my mind what was the true
answer.
The day and hour came, and the question went up
and down the class, and no one of them could answer
it. My class sat close behind, and I watched the state
of matters with interest. I was always eager, but, in
those days, very bashful. Fortunately, there was a
little boy sitting beside me, not quite so old, but larger,
who was not bashful. His father was the teacher of
the big class : said I to him, " Alfred, I could tell ! "
He immediately spoke out, " Father, John Carroll says
he can tell ! " As the class was now fairly nonplussed,
Mr. P condescendingly turned to me and said,
" Well, John, how could Christ be David's Lord and
God, and yet be his son ? " " Because, sir, Christ was
both God and man ; and as a man, He was of the
house and lineage of David.' " " Well done ! well an-
swered !" That was all the reward I obtained then.
The questioning went on ; and those big boys were
asked, " Why did the Jews refuse to believe Jesus to
be the Messiah ? " It went up and down the class, but
none could tell. Alfred Patrick turned to me, and
said in a low voice, " John, can you tell ? " "I think
so," said I. " Father, John Carroll says he can tell ! "
The teacher once more addressed me, "Well, John,
why was Christ rejected by the Jews?" "Because,
sir. He did not come with the pomp and splendour
138 MY BOY LIFK
which they expected the Messiah to come with!"
" Good again ! " Now, by a sort of general consent of
the authorities of the school, I was transferred to the
fii-st class, but put at its foot. In those days the
practice of going up and down, according as a
pupil succeeded or failed, obtained in Sunday-schools
just as they do now in secular schools — so I began at
the bottom. But the questioning still went on, and
before the school was over I was at the head of the
class. That was supposed to be reward enough for
such a little fellow for one day, without the book ; I
had been admitted to the first class, and I was not
inclined to complain.
But what was to be done with the book ? A singular
conclusion was come to for a Sunday-school — the in-
stitution of a lottery ! It was thought and said,
" They have all done their best ; and though John
answered the question, yet as he was not a proper
candidate, he has been amply rewarded already ; there-
fore each one shall have a new chance — they shall
ballot for it. As many slips of paper were cut as
there were scholars in the class — they were all left
blank but one, on which the prize was marked ; the}'
were then worked between a gentleman's thumb and
finger, each into a little roll, put into a hat, and shaken
up together. The hat was passed along the class from
the foot to the head ; and each boy as it passed him
was to put in his hand and take out one of the little
billets The hat came to me last, and there was but
MY BOY LIFE. 139
one left to take — ^it was really no choice ; but, oh, joyful
day to me ! when they were unrolled all the rest were
blank but mine, and I had drawn the prize ! The first
Sunday-school prize that I ever heard of being given
in the town ! Was I not glad ? My brothers, of
course, congratulated me ; but no sooner was school
over, than I started for home to tell the good news to
my mother, and outstripped the rest. In crossing the
green in front of our house, and coming in sight of those
looking from the door, I lifted up my prize and bran-
dished it before their eyes, exclaiming, " I have got the
book ! I have got the book ! " I need not say that
my success occasioned great delight to all my friends,
but especially to my tender mother, whose " baby " I
now was, that my little mate had died. I was sorry he
was not there to share my pride and joy.
My young readers will be inclined to say, "One
book was not a great deal to make a fuss over ; I have
fifty books." Yes, but I had never had one of my
own before, unless it were a school book. Others will
say, " What sort of a book was it ? " Well, it was not
a book about religion, strange to say, though obtained
from a Sunday-school, and it exerted a beneficial in-
fluence on me, of a certain kind, all my life. It was
a pretty 18mo., printed on nice clear paper, with a
pasteboard cover of a wavy-like design. The title
was, " Picture of the Seasons," and the matter a de-
scription of spring, summer, autumn, and winter as seen
in Old England, adorned with pictures, and illustrated
140 MY BOY LIFE.
with poetry mostly from Thomson's Seasons. I read
the book over and over again to myself and to my
friends, particularly to my eldest brother, James, whose
sight was so impaired that he could not see to read for
himself. The book, besides affording a vast amount
of enjoyment, exerted a training influence upon me,
which followed me through life : it made me observant
of scenery and of the material works of God ; it gave
me a taste for descriptive poetry and the graphic in
style, and probably had some influence on my own
style after I began to write. A noticeable effect was
to beget a desire in my breast to see the British Isles.
— a desire which, after the lapse of forty years, was
destined to be gratified.
The only conclusion I shall draw from the facts
here recorded is, that while it is a privation not to
have enough books, it is possible to have too many
— so many that the attention is distracted among
them. Certain it is, that a few good books, well
studied, are better than a great many superficially
looked over. Young people, make a thorough use of
your books that are worth reading ; and if you have
more than you can master, give them, or give the use
of them, to those who have none.
n^
No. XIX.
HOW I INVESTED MY FOUND MONEY.
LITTLE more than a year after acquiring the
Sunday-school prize, our family was in a
transition state, and we were all in some
measure upon our oars. For several years we younger
ones, with our dear mother, were principally dependent
for support upon our dear brother Tom, yet unmarried
and still uninjured by some ill connections and mis-
taken moves which afterwards made some impressions
on him for the worse. He had made some property '
in the town, which he had lately exchanged for a farm
in Whitchurch ; and we were all delighted with the
prospect of living in the country, and were packed up
to move to it. I had even bought the fish-hooks by
which I hoped to catch the trout in the purling stream
which ran through the farm which we hoped to make
our future home, when suddenly our fine team of
horses was missing. They had strayed, or had been
stolen. All were in search of them for weeks, during
142 MY BOY LIFE.
which time it was impossible to move. It turned out,
in the issue, that we went not to the farm. Boy
though I was, I was very sorry ; for I was always very
fond of a country life, and I had sense enough to see
that the several dead-heads in the family would there
be of more assistance to the bread-winners of the
household than anywhere else. To all human appear-
ance, in the the long run, it appeared we were great
losers by remaining in the town ; my brother changed
all his property for a stock of goods in the saddle and
harness line of business, and after a time lost it all,
and had to «tart again in a humbler sphere, and the
rest of us were scattered abroad. The only compen-
sation was (and it was a great gain, if the same event
would have failed to happen to us in the country),
that, after some years, the religious opportunities we
enjoyed in the town issued in the conversion of the
three youngest of us boys. But that is not the matter
I set out to tell about, but how I found a piece of
money, and the use I made of it.
It was during our time of suspense. I had been
called away from a situation where I was earning a
few shillings every week, to get ready for our moving ;
and after our loss I went wandering about the com-
mons in a vacant sort of way, in hopes of finding our
stray horses. I was a little lame in one of my feet
from some cause or other, and thought myself lamer
than I really was, and was helping myself along with
a long stick, and nearing home, when suddenly I saw
MY BOY LIFE. 14>3
in the road where Adelaide Street now runs, between
Bay and York, something shining in the dust, and
sprang forward and grasped it — it was a well-worn
quarter-dollar. It was long since I had had any
money I could really call my own, and it cured my
lameness at once, and I threw away my stick, walking
(if I did not run) with alacrity. I always reported
my gains to my mother, and usually gave them up to
her as a matter of course. She was the treasurer for
all the boys, as she had to cater for the whole. By
her wise management the " many littles " made a sum
to keep the family afloat after some fashion.
But just at that time I very much desired a little
money to spend as I liked. And how was it, my
young readers will feel curious to know, I did want to
spend it ? I will tell you : As I had passed up through
our straggling little town, which had but one business
street, and not much of a one at that, I discovered that
a new book and stationery, toy and variety store was
opened on King Street, among some new houses,
opposiiJe the English Church, or where St. James*
Cathedral now stands — that is, on the south side of
King Street, a few doors east of Church Street ; and
my eyes had gloated over the books and pictures in
the window so long as greatly to inflame my desire
for a new book.
" But chill penury repressed the noble rage
And froze the genial current of my soul ;"
144 MY BOY LIFE.
and I was going home depressed, when I saw the
glittering prize in the road. I had always two reasons
for wishing books to read : one was, because my eldest
surviving brother, James, was then almost totally
blind, and unable to read himself, albeit the contents
of a book was a great solace to him in his loneliness.
He was very hard of hearing as well, and one had to
sit very near him to make him hear what was read ;
but I was so small, and he was so big, that I could sit
on his knee opposite his best ear, and make him hear
very well. I must just say, that the unnatural pitch
I had to assume very much injured the intonation of
my voice, which was one source of unpopularity after
I became a public speaker. In the meantime, what
gave my dear brother pleasure afforded me delight ; I,
therefore, always associated the pleasurable prospect
of getting a new book with him.
I entered the house and said, " Mammy, if you will
not take it from me, and let me spend it as I like, I
will tell you of something I have found." She assured
me that unless it were wrong for me to keep it, she
would not take it from me. I then showed her the
quarter-dollar, and as there were no houses near, as the
the road was little travelled, and the money was nearly
buried in the dust, it was impossible to imagine who .
had lost it ; and that, therefore, it was the property of
the finder — it was mine !
Receiving permission, I turned on my heel at once,
hurried back to Mr. Leslie's, entered the shop, which I
MT BOY LIFE. 145
had not dared to do before, andtumcd over the smaller
books wliicli lay upon the counter. At length I
selected a stitched book with a cover somewhat stiff,
and containing, perhaps, fifty pages. There were no
pictures to tempt me, but the book was fresh-looking,
and contained a great deal of matter in verse, which
always attracted me, and it chanced that its price was
just one quarter-dollar, and I bought it and carried it
away.
My new purchase contained two principal poems,
accompanied with notes in prose, with two or three
lesser pieces also in rhyme. The two longer ones were,
first, " The Borders,"— the complaints of English people
in the north of England of the " bordering Scots," who
" despoiled their fields and ravaged all their farms."
I know not the authorship ; it might have been Sir
Walter Scott. I knew nothing of him then, and for
long after ; but it was accompanied with notes, which
gave the reader an insight into monastic and civil life
in the middle ages. The whole thing was tveird and
interesting to me and my auditors when I read it. My
mother appreciated and explained it the best of any.
She had heard the " Chevy Chase " sung by an intelli-
gent Scotchman, and tales of those olden times told
around her fathers kitchen fire on the banks of the
St. John, New Brunswick, in the last century, by that
strange medley of persons from all parts of the world,
whom the glow of old Quaker Ridout's genial fire
attracted to share his gratuitous but ample hostelry
10
146 MY BOY LIFE.
After some ycaK I lost my book ; but in the course of
still further years I read the '* Tales of my Grand-
father," " Eob Roy," and the " Chevy Chase," as well
as the more general histories of those times, by which
the allusions of my "Borders" became more intelligible
to me.
The other longer poem was the now well-known
production of the Moravian poet, Montgomery, entitled
the " Wanderer of Switzerland," one of his many pieces
written in the interests of freedom and fair dealing.
The story was very touching, and we all mingled our
tears with the old wanderer. I read this and the other
tale over and over ; and the perusal, besides affording
me a great deal of pleasure, begat within me a senti-
ment, which has been deepening ever since, of hatred
to all oppression and unfairness, whether civil or
ecclesiastical — whether from crowned heads, aristo-
cratic oligarchies, or democratic majorities and mobs.
May they all perish forever ?
i
No. XX.
A TRAMP TO THE BUSH IN SUGAR TIME, WITH YOUNG
LADIES.
WHEN we came to York there were two
families, pretty much on a par with our-
selves, intimate with each other, with both
of whi<5h we became connected — the one directly, the
other only remotely — two members from each of which
come into my unpretending story. The one of these
families was of Highland Scotch origin, the other I do
not know from where — perhaps England. The first
were the Mclntoshes, the second the Hamiltons. There
were four daughters in the first family and one in the
other, and several sons in both. My second brother,
William, had married the eldest daughter, Annie, in the
Mcintosh family, and my brother Thomas was destined
to marry the second daughter, Jane. There were two
other daughters, twins, Isabella and Eliza, at the time
of my story seventeen or eighteen years of age, very
comely in appearance. Bella was tall, straight, and
148 MY BOY LIFE.
graceful, if not majestic in figure, with a full face and
rosy complexion. Eliza was darker in complexion but
smaller in person, and lithe and graceful in her move-
ments, with small and lady-like hands and features,
vivacious in manner and conversation, frank and very
amiable. Caroline Hamilton, who was destined to
marry their handsome brother Charlie, was the almost
inseparable companion of the twins. Bell, and Eliza.
Miss H. was tall and graceful, but not so beautiful in
face and features as her more favoured companions.
Her brother Wilson, or " Wilse," a tall, handsome,
vivacious fellow, was Bell's acknowledged admirer
at that time. Eliza's intimacy with the handsome
young American, Charles Thompson, destined to be
her future husband, was not as yet, I think, very
pronounced — it was two years afterwards, I know.
About the year 1819, my brother William, the
husband of Annie Mcintosh, had settled with his wife
and two children on the lot drawn for his military
services, consisting of two hundred acres in the edge of
the " New Survey " of the Township of Toronto — say,
as the road went, fifteen or sixteen miles from the
town. The time to which I refer was the early spring,
or breaking up of winter, 1821, when I was between
eleven and twelve years of age.
It seems the younger girls in the two families had
projected a visit to William and Annie during the
sugar-making time that spring ; and, from what after-
wards happened, I suspect they had engaged, or
MY BOY LIFK 149
expected, Wilson Hamilton to be their escort. But
when the time came he was too busy in the shop to
leave, or at least to spend all the time they expected
to be away. But ladies, especially young ladies, do
not easily relinquish any project they get in their
heads. Defeated in one resource, they resorted to
another : they tramped on (for they were on foot) up
to the west end of the town, where my mother resided,
in hopes of getting one of our boys to accompany
them. But Thomas had started business, George was
in his situation, and 'Thaniel was away on a journey
in almost the direction they were going, but further.
They must have some masculine escort, and young and
small as I was, they asked for me and I was away on
an errand ; but just as they come to the door, hesitating
whether to go on or turn back, I made my appearance,
and mother joined her request with theirs, that I should
go with them.
I liked sugar — and where is the boy that does not ?
—and once I had, when thirsty, taken a' good drink of
sap, and the remembrance of the sylvan nectar had
lingered in my memory, and almost the taste of it in my
mouth, during the three or four intervening years.
Besides, I longed to see my brother's residence in the
bush ; but there was a drawback — I had never felt the
refining influence of a sister's presence and love, and
I hardly knew how to behave in the company of girls ;
besides, my brothers had a silly trick of teasing me
about little girls, until I was afraid to be seen speaking
150 MY BOY LIFE.
to one. I was almost afraid and ashamed to consent to
go ; but being urged, did consent, got ready in a trice,
and went ; and the young ladies expressed their delight
again and again. It was pretty late in the day when
we started to tramp the intervening fifteen or sixteen
miles along the rough and still largely unsettled road.
We passed up the Dundas road (Queen Street), turn-
ing south at where the Lunatic Asylum now is, till we
came near where the Dundas Street Methodist Church
stands ; then west, including one jog on the road, till
we reached the Humber, where Lambton now flourishes;
on up the hill and across the Mimico, where Islington
now displays its beauties ; and on up Dundas Street
till we reached the place of turning back into the new
settlements, of which more after a little.
Shall I tell you what the road, or country, was like
those fifty -nine years ago ? On the north side of
Queen Street there were nothing but farms and farm-
houses until the turn west, north of the Asylum, was
reached. After that it was all dark pine woods for
three or four miles, excepting some squatter or wood-
chopper's shanty, till you came out where an industri-
ous German, by the name of Friday, had taken up a
location, and joined a little farming with charcoal-
burning and tar-making. Then, there were no houses
along the plains among the scrub oaks until we
reached the Humber, with its saw-mills (the first or
second I had seen) and tavern there. Then no more
houses till we reached the Mimico. After that, a very
MY BOY LIFE. 151
few rough log houses, with a great deal of woods
between, till we came to where 'we m'ast needs turn
north. There, fortunately, the school was just break-
ing up for the day, and, upon inquiry, we found there
was a young man, who lived only a mile and a half
from my brothers, just returning after his day's
studies. Ebenezer Austin was fairly educated, intelli-
gent, and rather polite ; besides, the sight of the young
ladies put him on his best behaviour at once. We had
something like a road until we reached his father's,
at which time it became quite dark, and we had to go
the rest of the way across fields and through the
woods ; but young Austin was only too glad, with
lighted hickory bark torch, to be the guide and
cicerone (explaining the history and mystery of all we
saw) to the fair town girls. At length the light from
the roaring log fire on William's hearth, well on in the
evening, was a welcome sight to us all ; for we were
very tired and very hungry. We would not accept
the proffered hospitality of the Austin family, noted
for their kindness ; and I, with my boyish bashf ulness,
even refused to go into the house. But I made mysolf
welcome where I was known. We did ample justice
to the abundant farmer's fare served up by the
acknowledged taste of my sister-in-law, of well-known
housekeeping capabilities. I soon became sleepy, and
mounted by a ladder to my bed in the loft, made on
the floor near the chimney, where the constant fire
below heated the boards. I stretched my weary legs,
162 MY BOY LIFE.
•
feeling the cat-tail couch a luxury, and soon fell asleep,
and, boy-like, slept till late the following morning.
Looking around in the morning sunshine, I observed
that four adjacent clearings (two on each side of the
well-cleared road) made a fair opening in what was
forest all beyond, for the wilderness bounded our
horizon — everywhere a wilderness of large trees,
crowded with " underbrush " beneath. All within the
encircling forest was rudely made, but new — fences,
barns, and houses. One of the condiments that made
our breakfast still more appetizing was furnished from
the sugar-bush ; namely, pure, new maple molasses,
than which nothing can be more delectable.
The breakfast, moreover, was swallowed with eager-
ness, for we were " all agog " to be off to the sugar-
bush. It was simply the nearest forest land to the
north end of the clearing, for the sugar maple was a
prevailing kind of tree in that hardwood forest, and
large ones they were. The trees were tapped for a
large area around — that is, a notch was cut with a
sharp axe on the south side of each tree, at an angle
from the perpendicular of about forty-five degrees,
and at the lower end of the notch a " spile " or spout
of basswood was introduced into an incision made with
an iron instrument. The sap was caught in basswood
or ash troughs, made on the ground — it was before
the day of cooper-made pails. Once a day, at least,
the troughs had to be emptied, for when the sap ran
freely the troughs were filled within twenty-four hours.
MY BOY LIFE. 153
Sometimes we emptied the sap-troughs both morning
and evening, just as you would milk a cow ; and when
there had been rain, or a fall of snow and a thaw, why
then the water thus caught had to be thrown out, that
it might not dilute the sap.
The boiling place was in the centre of the sugar-
bush. Everything was rude and extempore in those
early days ; no arches or fixtures for the boilers, and
no store puncheons. There was a capacious " store-
trough " made out of a large tree. The great pots or
" sugar-kettles " were strung on a strong pole resting
on crotches at either end of the fire ; then two large
logs of suitable length were rolled up from either side
under the pots, which, with kindlinn^s, chips, and smaller
wood, both round and split, of which there was plenty
close at hand, set on fire, soon put the whole in a
roaring blaze. The largest pots were filled with the
new sap, which was emptied into lesser ones as it was
boiled down to greater strength, called " syrup," the
strongest pot of which was kept simmering away more
gradually until it became molasses ; and the molasses
was boiled over a still slower fire ; for the nearer to
sugar it became, the more likely it was to boil over, or
to burn. The pots, during the whole process, had to
be skimmed often to get rid of the impurities which
came to the surface in the form of scum. An egg, or
a little piece of fat pork, served as a clarifier, by
makinor the sediment more observable in the scum. I
was never lazy, but rather officious in assisting at what-
154 MY BOY LIFE,
ever was going on. I tendered my services to aid in
the business, and soon learned to " gather sap," to
" tend the pots," to feed the fires, and even to cut down
and split up a sizable tree for fuel. Of course we all
drank a great deal of sap, syrup, and molasses, and
ate a great deal of hot sugar, which is very fine.
" Sugaring oflf " was a very nice process, as it required
an experienced manager and a very slow fire ; and for
that purpose it was generally done in the house. Some
of the richest molasses was taken in pails, put over
some coals in a pot, and slowly simmered away till it
became gritty when cool ; it was then nearly ready to
pour out into the moulds, which were usually such
pots and pans as came to hand. William made a square
box, which could be taken apart when the sugaf
became hard, which made a very pretty mould. The
final test that the hot sugar was ready to pour out
was to take out a little to cool on a lump of snow,
which, when it became cool, if it cracked like a piece
of glass when struck with the finger nail, it was ready
to pour out. If the desire was to make flour sugar,
instead of cake sugar, they kept stirring the pot till it
was thoroughly cool, or poured it out into a receptacle,
and stirred it, and it became loose and nearly like
brown sugar bought in the stores ; and I believe, if
left a little more moist, and poured out into a keg or
some other vessel whose bottom was open enough to
allow all molasses or soft sugar to run away, it would
crystalize and become a sort of granulated sugar, hard
and clear — ^very nice, indeed.
MY BOY LIFE. 155
One day "William made his visitors some taffy, which
they ate with great delight. He boiled a small pot of
syrup or molasses down till it was in a state of consist-
ence to " sugar off," when he poured it out upon a
wider surface of clean snow ; and then, so soon as it
was cool enough to be handled, oiling his hands with
some clean fat, he manipulating it very much as a shoe
or harness-maker manipulates his wax, pulling it out,
folding it together, and pulling it out again. By this
means the gritty feeling passed away, and it became
stringy, and possessed the taste and all the attributes
of taffy. The young ladies were hugely delighted
with it.
And the young ladies themselves became a delight
as soon as it was bruited abroad in the settlement
(and it is astonishing how such matters travel where
there is little else to talk about) ; sundry bachelors
(one particularly), dressed in their holiday clothes,
contrived certain errands to William's log-house. Alas,
poor fellows, I think they wore out .shoe leather in
vain ! In a day or two after our arrival, who should
burst in upon us at the " sugar camp " but Wilson
Hamilton ! After that my functions as an escort
passed into his hands, and I did not remain even
" second in command."
After the best part of a week spent in the woods,
we bent our steps homeward, five in number instead
of four, as we came. While walking onward by
myself in a piece of woods, I was accosted by a grave
156 MY BOY LIFE.
but kindly interlocutor, or questioner. He was a
sizable gentleman, well-mounted on a good horse, with
the usual paraphernalia of equestrians in those days,
clad in a broad-leaved grey hat, and drab overcoat, and
of measured speech, but not Quaker dialect ; whence I
judged he was not a " Friend," but one of the Methodist
preachers who were our almost only evangelists and
civilizers in those times. Seeing me, a small boy, all
alone in the woods, he seemed solicitous for my safety,
and wished to know whence I came, and whither I
was going. My very ready and frank answers appeared
to assure him that I might be entrusted to work out
my own objects ; he bade me good-bye in kindly
tones and a very pleasant voice, and spurred on his
steed at a faster pace than I could keep up with.
Mrs. Charles Wesley said that " the piety of the early
Methodist preachers was an excellent substitute for a
polite education." The stranger gentleman's inquiries
left a tranquilizing influence on my boyish heart.
Inquiries into the whereabouts of the few itinerants
in the Province, made since then, have rendered it
probable to me that I must have been accosted by
Isaac Bateman Smith, as by "an angel unawares."
Peace to the memory of those men of God ! I reached
home in safety and my sugar-making adventure fur-
nished food for conversation for many days after — as
the cake of sugar in my pocket-handkerchief sweetened
my porridge.
No. XXL
" OLD GRAY," THE MILL HOESB.
IF I have not already told my readers, I tell them
now, that I spent three or four years (perhaps I
ought to say five, in all, including two or three
several intervals) in a tannery, from the age of twelve
to seventeen, and that for two of those years I was
considered as a regular apprentice to the tanner's and
currier's trade. Some will think I ought to be
ashamed to make the confession. I would be ashamed
if I thought there was anything sinful or mean in a
business which is so important to civilized countries.
My " Boss," or master, raised himself by following this
business from the low estate of a poor boy to be one
of the very richest, most respected, and most useful
men of the town during the course of a long life.
In every trade, " the youngest apprentice " has
usually, for some time, to do many things not properly
of the trade, but preparatory to it. In our estab-
lishment this bottom rung of the ladder was grinding
158 MY BOY LIFE.
the bark. In many large establishments at the present
day, along with other advanced conveniences, the bark
is ground by water or steam-power; in our earlier and
ruder times it was ground in an iron mill, by horse-
power. John Jones, already mentioned, when I first
knew the establishment, was the bark-grinder, but
when John was promoted to the "beam-shed," the
" flesher," and the currying knife, others were employ-
ed to do this work. Two other boys intervened be-
tween him and me. At length I was called to mount
the mill " brow," for the bark was pounded and put in
the hopper above stairs, and fell into a place for its re-
ception below, whence it was carried away out as
wanted to the tan-vats. I ground the bark both
before and after I became a regular "hand" in the
tannery.
I might here say I have pleasant recollections of
that dusty loft, both before I was converted and after-
wards ; for, by pounding up bark for the hopper in
advance, I found a good deal of time for reading. Be-
fore conversion, Richardson's Pamela and Clarissa,
with similiar works, were read there ; and after my
conversion the precious Bible, the Methodist Hymn-
book, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, Doddridge's Rise
and Progress, the Lives of the Early Methodist Preach-
ers, with many, many other good books, were read and
pondered in that loft.
But at the beginning of this section I had no idea
of writing anything very grave or serious, but to give
MY BOY LIFE. 159
some pleasant reminiscences of an old horse, which
served his generation better than some boys and girls,
for the innocent entertainment of my young friends.
The sort of horse required for the mill must be a quiet
and steady one, and regular in his gait Now, these
qualities are seldom found in a young horse ; for young
horses, like young people, are apt to be flighty and
frisky. Hence the bark -grinding generally fell to the
lot of an old horse. The horse that did this work was
required to be kept without shoes, else the iron would
cut up the floor of the mill-loft too much. If horses
had pride and ambition like sinful men, old and young,
the mill-horse would have felt very much like an old
mechanic when his deficient sight and unsteady hand
seem to rule him out as unfit for the nicer work (or a
full day's work at least), and he is set to mending and
patching, or to do odd jobs of this or that; or rather felt
like an old preacher when, perhaps, only because he is
old (that is to say, has spent so very many years in
study, and has such a long and ripe experience), is
ruled out of the popular pulpits he used once to fill, if
not out of the pulpit altogether; or oft" the platform
where once he used to be welcomed with applause, and
assigned humbler work to do.
Now, to my certain knowledge, Old Gray had had
his day of flash and popularity with young folks, for
he once belonged to my own brother. He was not a
very large, but a very well-formed horse, of an iron-
grey colour. Moreover, he had been very free and
160 MY BOY LIFE.
spirited, and very showy in harness. I can remember
when he and his mate were considered a dashing team.
He then rejoiced in the buxom name of "Larry;" but,
alas ! years had passed over him, and he had become
white ; his ribs, once Covered with flesh, began to show
like an old man's "wrinkles ; instead of being round as
in his prime, he had become " slabsided ; " besides being
old, he had been too willing, and the " free horse " had
been overtaxed, just as it often is with a willing
labourer in the Church, or in the ministry. He had
descended in the estimation of his owners and the
characterof his work, till at last mj kind-hearted old
master bought him to grind his bark, and knocked
off his shoes. He had plenty of grass in summer and
hay in winter, but very few oats. The plea was that
his teeth were not good enough to chew them ; just
as some very pleasant things are denied to old people
on the supposition that they "no longer care about
such matters." But I must injustice say, that though
Old Gray did not get many oats, he got many a feed
of bran or potatoes.
Upon the mention of potatoes hangs a tale. He
generally had his noon baiting in a vacant, or pasture
lot (would you believe that it was ever vacant ?) at the
north-east corner of Yonge and Adelaide streets, not
far from the bark -mill. There was not always a halter
lavished on Old Gray, but I pulled him along by his
very long mane, or "fore top." His great age had
given him experience. He knew what my movements
IW BOY LIFE. 161
meant as well as I did myself. When tho twelve
o'clock cannon fired, he knew it was time to be unhar-
nessed, and whinnied vociferously. The boys used to
say that he called out " Jo-oh-hon ! " Yet he did not
often show the same alacrity when I went after him
to fetch him to his day's or half-day's toil. I think
he showed the most reluctanco at noon-time, when he
had not had long enough time to fill his stomach. In
tho larger field, when I had caught him, I generally
utilized his back to save the labour of walking, albeit
the height of his backbone made it a little like riding
on a rail ; but sometimes, after, by dint of kicking my
heels into his sides and slapping him first on one side
of the head and then on the other, to guide him in the
absence of bridle or halter, I had got him to the gate,
and was occupied in trying to unlatch it with my toe,
he would suddenly start ofi*, and gallop to the far end
of the field, when, putting his nose to the ground,
which I had no power of holding up, he would kick
up his heels and slide me down his neck, upon which
I had to recommence my task of bringing him to the
gate. But at the time 1 was going to speak of, he
was in the nearer and smaller pasture-field already
described, but at the farther side ; and as I approached
to catch him, having nowhere else to run, he galloped
to the gate. My good-natured, kind-hearted old " boss "
witnessed the performance, and interpreted it very
differently from what I did, and broke out in his usual
quaint words and nasal drone to commend and order
11
162 MY BOY LIFE.
the reward of the old horse : he exclaimed, " Gray, you
fine old fellow. Run to your work, eh ? John, go and
get a basket of potatoes and give him a good feed !"
So my return to work was delayed until Old Gray had
munched about a peck of potatoes.
I do not remember the facts of his death. I think
it occurred during a year's absence of mine from the
establishment. Unlike the fate of some human beings,
I never heard a word spoken against Old Gray (but,
on the contrary, a great deal of kindness expressed),
after his death. Peace to his memory ! I, at least,
have done what I could to give him posthumous fame.
No. XXII.
GOING ON A BUSH FARM.
IN several of my sketches I have made references
to a crisis in our humble family history by
which our joint residence was broken up for a
number of years, and the several members of the house-
hold were scattered in various directions. Thomas,
the patron of the rest, was married and had gone to live
by himself, taking his mother along. A temporary
residence was found for poor James, though finally
he followed me to the country. 'Thuniel was at a
trade. An opening in a business he understood offered
itself to brother George, lying partly in the township
of Toronto, and partly in Trafalgar. And, as I had
always showed a preference for country life, it was
decided that I should join my brother William on the
bush farm whither I have already conducted my
young readers on a sugar expedition. This breaking-
up occurred in the month of March, or April, 1822,
when I was between twelve and thirteen years of age.
164 MY EOT LIFE.
George's route and mine lay pretty much in the
same direction, and it was decided we should travel
together to the end of my journey at our brother
William's. We were very disproportionate in size ; ho
being a stout fellow of nineteen or twenty, and I being
of the tender age already given, and small even at
that; but each had his wardrobe packed in a bundle
upon his back. We started, after an early lunch, on a
raw short day, to trudge fourteen miles, less or more,
on foot. At Wilcox's tavern, on the farther side of
the Mimico, we took a short rest ; and my brother
regaled himself and me (such, alas ! was the custom
of the times, no one seeing the danger), each with
a glass of whisky. It was a mercy that converting
grace, a little more than two years after, abruptly
and completely put a stop to an indulgence which
would have been very likely to have proved my total
ruin.
From the Mimico (for the first time to me) we took
the " Back Road," which was some miles shorter than
the one by the Dundas Street and the turn at Custed's.
About night-fall we reached our brother's log-house
and enjoyed his blazing fire of burning logs. His
wife, for that season, was boiling all the sugar they
made over the domestic fire, and the new sugar and
molasses added to the social pleasures around that
homely hearth. The next day my fellow-traveller
started for the embryo village now called Streetsville ;
and after a few days returned with the news that
MY EOT LIFE. 165
arrangements were made for his steady employment
in that region for several months to follow.
It will devolve on me now to tell how I was em-
ployed, and some of the things which befell me during
the year and a quarter, or so, of my residence there.
The sugar-bush ; learning to chop, reap, rake, bind,
and pitch grain ; going to mill on horseback, hunting
the cattle, getting lost, &c., &c., will probably be some
of the subjects on which I will dwell for the entertain-
ment of my readers.
First, the sugar seasons. I passed through two of
those during the time I remained. At the period of
my arrival it was pretty well over for that year; and
I have said the boiling was attended to in the house.
The sugar-bush was some distance, and the sap had
to be gathered and poured into barrels on an ox-sled,
which was then slowly drawn to the house. The work
of gathering the sap henceforth was mine ; and, the next
year, boiling it down over the camp-fire in the woods,
to which was added the work of chopping and fetching
the fuel to keep up the fire under the sugar-kettles.
The early spring is subject to storms, and often our
sap-troughs were filled with rain or soft snow, which,
so soon as the downfall was ended, had to be thrown
out, that the sweet discharge from the trees might be
obtained undiluted. Once, about nightfall, after a
heavy shower of wet snow, I was sent to empty the
sap-troughs at the roots of the trees which had been
** tapped." I might here say, that heavy frost would
166 MY BOY LIFE.
arrest the discharge, and if that continued so long as
to dry up the incisions or cuts in the trees, they had
to be "tapped" over again. Warmth and sunshine
were always favourable to the sap's " running." But
to return to my errand. I had heard of owls, and their
hideous noises, but learned that they were harmless ;
nevertheless, when I had got well into the bush, I
heard all around me such doleful noises as ooh-ooh,
hoo-hoo, and coo-o-o. I could not persuade myself
but I was threatened by a pack of wolves, and I
broke and ran for dear life to the house, for which I
was chidden and ridiculed by my brother. My
cowardice occasioned them inconvenience.
After one of those heavy falls of wet snow the first
spring, just as we had finished our breakfast, an old
Highland Scotch settler, living three or four miles
from us, burst into our house with his two stout lads,
John and " Jamis," as they called him, each with his
axe in hand, and began to lay before my brother the
danger of his forfeiting his lot and " betterments," if
the " settlement duties " on the rear end, the fifth con-
cession, were not completed within a fortnight.
Besides the clearing and fencing of five acres, the road
upon both ends of a two hundred acre lot had to be
cleared out to the depth of two rods. Mr.
Wallace was a distant relative of the Highland Scotch
family into which two of my brothers had married ;
and when the decision of the Government relative to
the completion of the settlement duties was bruited
MY BOY LIFE. 167
about, Mr. Wallace's ties of clanship would not suffer
him to rest till " WuUiam " was extricated from his
peril. Two other kind-hearted neighbours came to
our assistance ; and by the end of the second day the
work was so far done (save two ungainly trees, which
stood on the precipitous bank of the " Tobico," which
crossed the road, and which they agreed to " report
impossible ") that two neighbours could testify to it
on oath. This was the first time I crossed our forest
farm to the " other line ; " and when accomplished, I
thought myself quite a travelled person.
The two Wallace boys and Mr. Eutledge's son
Thomas were my first acquaintances, among whom the
town boy was quite a lion. I am led to fear that my
conversation did them no good. Alas ! alas ! for the
days spent in sin and folly. All praise to the grace
of God — within a few years my friend Thomas and
myself were, I believe, truly converted, and entered on
a religious life.
No. xxm.
DRIVINa AN OX TEAM.
I WAS in the midst of an account of a year spent
on a bush farm, and I had only given the first
section of that story. Sugar-making was the
first thing that I learned; the next thing I shall
mention is drivinor oxen.
I knew that my brother William had gone on his
farm with a noble pair, or "yoke," as they were
called, of tall fine oxen. But I also knew, that a year
or two after one of them met with an accident, and
that the other was sold. Just before that time I knew
that Thomas, in the way of trade, had become possessed
of a team of younger and smaller ones ; and Bill
coming to town, somewhat down in the mouth about
the breaking up of his team, Tom, with his usual im-
pulsive generosity, gave him his steers — or rather one
of them only was a steer — the other was what farmers
know as a " stag." It was these, about a year after,
MY BOY LITE. 169
that had the fate of receiving a boy teamster, -n my
own person.
As I became greatly attached to them, I will describe
their looks and other things about them. They were
about four years old, more or less, when I began to
drive them. Like many domestic ai?^*mals, they had
received the names of distinguished personages. Not
wholly forgetful of the old war memories, one was
called "The Duke of Wellington," and the other
" Prince Blucher ; " but for short, they were usually
known and distinguished as " Duke," and " Prince."
"Duke" was of a lively red colour, but his face was
as white as the drifted snow and I think also his feet,
and the " native white and red " contrasted beautifully
with each other. He had a large, kindly eye, and a
good temper ; and, therefore, I confess, he was the
favourite. When he put out his nose for a " nubbin "
of corn, if I had it to give, you may be sure he never
went without it. "Prince" was not bad tempered,
but he was less demonstrative than- "Duke," and
looked somewhat sullen. His colour was a dusky
brown, or dun. His horns were the thick, straight
ones of a bullock, and would have been sharp-pointed,
had not their tips been taken off by a saw. Only for
their being blunted, no doubt one of them, on one
occasion, would have put out my right eye. I was
sent to the barn one day in great haste for a couple
of sheaves of oats, I think to feed some visitors' team ;
and just as I was clambering over the logs which fenced
170 MY BOY LIFE.
off the " bay," where the fodder was kept, with the
oats under my arm, " Prince " thought it would be a
fine chance to get a mouthful of provender, and seized
hold of the heads with his mouth ; I held on, and he
gave a pull, when down I came, oats and all ; and the
blunt end of one horn struck the bone which defends
the right eye ; and if the horn had been sharp-pointed,
it would not only have pierced the skin, but would,
most likely, have slipped into the eye itself. But a
kind Providence spared it to me. I was bruised, but
not cut ; I scrambled up, fought off the cattle, and ran
for the house. " Prince " looked to be the stronger ox
of the two, but " Duke " was the quicker, and on the
whole they were very well matched, and performed a
great deal of work in " snaking" logs, drawing loads on
the sled, in summer as well as winter — ^waggon, as
yet, we had none — and harrowing the land ; for as yet
we had no regular plough, and the land because of the
yet undecayed roots, was unploughable.
I thought I had performed a great exploit when
first I found I could yoke them up. As there are
many town boys, and even boys on old farms where
all the work is done with horses, who may not know
how it is done, I will tell them. Well, then, I used to
take the yoke under my left arm, which was about as
much as I could do ; first pull out the bow-pin, carry-
ing it my teeth, and then work out the right end bow,
and, carrying it in • my right hand, walk up to the
" off " ox, which was " Prince," and lay that end of the
MY BOY LIFE. 171
yoke on his submissive neck. The bow was then
thrust up through the holes prepared to receive its
ends, which was a pretty tough job, for I had to keep
the other end of the yoke, bow and all, up to a hori-
zontal level with the end of the yoke on the ox's neck.
But when the bow-pin was inserted in the end of the
bow where there was a mortice to receive it, it held its
place as a sort of key. It was then only the work of
a minute to pull out what was called the " near bow,"
and beckon to the other ox, bow in hand, to come near
accompanied with the words, " Come under, Duke ! "
The docile creature would lower his head, and come
forward at once, and put his obedient neck under the
yoke, and was then fastened in with the bow and bow-
pin, as the other. Next, with a wave of the hand to
direct them, they would obey the word of command
to "go," "haw," "gee," or "whoa," as I wished. All
may not know that " haw," in ox language, is to come
near — come this way ; " gee," is to go to the right, or
go from you ; and " whoa," is to stop.
The most of growing boys like any kind of teaming,
and I was fond of driving the oxen; they were com-
pany for me, on which account I got attached to them,
and it was not very hard work. The hardest work I
had to do was harrowing, because the fields were full
of stumps, around which I had to turn up the harrow.
This implement was made of strong, heavy wood, in
the form of the letter A ; this was well framed together,
penetrated with heavy iron spikes, each weighing a
172 MY BOY LIFE.
pound at least, if not two. The clevis by which the
harrow was drawn was fastened to the apex, or small
end, of the triangle ; to this a chain was attached, and
the oxen drew it over the ground, by which the soil
was torn to pieces ; but as it met with many obstruc-
tions, mostly undecayed roots in the ground, it twitched
and jumped about, which tried my quick temper, I am
ashamed to say, very much. But my principal difficulty
was in going around the stumps of trees. The stump
often stood right in the line of my straight course
across the field. It was very desirable to get as near
the stump as possible, because the grass and weeds
were likely to fasten themselves among the roots,
therefore, I was forced to "haw," or "gee" the team
around it. When once around it I must bring them
into their former course as quickly as I could. To
keep as near the stump as possible, and to have
the harrow directly behind them when they got around,
I had to lift the harrow on its edge, so that the " teeth "
would not fasten among the roots, and to hold it there
till it had passed the stump, when, as quickly as pos-
sible, I had to throw it " teeth " downwards again, so
as to get hold of the first soil beyond it. This required
all my strength — for the harrow was very heavy —
and all my patience too ; because often the poor, un-
knowing brutes would jerk it rudely out of my hands,
defeating my purpose, and giving my slender arms
and back a great shock besides. I was then without
grace, and often lost my temper and beat the poor
MT BOY LIFE. 173
oxen, much as I thought I liked them, unmercifully
using words the while that I have long since deeply-
repented of. I have heard of a wicked man who "did
not believe that any but a real Christian could plough
among stumps without swearing ; " there was a neigh-
bour who made pretty bold professions of religion,
whom he regarded as " a hypocrite," because he thought
he "did not feel all he professed to ;" one day he saw
that neighbour in the back part of a very stumpy field
ploughing ; he also heard his voice, as he thought, in
anger and swearing, and he waited to have the pleasure
of hearing the shouting class-leader swear ; but as the
ploughman drew near, and the plough was flying from
side to side, he heard the good man sing the chorus:
** Oh ! the way is so delightful in the service of the Lord ;
" The way is so delightful, Hallelujah ? "
Said the eavesdropper, " Limbumer is a Christian
for no man could plough in that stumpy field without
swearing, unless he was a Christian." If ho had
listened to mo in those days, I am afraid he could not
have made any such report.
Driving the oxen before a sled I liked well enough,
though once I fell into some trouble which put me
about a little. My brother sent me about six or seven
miles on a dark, short autumn day, to get a load of
live hogs, which ho had purchased from a man who
was selling off his stock, as he wanted to fatten them
for his winter's use and to sell. Ho had a good crop
174 MY BOY LIFE.
of corn to feed them with. With the carelessness of a
boy, I went ofF without my jacket, that is, just with
my shirt and trousers on. We had no sled with a
box, and I was expected to borrow one by the way,
which, the sequel will show, made my trouble worse.
The neighbour, dear Summerfeldt, let his name go
down to posterity, was obliging and the sled was bor-
rowed, the outward-bound journey accomplished ; the
pigs caught, and their feet tied together, and loaded on
the sled, and our faces (mine and the oxen) turned
towards home. About the middle of the afternoon it
began to rain, and about a mile and a half from home
it became dark, and that was not the worst of it;
more than half the way there was bush, and the sled
road was full of mud-holes, which the oxen would
always shun if they could; in trying to do this
with one of the worst, the team shied off to one
side and the " nose " of one runner passed to the wrong
side of a sapling, while the oxen dashed on, pulling
the sled apart and letting the pigs on to the ground.
There was no way of fixing up, and nothing for it but
to unhitch the team, leaving my load just there, and
drive them home, to which, as being hungry and
missing the lumber of the load, they had been trailing
over bare ground, they dashed off in double-quick
time. It was humiliating to report a disaster in con-
nection with my first piece of distant teaming, of
which I was ambitious and very proud. My brother
chided me for what he called my "carelessness,"
MY BOY LIFE. 175
especially as we had to exclaim, " Alas ! it was bor-
rowed ! " A night journey to untie the pigs and drive
them home was no light matter, for pigs are notoriously
hard to drive. The next day my brother went that
far with me and mended the sleigh, and I drove it
back to its owner. The sorrows and toils of that first
day increased my relish for the big wood fire, quickened
my appetite for supper, (when has not a growing boy
an appetite ?) and gave a relish to weary bones for my
humble bed. And "kind nature's sweet restorer,
balmy sleep," did that night, in contradiction to Dr.
Young, " liojht on lids " which had been " sullied with
the tears " of a hard-working boy, with no mother
near to sympathize.
No. XXIV
MORE boy's work ON A BUSH FARM
1HAVE told how I went to live with my elder
brother, married and settled in the "Bush,"— how
I learned to drive oxen — my having to go to mill
on horseback, &;c. I must particularize two or three
other kinds of boy's work on a bush farm.
1st. There was my learning to chop, and my efforts
therein. I admired chopping very much, and aspired
earnestly to possess the skill and do the work of an
axe-man. Chopping is indeed delightful work ; it is
clean; the smell of the newly-cut timber is most
agreeable ; you are constantly seeing the result of
your operations, and the progress you are making, and
there is a feeling of triumph when you have " knocked
down" a tree two or three times the thickness of
yourself and fifty or a hundred feet high. It is good
work also, if not over-done, to develop the chest and
the muscles of the arms — there is a great sleight in
the right swing of the axe, and the exercise is very
MY BOT LIFE. 177
pleasurable. But then an axe is seldom found light
enough for a growing boy, and too heavj- an imple-
ment is very wearying, and very often the handle is too
long, with the danger of giving yourself a poke in the
stomach.
However, I was pretty well provided for. William
was a very adroit and skillful axe-raan, wielding a
seven-pound axe. One originally smaller, and that had
the " bit," as they called it, pretty much worn and
ground off, had been "jumped," that is, furnished
anew with a steel edge, and provided with a handle
half a foot shorter than one for a man (William made
his own axe-handles, and the shaping and smoothing
of them was a nice little job for a long winter evening
before the big open fire, which often furnished the
only light for the operation) and I was very proud of
it myself. It was with somthing of the pride of man-
hood that, after my breakfast of a morning, I whetted
my axe, tied my trowsers with a tow-string around my
legs to keep out the snow, and tramped through the
deep drifts to the " chopping " on the margin of the
cleared land. The " underbrushing," (cutting down
the underwood and throwing it into piles, as also
cutting the fallen timber into lengths for drawing) was
usually done before the snow was so deep ; being light
and easier done by one of inferior strength, it usually
fell to me. When a forest is underbrushed it looks
open and park-like, and the large trees are easily
attacked. There is great skill required to fell a tree
12
178 MY BOY J.IFE.
safely. First, you must see that there is no tree in the
way to obstruct the one you wish to cut down in its
fall. If there is, that one must be chopped down first.
As to felling a tree, the skilled chopper first looks at the
" lean of it," and unless he has some special reason for
throwing it another way, that is the way he will cause
it to fall.
The most usual lean is to the south, or south-west,
the result of the prevailing north-east winds ; and the
north side may be known generally, even in the
absence of the sun being visible, by the moss which the
dampness causes to grow on that side. The first notch
is made on the leaning side, on the side towards which
it is desired the tree should fall. It is cut three or four
feet from the ground, according to the height of the
chopper. It is cut usually half way through the tree^
the upper part of the notch slopes the mast, the lower
side, or bottom, is straighter across, or horizontal. Then
the woodsman passes to the other side, and cuts a
similar notch, only it is made a couple of inches higher
up, which greatly contributes to throw the tree the
opposite way ; and it might be very disastrous if he
did not. If the tree is very straight the notch will
have to be deeper, for in th^ case, it will balance on a
very narrow -pedestal, but if there is the smallest lean
in the world, you will not have to cut the second
notch much more than half as deep as the first, before
the tree will begin to nod and quiver at the top, which
is the first indication of its coming down, when the
MY BOY LIFE. 179
chopper begins to think of consulting his safety, by
getting out of the way. The final warning is a crack,
after the last few sharp, quick blows of the axe.
The true way to escape the falling tree is to run to
the right or left of them, not certainly opposite either
notch, not even to the last made one ; for if the tree
should " lodge" against other trees, it will be liable to
slide back over the stump, and crush the chopper, as I
have heard it to have sometimes happened. The
only danger is, (if you go far enough to the right
or left) when the tree falls " across the butt," as it is
called, which it might do if the notch was clumsily
made, that is, cut in more on the one side than the
other. But the most of bushmen know how to plan
the whole operation and to calculate their chances so
well, they are in no fear, and it usually turns out as
they calculated. There was a tall Scotchman, named
Tom Bell, in those new settlements, who had so good
an eye and was so experienced and so cool, that, on a
bet of a quart of whisky, which, alas, was then too
much drank, would walk (not run) out under the fall-
ing tree, and so calculate it, that he would allow the
branches of the tree top just to switch him on the
heels as it reached the ground.
The fall of one of these monarchs of the forest makes
sublime resounding, which is pleasant to hear at a
distance. This operation of felling trees I learned to
achieve (although not the biggest ones) while on that
bush farm, and the operation greatly delighted me.
180 MY BOY LIFK
Planting potatoes was another part of my work ;
and, if I remember riglitly, that was all we had to do
with them, in the new black vegetable mould in which
they grew, until they were dug — the hills being built
as large when they were planted as they ever were,
and in the new soil, there were no weeds. But then
the labour of planting was very hard, the ground being
full of the yet undecayed roots of trees and bushes
which, after a slight harrowing, if it got that, had to
be cut up and drawn to the potatoes with a hoe, pur-
posely heavy and made of a material that would hold
a sharp edge. I remember a very hard day's work in
planting a patch for myself in an old stack-yard which
my brother had given me to cultivate, at the foot of
two large maple trees, necessarily full of roots, on a
very hot day. It was a holiday, and my brother and
his wife were absent ; but cheered by the hope of rais-
ing a little crop, the sale of which was to procure me
some pocket money, I worked away till I had com-
pleted the job, which left my hands, hardened as they
were, blistered, and my slender arms so sore that they
ached for days ; but, alas ! I never sold my crop, and,
therefore, never realized the money.
I learned to reap in harvest -time, — there were no
horse-reapers in those days, or smooth fields in which
to use them, and nearly all the harvesting was done
with a sickle. I became possessed of one, the sole
inheritance from my father, and I learned to use it, of
which I was very proud.
MY BOY LIFE. 181
Fulling and "toppinf* turnips was another of my
attainments and occupations in the autumn. The
turnips were a sweet, luscious kind, and I regaled
myself while I worked. We had no apples and these
were a fair substitute for them.
The turnip harvest and potatoe-digging extended
into the beginning of the cold weather, with rain and
frost, and was sufficiently dreary, groping with the
hands, as we did, in the cold, wet earth.
The threshing was done with a flail, and took up
a good part of the winter, as it was all done by my
blind brother, who taught me the art, and myself.
Standing on the barn floor was very cold for the feet,
and the log barn was very open besides. All my toes
were more or less frozen that winter of 1822-23.
I will leave the failure of some boyish hopes for
another section — such as the fowling-piece I failed in
getting — my calf that died — my pet squirrel that was
killed — ^and the pig 1 left and never claimed.
No. XXV.
" THE MARE, AND L
1USED to hear a Scotch song sung when I was a
boy, a period when there were more songs sung
than hymns, entitled " Courting the Old Gray
Mare." My brother William married a bonnie Scotch
wife, and in the long run got a mare as part of her
dowry, but I don't think there was any courting done
for the mare, and she was not a " gray," either, but a
chestnut. My first ride was on her bare back on a
distant errand of some miles. The next morning I
was very stiiF and sore, and could hardly walk, of
which I complained, and was told to " supple myself
by working," a prescription which answered the end
in a few hours. Such was the regime that boys were
under in my day.
One of my most painful experiences in connection
with Old Kate was this: My dear mother had made us
a visit, and there was no way of sending her home to
town but on horseback, and there was no saddle but
MY BOY LIFE; 183
a man's saddle, borrowed of a neighbour a mile off, to
whom it must be returned at a certain time positively.
I was to accompany mother, who dared not ride faster
than a walk, in the capacity of a runner, like the
servant of the Shunammitess (read the 4th chapter
of 2nd Kings). This was for mother's protection and
safety, and to bring back the mare, and if I mistake
not, a bag of salt. We had a slow and toilsome but
safe journey to town. The mare was put in a paddock,
but when I went for her in the morning to prepare
for my return journey, she was gone : she had jumped
the fence and returned to her old haunts, and boundless
bushy pastures, then widely stretching on three sides
of the town, east, north, and west. I was in great
distress, for the saddle should be returned, and the
salt was needed, as sister-in-law wanted to prepare her
pickles. It was in vain that I started, bridle in hand,
taking some tempting thing to catch her, scouring
the commons far and wide — there was no sight of
Kate. How many days I sought I don't now recollect.
At length I resolved the saddle should go back to its
owner, if I carried it the whole fourteen or fifteen
miles. I packed it up as compactly as I could and
swung it on my back, taking also salt enough in a
handkerchief for sister to start her pickles with, and
turned my face westward. I had one sympathizing
friend, my dear old mother ; she did not desert me, but
walked slowly along by my side encouraging me, a
mile and more out of town, up Dundas (now Queen)
184 MY BOY LIFE.
Street, hoping that I might get a lift. A short dis-
tance from where the Lunatic Asylum now stands a
farmer's waggon overtook us. It was pretty well
loaded with something in barrels, and there were four if
not five men on top of the load: the grave, and I believe
good owner, a tall young man, I think his son-in-law,
who drove, a younger man his son, and an old gentle-
man whom they were giving a lift on his way. Mother
accosted them, and interceded for me, and they kindly
took up not only my saddle, but myself. I received
my mother's parting kiss and blessing, and we started.
Once in a while some of us walked to lighten the load
and ease our jolted bones. In these intervals I heard
the older men talking about serious matters. I am
sure my good Samaritan was pious.
But, oh ! troubles never end ! About a quarter of a
mile east of the " 'Tobico " it was found that the end-
board of the wa^2:on had come out, and the irons were
all lost. They must needs, therefore, stop, and go back
to seek the missing things, and, if not found, repair
the damage some other way. I was fain, therefore, to
transfer the saddle from the waggon to '• my mother's
colt," and spur him on his way alone. I toiled on the
three or four miles to Mr. Austin's, who owned the
saddle, where, of course, I left it. I then cut across
the fields and woods for home. The load was off my
back, but there was a load on my heart — I was in
dread of a severe scolding. When I stood in the door-
way, crestfallen enough, brother, sister, and the
MY BOY LIFE. 185
children were at their supper. I was called pretty
sternly to account for what they thought my truant
conduct. I explained in lugubrious tones how the
marc had escaped from the field — how I had sought
her, like Saul his asses, in vain — and how I had been
forced to walk home. " But what will Mr. Austin do
for his saddle ? We would not have had him treated so
for anything ? " " Yes, well, but I fetched it home to
him on my back." " Oh, that is well ! We're glad he
has not been put about for want of it. You had better
come and get some supper." I had a relish for it, for
I had eaten nothing all day but the piece my careful
mother had put in my pocket.
But my principal horseback experiences were in
going to and returning from mill. This convenience
for the settlers belonged to a Mr. Silverthorn, and was
situated on the 'Tobico, midway between two thorough-
fares, about four miles from our place, if I went
around by the road ; but I could make it in three if I
cut across a wide expanse of woods where there was no
road. We had no cart, or waggon, or sleigh, for a
horse, so that the grist had to be taken to the mill
on the horse's back. The way was to take two bags,
neither quite full of grain. The grain was fairly
divided in each bag from the centre, so that one end
might balance the other. They were then thrown
across each other on the horse's back, something in
the form of an X. In returning from mill, pretty
much the same was done, only the flour was put in
186 MY BOY LIFE.
one bag and the bran in the other. These did not
usually balance so well. Sometime in her life Kate
must have had a very sore back ; for she was exceed-
ingly sensitive behind the withers, and very hard to
saddle and to mount. It was, therefore, a ticklish job
to get the bags placed properly on her back; but
especially it was dij05cult to get on top of them oneself.
William generally started me off all right ; and, in re-
turning from the mill, the miller did the same ; or if
I had to do it alone, I brought the fidgetty beast to
the high platform at the mill door, and threw on the
bags and then jumped down on them myself, in doing
which it was a chance if I did not knock them off
again. But if, by any accident, which sometimes
happened, the bags came off on the road, far from
human help, then a rusty with the old mare, and much
lugging and toiling were the result. One of these
troubles I will relate. It may seem a trifling thing to
tell, but it caused me as much anxiety till it was tided
over, and as much joy after I was * extricated, as the
Right Hon. William Gladstone felt before and after
the last election in Midlothian. I have hinted that I
sometimes crossed the woods for a short cut. I think
I seldom went that way loaded from home, but I some-
times returned that way. The first time that I did so
I was not loaded ; for some reason the grist could not
be ground that day, and I returned empty, and I
thought I would try the short cut ; but in doing so, I
lost my way, and tried in vain for some time to find
MY BOY LIFE. 1S7
it, and became distressed emd alarmed. My mother
taught me to pray when a child, but I am ashamed to
say, I had given it up. Trouble, however, made me
pray that day ; I was off the horse trying to grope
my way, and I fell on my knees in a thicket, and
prayed earnestly to God to deliver me. Prayer
soothed my mind. I rose from my knees, and had
only gone a few steps when I came out on the " Back
Road." Most, gladly, therefore, I led the mare up to
the nearest fence, jumped on her back, and rode home
with joy ; alas ! I forgot to pray till the next trouble
came, which was the serious one I started to tell
about.
This time I started from the mill loaded, and de-
termined to take the shorter way again through the
woods ; as it was late in the autumn, and the leaves
being pretty well off, the forest seemed more open. It
was pretty much an oak forest, and i^e woods were
full of hogs feeding on the acorns. It would be a
serious thing to have the bags come off and left there
— the hogs would tear the bags and devour the bran
and flour ; and, alas ! they did come off. There were
miry places in the cow-path that I was striving to
keep, which the mare always tried to shun. In doing
this, at one time she hugged a tree so closely in striv-
ing to keep the firm footing made by its roots, that,
despite all my pulling at the bridle and kicking in her
sides, she rubbed against the tree and pulled both me
and the bags from her back. I had just strength
188 MY BOr LIFE.
•
enough to pull the bags out of the mud, but to put
them on the resti ve beast was a task I could no more
perform than make a world. What was to be done ,
If I did not stop and watch the bags, the pigs would
eat up their contents ; and if I did stop no one was
likely to come to my help, for I was in the heart of
the forest where there was no thoroughfare, but I
must remain to be chilled to death and perish. I de-
termined to act. Fortunately the pigs had neither
sighted nor scented my bags; I clubbed and frightened
the herd from a wide area around the bags, mounted
and made for home. When I came out on the road, I
saw, to me, the most pleasant sight in the world — a
young farmer, by the name of Wilcox, going towards
his home on " The Street," to whom I told my trouble.
I had never known him personally before, but he ex-
pressed great sympathy, said he had experienced mill-
ing troubles himself when a boy, and turned off his
way to where the bags lay, fortunately yet untouched
by the hogs. He reloaded and remounted me, and
started me on my way rejoicing. I never saw him to
thank him since, but trust he -vyill receive his reward
in heaven. Peace to his memory !
I suffered the most from the cold from those milling
journeys in the winter time. I was innocent of flannel
underclothes on back or legs ; and I have no recollec-
tion of a top-coat. Boys in those days sported no long
boots — the first pair I ever owned I earned about two
years after — much less overshoes ; the coverings for
MT BOY LIFE. 189
my feet were one pair of socks, and a pair of low shoes,
open enough to let in the snow. True, in snowy
weather, I think, I sometimes wore a pair of long over-
socks, which, drawn over my pants, kept the snow out
of my shoes, but I seldom resorted to them. On the
mare's back (and I dare not get off to take a run for
fear I would pull of! the bags, and neither I nor the
load could be reinstated), both body, hands, and feet
were often agonizingly cold. '
As a counterfoil to these sad tales, I may say, I re-
member one very pleasant ride on Old Kate. It was
harvest time, and the weather was fine. It was
thought the reapers must have something better than
hot spearmint tea, which they usually drank, to keep
up their strength (one was a tall, lusty Highland
woman, the best reaper in the field), and I was packed
off, three or four miles, with a small bag of wheat and
a keg to the distillery to exchange for some whisky.
I did not mean to call the journey pleasant because of
the object of my errand, although, with the. light we
all then had, it was considered a matter of course ; but
my journey was pleasant, because the weather was
fine, and I met no accident by the way ; albeit, I liked
the excitement produced by a glass as well as older
people. I may yet tell how religion saved me.
Since the above was first in print, I have been re-
minded of a journey and an experience in which Old
Kate was a partner, which reveals some of the peculi-
arities of " roughing it in the bush." " The Mcintosh
190 MY BOY LIFE.
Boys," the young men of that £amil3', owned a large,
good lot of land on the Centre Road of Toronto, near
where Carter's Church was afterwards built. Its only
" improvement " was a large clearing, well-fenced, laid
down in grass. It was mid-summer, and young Robert
Mcintosh had been out, with one or two hired boys,
securing the hay. Their supply of meat had run out,
and the night before the journey he had spent at my
brother William's place. Meat had been secured, and
I was to accompany Robert in ohe morning with the
mare, to carry the bag of meat, on the top of which I
was seated. We rose very early and started, expect-
ing to breakfast at the shanty. Robert was a large
good-humoured young man (and large people are more
apt to be good-natured than little ones), and I liked him
— indeed, better than any of the brothers. He walked
by my side and beguiled six or seven miles with chat
And when we arrived at our journey's end, while Kate
was munching the cut grass, Robert must needs pre-
pare and serve the breakfast for our two selves. And
here was the unkindest cut of all. The meat, gentle
reader, was not fresh meat, for there was none to be
had; but salt, just out of the brine. There was no time
to parboil it, but it was cut in pieces and fried in a
pan, which process brought out a film of salt all over
it. To eat it was terrible, very provocative of thirst,
and our tea was made by putting the leaves in a tin
cup, and pouring hot water unto the tea. There was
no milk, I am sure ; that there was sugar I am not
MY BOY LIFE. 191
sure. If there was, it was not sufficient to over-
come the strength of the tea, which was astrin-
gent enough. This liquid, in default of any means of
keeping back the leaves, we strained through our teeth.
I had a thirsty journey in returning with the horse.
But a cup of spearmint-tea (a most delightful and
healthy beverage) at night, made all right again. I
would not be without the experiences of that day for
a good deaL
No. XXVL
MT PETS AND PROPERTY IN THE BUSH, AND WHAT
BECAME OF THEM.
H
"Y pet squirrel. — ^A neighbour, Mr. Jacob Markle,
called at the door one day and said that he
had rescued a family of young creatures from
being burned up alive. The case was this : it appeared
that a black squirrel had made her nest and brought
forth her young (four in number), in a log-heap in
Mr. Markle's chopping. Unaware of their presence,
he set fire to that heap with the other piles. The
cries and flurry of the little creatures, w^hen the flames
began to reach them, revealed tlieir presence ; and the
kind-hearted man ran to their relief, not, however, till
one of them had been somewhat scorched on one of
his hind-legs. I was told, that if I would come up
and get him, I might have that one. The rest were
soon appropriated by his young relatives ; and by the
time I found leisure to go for him, which was not till
the next Sunday, (in those days, it was well if my
MY BOT LIFE. 193
Sundays were no worse spent than in such acts of
mercy), by which time, he was nearly healed and quite
tame and domesticated. I put him in my bosom and
brought him home. He proved to be very tame, and
attached himself to me at once. We provided a nest
for him among some tow in a little basket, but he
would sleep nowhere else at night but in bed with me,
not without being followed by some company that I
could have done without. When I had got into bed
of a night and lights were out, I could hear Jackey's
purring sound (which he always made when he was
satisfied) clambering up the bed-post, when he would
dive under the clothes and into my bosom. His purr
was a sort of goo-oo, whence my ordinary pet name
for him was " Goo," which he always answered to
when called.
His ordinary food was bread and milk, which he
shared with the cat and kitten, getting usually the
lion's share, by dashing into the middle of the dish
and crowding the others awa}'. In that respect his
habits were something like those of a pig. His manner
of feeding upon any soft substance was like that of a
racoon and bear, and so far as I had the chance of
observing, was that of gathering up and crowding the
food into his mouth with the paw. The dog had no
particular liking for him, but Goo was enabled to elude
all pursuit at all times by running up the corner of
the house, and on the roof if necessary. I need not
say, that I was greatly attached to him, and loved him
13
194 MY BOY LIFE.
very much. But, alas! I was doomed to be early
bereaved. He was so tame and fearless, that he was
often exposed to danger ; and one day, seeking to get
into the cradle along with the baby, my little nephew,
seated in its foot, and not seeing Jack§y, rocked the
rocker on to his head and crushed it so badly, that I
was fain to destroy him to put him out of his misery.
Many a sigh I heaved for poor " Goo !"
A more valuable piece of property came from the
same source as the squirrel, — property of which I
never realized the final benefit. Perhaps it was because
this, like the other, was a piece of Sunday work. Our
neighbour told me, that he and his wife were to be
away the following Sunday, but the bees were threat-
ening to swarm ; and that if I would come up and
keep a certain young person, who was left in charge,
company and aid her in the event of the bees swarming
out, he would give me one of a litter of small pigs too
numerous all to be brought uo at home. I agreed and
went, found the young woman very talkative and
pleasant, — got a good dinner, — and stayed till the sun
became so low that the bees were not likely to swarm
for that day. The pig was then caught, and I carried
it the mile or more back to my home. It was a
little sow, not of a large kind, but pretty, and of an
unusual colour — mostly red. She got such things as
were to spare about the house, among others, milk
being tolerably plentiful. In imagination, I anticipated
the product of my potato patch to be large — they were
MY BOY LIFE. 195
to be dug, and cooked, and fed to the pig — and she
was to grow large, get fat, and to bring me a good
sum of money. She did grow nicely, but it was
thought best not to kill, or sell her the first year ; and
before the second autumn came around, I saw fit to
leave the farm suddenly, in a fit of discontent, and to
throw up my interest in the pig and another piece of
property from which I had expected much, but realized
nothing in the end.
But I must tell my young readers of my bull-calf
and what became of him :-r- Where my brother Nat
was learning his trade in town, the cow had a fine
calf, which it was thought a pity to consign to the
butcher's knife, he being larger and prettier than usual.
'Thaniel bought him for me as I was to be the
farmer ; and after being left a reasonable time with
his dam, and being taught to drink milk and flour and
water as a substitute for his natural aliment, it was
thought he might now live upon grass, and I went for
him. I shall never forget that journey. I walked
the fourteen, or fifteen miles to town, stayed with my
friends over night, and started tolerably timely the
next day, Bossey's strap in hand and a switch to make
him step along, for my bush home. The poor little
animal soon learned to trot along in front of me and
to keep in the road, being recalled from any wayward
tendency by a timely twitch of the strap. But it was
not very long till he became tired of such continuous
travel The journey was wearisome to me, but I was
196 MY EOY LIFE.
cheered with the thought of my journey's end : the
admiration that would be given to my calf, and the
stately ox Bossey was to become, the suitable mate I
was to get for him, the fine team I was to have, and
the display I was to make some day at the log rollings !
But it was a cause of sadness to me, that I could say
nothing to impart comfort or hope to my meek, obedi-
ent little slave. This was one of the first times I felt
a sorrow which has followed me all my life while
urging on a jaded animal without being able to inform
him of the rest and food that were to come. I could
not afford him more than a few minutes' rest at a time
to nibble the grass by the side of the road till noon-
time, which found me at the stream called the Mimico,
where a kind family, by the name of Smith, gave me
a lock of new hay to feed my calf, and I lay down
beside him on the grass to enjoy the pleasure of .seeing
him eat and rest ; but the lengthening of the shadows
admonished me that we must be pushing on, and I
urged him forward, taking the shorter branch of
the road, which here diverged. On and on we went
My legs became weary and my heart wa.s sore and sad
to have to whip up my mute companion — nay, if I
remember right, ho often " bawled " with hunger and
weariness. But perseverance will bring the most
tedious things to an end, and, about sunset of a long
summer's day, I let down the bars and turned him
into the meadow, where the aftermath was rich and
tender. But the foot-sore little animal was too weary
jnr BOY LIFE. 107
to cat, and ho lay clown on the soft grass. When we
had partaken of our supaun and milk, I was cheered
by my brother's coming in from outdoors with the
news, that " the Bashan bull had gone to feeding." I
must wind this story up with a not very pleasant
finale.
The calf had very good pasture till the frost came,
but at his tender age he should have had more ; and
the lack of milk in his early life and his long journey
told against him, and he entered on the cold weather
not in very good condition to encounter and pass the
winter. He was turned into a stackyard where he
had hay enough, but he should have had warm mashes,
and cut potatoes and turnips. The last two T might
have fed him, but, boy like, I had lost my interest in
him — the novelty was gone. I failed also to provide
him as good a shelter as I might ; for want of a roof
of bark, or something of that kind, the snow fell and
rested on his frowsy little back. He became dull
and inactive, and one cold morning I went out and
found him dead I And F am afraid that his unworthy
owner was largely accessory to his death. The thought
of it has often caused me sorrow and anguish. Let
no little boy follow my example. Compassion, as well
as self-interest, should have' led me to a more kind
and careful course of conduct. I deserved the loss
which followed : we took off his skin and gave it to
the tanner, as the custom then was, " to tan on shares,"
that is, to give me a " side " of calf, or rather " kip "
198 MY BOY LIFE.
leather, as it would be called, for the whole skin ; but
before the process of tanning was complete, I left the
bush and heard no more of it.
Thus, you see, I did not make my fortune by going
to the " bush." And my pleasures were no better than
my profits. The woods were full of game. Often as
I made a short cut through the forest (something I
was too ready to venture on, and by which I was once
lost for a long time), or wandered far into the woods in
search of the cattle, I was often startled by a flight of
pigeons, or the whirr of the partridge. One of these
with her brood of young ones, once led me a long but
bootless chase. No wonder I longed for a sportsman's
gun, something which I never possessed. On this
subject, my kind-hearted brother Thomas raised my
hopes ; he had seen a fowling-piece which he expected
to get for me, and the prospect greatly elated me ;
but, alas ! there is " many a slip twixt cup and lip ; "
something came between, and I was destined to be
disappointed. My boyhood was largely one of hard-
ship and disappointment ; but they were no doubt
intended and wrought for my spiritual good, as a
culminating disappointment, a year after I left the
woods, led me to repentance, prayer, and conversion.
But particulars about that by-and-by.
I had almost forgotten to tell one successful hunting
exploit in which I was a sharer. While on the subject
of game, I should have said, that though I never
acquired the fowling-piece for which I was sighing,
MY BOT LIFK . 199
my brother had a gun, an army musket, a genuine
Brown Bess, which was too heavy for me to handle,
and, as will be seen before I have done, almost any
one else. We had a neighbour, Archy Armstrong, a
good-natured ne'er-do-well. All he was possessed of
was a dog (which would have starved only that he fed
himself on green corn on which he kept fat,) and a
wife and four or five little girls almost totally desti-
tute of clothing He occupied a house and small
clearing on a fifty acre lot belonging to a brother of
his, a bachelor, who resided in another part of the
country, and who allowed him to occupy the place
free of rent. Archy was almost as much away as
John, for he had to work abroad for the farmers to
procure a livelihood for his family. On one of ihis
visits home, he had reported to us that havoc had
been made in his corn patch, next the woods, and that
the black, coarse hair left on the log fence showed
that the depredations had been done by a bear, which
had left part of his coat behind him in scrambling
over the log fence. That night the men and boys,
with the dogs, organized an expedition, armed with
guns and axes, and scoured the adjacent woods in search
of Bruin, but in vain. On Monday Archy went away
to his work (for, alas ! I must confess to another
instance of Sabbath-breaking,) and the neighbourhood
relapsed into quietness ; but this was not to last
always. A few days after I was aroused from my
slumbers by my sister-in-law punching the underside
200 MY BOY LIFE.
of the chamber floor where I slept with a broom-
handle, and after sundry yawns, I stretched myself,
got up, and put on my clothes and went down, when
I learned that Mrs. Armstrong had tree'd a bear by the
help of their dog and ours, and that I was to go south
to Mr. Eutledge s in search of more men and dogs, and
if they were to be got, more guns. I dashed off through
the pasture field, giving old Kate a great start, which
produced such a snort as made me think for an instant
that I had encountered another bear. Mr. R was
from home, but Thomas turned out with me, accom-
panied by Prince, their dog. We had now a formid-
able pack.
When Thomas and I arrived on the scene of action,
the three dogs were barking fiercely at the root of a
branchless " stub " about twenty or thirty feet high, up
which Bruin had hugged his way and was holding
them at defiance. The night was damp and very
dark but Mrs. Armstrong, a genuine pioneer, had
kindled a fire, which not only cheered us with its
genial warmth, but shed some light on the field of
action. The great want was to get a good shot at the
bear, sufficient to settle him, rather than to provoke
him to turn on his pursuers. William put a heavy
load of balls and slugs in " Old Bess, a hand and a
half " — load enough, if it did not kill the bear, to burst
both stock and barrel of the rusty gun and destroy
the gunner. The next thing was to get a " rest " for
the heavy musket, which few could hold steadily at
MY BOY LIFE. 201
arms' length, the fence being too far away for that
purpose, to say nothing of getting a clear sight of the
game. William said, "Thomas," (the bigger boy),
" will you let me rest the gun on your shoulder ?"
Tom thought it the better part of valour to decline
the honour of this advanced post. I volunteered, in a
fit of bravado, or foolhardiness, not but I suspected it
might be perilous— in two ways : the gun might burst,
and where I had to stand was in close proximity to
the bear, if he should be only wounded and show
fight. But placing ourselves near enough to get a
good range, while his wife held up a burning rail to
give him light on the subject, William banged away ;
and down came Bruin like a bag of sand, having, as
we found after, received a bullet through his jaw and
another through one of his paws. Then came the tug
of war ; he fell among weeds and long grass — the dogs
pitched in and occupied his attention pretty well, and
William rushed in with the axe ; while each furnished
himself with anything that came to hand, that would
deal a blow. But the difficulty was to hit the bear
without hurting the dogs, yet ever and anon, the head
of the axe came down upon him. At length the beast
succumbed to the injuries he had received, though he
showed great tenacity of life, moving himself by
involuntary muscular action after we had the skin
halt" off his carcase. He was young, but large and fat,
his meat weighing about 200 pounds — the most delec-
table flesh I ever tasted — like delicate young beef. A
202 MY BOY LIFE.
hind and fore-quarter fell to each of the two families,
and the offal went to regale the dogs. His flesh, and
the particulars of the bear hunt, were to regale our
visitors, at least as long as the proverbial " nine days'
wonder " lasted.
Coon-hunting, was a usual nocturnal amusement,
and fui-nished an available meat-market, to Archy
Armstrong. Occasionally we shared the product of
his chase, (for which he was always amply made good) ;
and we found racoon to make a delectable pot-pie or
stew. Thus it is, that tyrant man revels in the slaugh-
ter of the inferior animals.
In the meantime, facilities for mental and religious
information were not much, while I remained on the
bush farm. I always liked a book, and would read if
I had one of tolerable interest ; but we had none of
any account but the precious Bible. The historical
parts of that I would read by myself ; and the more
devotional and doctrinal parts I read at the request of
my blind brother, who came to live with us after a
time, for his edification. One borrowed book I remem-
ber and read : it was Lieut. Byron's Narrative of the
Loss of the Ship Wager, lost off the coast of South
America, a thrilling and sorrowful tale, the main facts
of which remain with me till this day. Yes, and we
had Blanco White's Master Key to Popery.
The Methodist preachers, I afterwards learned,
traversed those new settlements, but they never chanced
to come very near us ; and neither I, nor one of our
MY BOY LIFE. 203
household, ever once heard a sermon during the tifteen
months I lived in the woods. Once I went three
miles to a so-called Sunday-school, but there was no
religious man to conduct it ; no prayer was offered,
and it consisted of an hour's reading of the Bible,
"turn about," which constituted the whole of the
exercises. But that, and a singing school which
followed on its heels, taught by the mail carrier be-
tween York, and Ancaster, furnished an opportunity
for the young people to see each other, which com-
prised the principal part of what devotion there was
in the whole matter. No wonder, that for want of
better occupation, we fell into something like Sabbath
desecration. But a change came at length; in five
years from that time, there was in the heart of the
neighbourhood, a school-house in which meetings were
held; there was a society; and I myself, for four
months, was, strange to say, one of the preachers ! I
must not, however, anticipate
No. XXVII.
A CHEISTMAS WEEK THAT ENDED WEONQ.
F\EW holidays had I in the bush; but it was
determined that the Christmas week of 1822
should be mine to go to town, and spend with
my mother and the few friends I had left in York, old
and young. Wliat strengthened the project was, that
my nearest boy companion, Thomas Kutledge, was to
have a vacation at the same time, to be spent in the
same place. From the close of the war of 1812-15 till,
say, 1825, a great many Irish Protestant families, who
had come to this country through New York City had
been detained there during the conflict between Great
Britain and the United States ; but when the war was
over, some earlier, some later, they began to stream
away across the intervening wilderness, many of them
in conveyances of their own, towards King George's
dominions, some of them stopping in the Town of York,
and some penetrating the newly-opened wilderness in
the region round about. Many of those who went to
MY BOY LIFE. 205
the country leffc relatives in the little capital. Mr.
Rutledge's family was one of these ; and it was among
some of his relatives that Thomas was to spend his
Christmas week, and we were to go out and come back
together. The prospect of company made the project
of my trip the more exhilarating. My most present-
able suit of clothes was a summer suit of jean, and I
had no top coat that was presentable ; the weather,
also, was cold. What was to be done ? Young people
will half freeze themselves for the sake of appearances,
and I determined to wear my summer suit. So far as
I can recollect I put some warmer garments under,
and I don't remember that I felt the cold very much.
The activity and restlessness of my boyhood was a
counteraction to the cold.
Here I must make a general confession that will
explain some things at the close. In those days,
among all my acquaintances, lax ideas of what might
be done, or not be done, on the Sabbath, prevailed.
No one would think of performing downright labour
on that day ; but then, no one scrupled to perform a
journey to see friends, or otherwise, on that day, and
thereby save a week-day for work. In accordance
with this idea, the two boys were to leave the bush
early on the Sunday morning preceding Christmas,
spend the week in town, and return on the succeeding
Sunday. We left early, therefore, without the scruples
and fears- with which I, at least, came back. With the
alacrity and hopefullness of boyhood we started off,
206 MY BOY LIFE.
taking hold of each other's hands, in places where the
road was smooth, and trotting along together like a
span of colts.
At length I greeted what had been the scene of my
boyish haunts for seven years, and saw my mother and
friends. The week was spent plesisantly enough, ac-
cording to my boyish notions, a good part of it at old
Mr. Mcintosh's, sliding on a pond with William, Janet,
and David, the first two of whom have been long since
in their graves.
But my return' journey was not to be so pleasurable
as my journey out. Calling through the week at Mr.
Graham's to see Thomas, and make arrangements for
our return, I found out he was to get a ride home with
friends who were to drive a team out, but whether
before or after Sabbath I forget ; but I was not to
have his company, but to return alone. I still thought
it necessary to return on Sunday, to be back at my
Monday's work. It was rather low water-mark with
my poor m.other's piety just then, and she did not in-
terpose strongly against my Sunday return journey.
In the meantime she had prepared a number of addi
tional articles for my wardrobe, and these I was to
carry in a little pack on my back. Mother " rose up
betimes and sent me away." It was an early hour of
a 6old morning that I walked up King Street, and saw
not a human being until I came opposite the old wood-
en Methodist Meeting-house, midway between Yonge
and Bay Streets, when Mr. Patrick, the class-leader,
MY BOY LIFE. 207
who had been my Sabbath-school teacher, had
been kindling the fire in the stove to have the
chapel warm for early service, came out on the road
and turned towards his residence in Bay Street I had
been a favourite scholar with him and as love is the
effectual loan for love, I liked him very much, and was
glad to see him. I, therefore, hurried up and accosted
him (he was short-sighted and did not readily pick me
up through his spectacles). I was thinking how glad
he would be to see me, and how manly I would look,
stick in hand, with my pack on my back, totally for-
getting, for the moment, all he had taught me about
the sanctity of the Sabbath. He turned and looked
at me with surprise and displeasure.
"What, John, is that you ? Where are you going?"
" Why, sir, I live in the country now, have been in
the town for a week, and am now going back again."
"But why must you go back to-day, this is the
Sabbath of the Lord, you must remain till to-morrow."
" But I can't, sir, I am expected back." .
" Any expectation of your friends cannot excuse you
for breaking the Sabbath."
" I think I shall have to go on, sir*'*
" But if a tree falls upon you by the way, and kill
you, what excuse can you give at the bar of God for
breaking his Sabbath ? " ,
This terrified me very much, for it was quite windy
enough to blow down trees, but I would have been
ashamed to go back to my friends, and I slowly and
208 MT BOY LIFE.
silently moved forward, and I may say sorrowfully,
too, for I was sorry to have forfeited the good opinion
and incurred the rebuke of a man I revered and loved
so much.
On I went trembling. But so long as there were no
trees alonor the road near enounrh to reach me, I felt
pretty safe. This wa-j the case along Dundas Street
(now Queen) till I got into the tall pine woods which
stretched from Col. Givens' to the plains. Through
those dreary three miles my eye scanned and measured
each tree in the vicinity of my path, to determine
whether it were tall enough to reach me in the road,
the centre of which I kept as nearly as I could to
escape the judicial infliction from either side. I prayed
in my heart, but it w^as that I might not be killed ;
and Avhen a roadside tree seemed dangerously near, I
kept to the other side, and went past in double-quick
time. In the " Oak Plains," I went on with confidence,
as there were no tall trees. Thus I pushed on till I
reached the Mimico. There, as I had some coppers in
my pocket, I went into Wilcox's tavern and bought
and drank a glass of whisky, no one in those days
doubting its propriety, even for a growing boy,
especially on a cold day. Alas ! people thought a per-
son might stop drinking just before the point of
drunkenness was reached, although he had placed
himself on a slippery inclined plane, the natural ten-
dency of which was to shunt h'm off into perdition.
The whisky raised my confidence a little, not enough,
I
MY BOY LIFE. 20D
however, to make me take the "back road," there
being too many instruments of God's displeasure
against Sabbath-breakers on that road. However, the
way seemed long and I wanted to abridge it by a
short cut ; but in doing so I had to pass by the door
of a Mr. Cook, who kept two ferocious dogs, and I was
always very much afraid of dogs. These I had defied
when on horseback. But now I was on foot and alone,
and they came out at me, open-mouthed. I did not
know but the dreaded judgment was to come in being
torn to pieces by two ferocious dogs instead of being
crushed to pieces by a trea But I bethought me of
an expedient : I had part of my luncheon on my per-
son in the shape of some Boston crackers. I, therefore,
employing all the soothing words I could think of,
doled out the crackers to the dogs, till this form of
backsheesh had carried me beyond the frontier the dogs
felt bound to protect. I then cut across the woods, the
nearest way to the open glade, where there was no
fear of falling trees ; thence I pushed on home. Still,
through the swamp the trees were too near for perfect
composure, till at length the long-desired opening
furnished by " our settlement " burst upon my gratified
sight, and, before the sun was quite down I found
myself, uncrushed by a tree, within the protecting
strong walls of our log-house. Thank God, that he
spared me to repent ; and in the long run repent I did !
I have just bethought me, that the notion I was out
of danger as soon as I was out of the vicinity of the trees,
14
210 MY BOY LIFE.
was like the mistake of poor Plunket, a big, eccentric
and wicked Irishman, who lived some years after in
the lower part of the Province. He and some others
were out in a boat on the Lord's day on one of the
expansions of the Mississippi called lakes, when it
blew very hard and the waves ran so high as to
endanger the boat of upsetting. The wicked man
was very much alarmed, and prayed and promised if
God would but spare his life to reform. When they
got to land, he was overjoyed, and exclaimed to his
companions, "I tell you what, boys, that was well
done ! It was a good thing God Almighty did not
kill me when he had a chance." He, too, was spared
to repent, and professed conversion afterwards at a
Methodist camp -meeting ; a certain sermon being the
instrument of his awakening, which led him to say
in the experience meeting, that, " Mr. Pollard was the
boy that did it."
No, xxvni
AN IMPULSIVE ACT — A SUDDEN DEPARTURE FROM
THE BUSH.
T^WO several formations in my boyish mind,
one of longer and the other of more recent
standing, led to this. The crisis was painful,
and I hope no other poor boy may pass thi^ough a
similar one. I would pass it over entirely, only that
it forms a transition from one state of boy life to
another. My boyhood was a pretty hard one all
through ; and having an active mind and a taste for
reading, which furnished me with food for thought,
which many other boys had not, I was often led to
cast about in my mind for some other condition in
life.
My first tendency to a roving disposition arose from
books of adventure, such as Robinson Crusoe, the
Buccaneers of America — a kind of sea pirates — and
such others as I could lay my hands on. I was not
averse to effort, and was confident of my ability to
212 MY BOY LIFE.
tke care of myself ; and, like many another foolish
boy, I should very likely have left home and " gone to
seek my fortune," as we boys used to term it, only for
my attachment to my mother and unwillingness to
give her pain. I felt she was too good a friend to
wound in the smallest degree.
Some weeks before the start that I made, which I
am about to relate, a new source of discontent, real or
imaginary, tended to revive these revolvings in mind
of the fortune-seeking project. It was hard for a
slender, growing boy in the bush, at best — frugal fare,
and work, work, work. But the winter had gone, and
the spring broken. That season brought great activity
to prepare the fields and get in the crops; the fall
supplies began to diminish, so as to require economy,
especially in the matter of meat ; and lighter diet
must be substituted, not over satisfying to a hungry
boy. These, with the relaxing effect of warmer
weather, made me feel weak and discontented. I was
several days in a sullen state of ' mind, and my feel-
ings were no doubt expressed in my countenance. On
the day referred to, I was discontented with my
dinner, and went back to my work in the field feeling
angry and cjloomy. Both brother and his wife were
away somewhere. I thought it a good time to leave,
and went to the house to tell my poor blind brother
James, to whom I had a strong attachment ; but for
some reason my heart failed me, and I made no sign to
him. I then started down throuo^h the meadow, to
MY BOY LIFE. 213
the house of Mr. Rutledge, thinking I would call out
Tom, my young companion, and tell him to make my
flight known, after I had got well away, for I did
not wish to give any one needless alarm, as though
some evil had befallen me. But Thomas was away
from home, and I went on, skulking in the woods on
the sides of the road, lest I should be identified by
neighbours and turned back. When I got out to the
corners, where I must needs turn westward, away from
all that knew me, or eastward, to York, where I was
known, I stood and hestated for sometime. Had I
possessed a reasonable amount of my clothes to make
me in any measure comfortable and presentable, and
had been able to leave word with any one who would
not impede my flight, but after a time carry back
word that no bodily harm had come to me, which
within a reasonable time, would reach my poor mother,
who otherwise would be distressed beyond measure,
the probabilities were that I would have turned west-
ward and gone to where I was not known ; seek tem-
porary means of support, by such work as I could do ;
and then when I got money, have gone farther. In
that case, the Omniscient could only tell what would
have been the result to me. But I had seen no one
with whom I could leave my message ; and my clothes
were scanty, and they were torn. They were my
ordinary working clothes, of course — coat, vest, pants,
shirt, shoes, and stockings. I was innocent of anything
more, and had no top-coat. Remember, too, it was a
214 MY BOY LIFK
dark chilly day in the month of April (1823). Be-
sides, my pants had met with an accident and were
torn badly on one side in front ; so that, to be at all
presentable, I was fain to put my hand through the
place for a pocket, and hold them together from the
inside.
Being in such a plight, my instinct led me toward
the town where my mother lived. Even that was a
sad resort. Thomas was just then out of business, and
it was low water mark with us all, George having gone
to the States. On my way town-ward, greatly to my
embarrassment, I met a neighbour (in some sense a
relative), the old Highland Scotchman, Wallace, whom
I have already mentioned. I could not pass him with-
out his seeing me, but when I met him said as little as
I could. I could not, however, escape his keen eye
and ready questions. I told him I was going to town.
But why was I going in such a plight ? Then I told him
the real state of the case. He chided me for leaving
my brother ; and I defended myself on the ground of
hard usage, of which I had brought myself to believe
I was the subject. He tried to get me to return with
him, by the promise that he would " talk Scotch to
them." But I felt it impossible to face them after
what occurred ; and when he almost attempted to turn
me back by force, I wept bitter tears, and screamed
with terror. Whereupon he allowed me to pass on,
with the pledge that I would go to my mother's and
nowhere else. He was to have taken my brother's in
MY BOY LIFE. 215
his way at any rate ; and I have reason to believe that
he lodged there that night. His statement of my
charges exasperated them very much. I was glad,
however, that they were saved from suspense, though
they might have cause for anger. I did not take a
good way of severing my connection with the place.
Withdrawing my services was the termination of my
quota of contribution for keeping James, and, just at
that time of year, put William to great inconvenience.
Upon second thoughts, I would have reversed what I
had done, if I could. Not without solicitude, I
thought, "Who will rake and burn the leaves and
stubble? Who will drive the oxen to harrow the
fields ? Who will ride the mare to mill ? And who
will do their errands ? Who will hunt the cattle ?"
There was, no doubt, a providence in the issue of
the movement in the long run. I would not have had
much chance for education if I had stayed in the back
country ; and, going on as I had been, I might not
have become converted, and then my whole life would
have been worse than blank.
It was dusk before I reached my mother's, and I
met her at first in a dark pasaage way ; and, though
surprised at my sudden appearance, it was not till I
had gone into the light that she saw the dejected,
weary, dirty, and ragged plight I was in. But, oh ! the
never failing attachment and ready resources of that
mother ! She provided me supper and a bed, and
soundly I slept from weariness and sorrow ; and she
216 MY BOY LIFE.
mended and made for me while I slept, so that by
the morning I looked passable for week-day appear-
ance. After fixing me up in the morning, she said,
" Now, John, you had better go and see your early
friend, Mr. Ketchum. You know he always took very
much to you ; perhaps he may find a place for you."
I went " with my heart in my mouth," as the old
saying is; received a kindly greeting, and patient
listening to my story. After a little chaffing — ^he
always liked to tease boys— he said, " Why,* yes, John,
you were always a pretty good boy to work ; we must
find something for you to do. What must I give you
a month?" "Will four dollars be too much. Sir?"
" I don't know, that's a good deal of money. Do you
think you could melt the ore, and hammer out the
metal, and make four dollars in a month ? " It was
hard to answer anything so quaint. But he soon
relieved me from embarrassment, by saying, ' There,
go along and help Luke, the Frenchman, at that 'ere
job he is at ! "
This was a great boon for me. No one was required
to kill himself with hard work in that establishment ;
the food was good, abundant, and well cooked ; and I
had a good feather bed to sleep on at night, with
plenty of clothes. And, although as yet none were
truly religious, it was of good augury that every one
of the boys in the common sleeping-room bent his
knees in prayer before retiring to rest. For very
shame sake, I was forced to bend mine also, and to say
MY BOY LIFE. 217
the Lord's prayec, which my mother had taught me
when a child. Alas ! another whole year passed before
I began to pray in earnest. I fear I shall have to tell
some stories of the following twelve months which
will show that I was not religious. My work was in
and around a tannery, but I did not commence to learn
the trade for two years from that time.
*^* After seeing the above in print, and pondering
it at leisure, I am led to believe that some of the pru-
dent, worldly-wise class will think that I should not
have made such a disclosure relative to myself and
friends ; but if an autobiography may be written at all,
it ought to be literally accurate relative to all matters
great and small, however delicate, that were significant
in shaping the character and complexion of one's a^fter
life, else such a personal history is of no value to the
reader. And it must be confessed that the tendency
in most persons is, to such concealments and colouring
of facts, that their statements are of no validity what-
ever. And what wonder if a person who afterwards
made a fair record ^ould have once in the course of
his boyhood have had such an escapade as the one I
have recorded. It would scarcely have seemed boy-
like if he had not ; and I am writing of a boy and not
of a man.
As to my brother, I should, perhaps, further say, that
we did not meet again for fully a year after my leaving
1/ and then in friendship without any allusions to what
I had past; and a year after that again, when my
218 MY BOY LIFE.
renewed conscience was tender and sensitive about my
past sinful life, I made a very humble confession of my
unfriendly remarks respecting him with many tears.
Indeed, one who heard it, thought that I humbled
myself too much. He spoke very kindly, but made no
concessions on his own part. Henceforth, however,
till his death we were on terms of the most brotherly
friendship : and always took sweet counsel on religious
matters, regarding which, in all fundamental parti-
culars, we were in perfect harmony. He attained a
position of wealth and respectability which none of
my other brothers were fortunate enough to achieve.
N.B. — As to those who wish to establish their
respectability by leaving the impression that neither
they nor their relatives ever had a strait, or a want, or
a struggle, I think they are simply 'detestable for their
pride and aflfectation.
No. XXIX.
SOME ACCOUNT OF MY DEAR OLD ^' BOSS."
^EFORE I go any further, I had better give some
account of the gentleman I had worked for, off
and on, about two years, and under whose roof
I was to reside at least another two years and a-half —
first as a hired boy, and then as an apprentice. I give
this account because he was a very remarkable man,
and just now for certain reasons, he is very much talked
about. Indeed, his career furnishes a good example,
and many valuable lessons for boys. If I call him
'♦<Boss," instead of Master, it is from no want of
respect, but because that was the term most generally
used in this country at that time to express an
employer, or one who gave the word of command.
About one hundred years ago there lived a numerous
young family in Spencertown, in the State of New
York, United States. They were poor, mostly, I
suspect, because the father was a poor manager ; and,
from some hints I received from time to time in the
220 MY BOY LIFE.
early day, he drank as well. Alas ! it was a common
fault in those days, and by no means as discreditable in
public estimation as now; thanks to the improved
public opinion brought about by the efforts of the
Temperance Reform. But I am bound to say, that the
shiftless father, became thoroughly reformed, so far as
drink was concerned, late in life — thanks to the
influence exerted over him by his virtuous son. But
when I came to know the old gentleman he was in his
dotage, and was very childish in his talk, (if, indeed,
he had ever possessed any manly sense) repeating the
same little stories and rhymes many times over. In
this Ketchum family, for that is the name of the
person I am writing about, when it was completed,
there were at least six children — three boys and throe
girls : of the former, Seneca, Jesse, and Zebedee, or
Zebulon, I suppose, for Jesse's children used to call
him "Uncle Zeb."
I should have said, perhaps earlier, that the mother
of these children, (from certain tender hints and
reverent allusions to her by her son Jesse) was as wise,
and true, and prudent, as her husband and their father
sWas lacking in those qualities. I suspect our hero,
Jesse, the mainstay of the family, received an impulse
in the right direction from his mother, of whom he
always spoke with great respect, not without a tinge
of the regretful and mysterious. She died compara-
tively early, long before her husband, and in their
native home in the United States. What were the
MY BOY LIFE. 221
circumstances of her death I knew not, but her life
and character had been good. Jesse Ketchnm, among
the many wise saws and maxims he was wont to utter
in after years, used to say, " I have hope of a child,
though he may have had a bad father ; but if has had
a bad mother, I can't expect any good of him."
I may as well here say, that . there' was an incubus
adapted to crush the energies of this family (a matter
too well known to be ignored ;) there was an hereditary
taint of insanity in their blood, but upon which side of
the house I know not. I rather supect that it was the
active intellect of the mother that gave way under the
pressure of domestic cares. I hardly think the husband's
mind was ever stifi enough to snap. This legacy in
the family was an evil against which Mr. Jesse
Ketchum had to fight all his days, and greatly added
to his cares and burdens, while it gave occasion for
his exemplifying his unfailing brotherly kindness for
many long years.
Seneca Ketchum, the eldest son and brother, aside
from occasional aberrations of mind in later life, was a
man of energy and ability. He early left home, came
to Canada, and became possessed of some property,
about seven or eight miles out of York, (now Toronto)
on Yonge Street.
Jesse, our hero, the next eldest, was born on the
30th of March, 1782. The way I came to know his
birthday, was this : Mr. Ketchum was one day among
some friends in company, when the conversation
222 MY BOY LIFE.
turned on their several birthdays ; he was led to say
that he was born on the last day of the month of
March, when his own little boy spoke up and said,
" Daddy came very near being an April fool, didn't he?"
This made a laugh in which the father joined along
with the rest.
He was early bound out to a master, most likely till
twenty-one. What the business was I do not know, I
suspect not the one he afterwards adopted ; but from
some incidental allusions, I surmise it was farming.
He never spoke amiss of his master, but his mistress
was a cruel, capricious woman, and when a woman
gives away to ill-nature, she can be very ugly and
tjnrannical indeed. "Whether she had any children of her
own or not, I do not know, but it was evident she did
not feel a mother's affection for poor young Jesse
Ketchum. I myself heard him tell a tale of her cruel
caprice : he had by some means obtained a new coat,
and wore it to his work in the field. It being easier
to work in his shirt* sleeves, he took it off and hung it
on a bush ; and with the heedlessnes of a boy, came
away and forgot it. His mistress coming along some
time after, found the coat, and in order to make out a
case against the 'prentice, tore tjie coat to ribbons, and
held it up as the work of the hogs, in whose power
she alleged Jesse's carelessness had left his garment.
Whether she got him punished as the cause of the
accident is more than I clearly understood.
As any boy naturally would, the lad revolved in
MY BOY LIFE. 223
mind an escape from such tyranny. The last straw
which broke down his endurance was her punishing him
for having as she said, iil-treated one of the geese by
pulling out its feathers ; which charge she made up
out of the fact, that in pulling a goose out of a fence she
was vainly trying to pass through, she dropped a quill,
which he appropriated to make a pen to write his school
copy with, green quills being his only material for
pens.
Young Jesse Ketchum availed himself of the first
chance of making his escape from the bondage of his
stern mistress, and made for Canada, whither his elder
brother had gone before him, pursuing his journey on
foot, without money and very destitute of clothes. If
we had the particulars, no doubt the details of the
fugitive's hardships would be thrilling. But the God
and Father of the friendless preserved him and provided
for him, and brought him to his brother's place in peace
and safety. After events proved, as an observing old
lady used to say, that "Jesse Ketchum was sent before,
like another Joseph, to provide for his kindred." He
soon became his brother's partner in the business of
the farm and tannery ; and his brother sometimes
suffering from aberration of mind, the principal
management fell to the younger brother, who soon
began to display that wonderful capacity for business
which distinguished him through life, by which, with-
out any apparent bustle or eftort, wealth flowed in
upon him from all sidesw
224 MY BOY LIFE.
A young, energetic widow, a Mrs. Love, with one
little daughter (who had lost the husband of her youth
in a tragic manner, he having been shot in a night-
hunting expedition by mistake for a bear), kept the
house of the brothers. Jesse became attached to Mrs.
Love, and married her at the early age of eighteen.
She was his senior by a few years, and, therefore, she
was prepared to be his counsellor. She was shrewd,
capable, managing, and very industrious ; and aided
him in both gaining and saving. She " looked well to
the ways of her household. The heart of her husband
safely trusted in her. She did him good and not
evil all the days of his life. She sought wool and
flax, and her hands held the spindle and distaff." All
her household for years, were clothed by her home
manufactures. Her husband, therefore, was known in
the gate, sitting among the elders. Nor did she forget
to " stretch forth her hands to the poor, or to reach
them out to the needy." She was a cordial co-operator
in all her husband's charities. Especially they were
the life-long benefactors of all his relatives and their
descendants, the family, all but his mother, having been
early transferred to Canada.
At the opening of the war of 1812-15, he was led to
buy a tannery and several surrounding blocks of land
in the Town of York, at a sacrifice to the sellers, from
aliens retiring to the United States. This applies
especially to the property of a Mr. Van Zant. There
was a great demand for home manufactured leather
MY BOY LIFE. 225
for none was admitted from the States. Prices during
the war were high and money was plenty. Cash flowed
in upon our hero, and he had a chance of buying town-
lots and farms for a mere song, which after a few years
had increased in value — four, five, ten, and at last a
hundred tivies. A similar purchase was made in
Buffalo, N. Y., with the same results.
I don't think that Mr. K. ever professed any very
marked Christian experience ; but from our earliest
knowledge of him as a householder, his character was
that of a Christian man. He was never known other-
wise than strictly moral and temperate. Indeed, he
was far in advance of the very best part of the com-
munity in the avoidance of the drinking customs of
the day ; he " took no snulf, tobacco, or drams." " No
manner of work did he, his son, or his daughter, his
man-servant, his maid-servant, his ox, his horses, and
mules, or the stranger that was within his gates, per-
form on the Sabbath." Furthermore, he joined hands
with the parson of the town in striving- to break up
Sunday skating upon the Bay, by taking the names
of the skaters, and threatening them with the law.
I surmise his early religious proclivities were Presby-
terian ; and I am sure those of his wife were emphati-
cally such. But before there was a Methodist or
Presbyterian Church in the town, he kept a pew in
the Episcopalian Church, which he and his family
strictly attended, and where he also, I believe, used to
commune. When the Methodists built a church in
15
226 MY BOY LIFE.
1818, he was a frequent attendant and a teacher, as we
have seen, in the Sunday-school, which was the first to
be organized; and one who knew his views well,
believed that if his wife had been as much inclined to
that people as he was, he would have cast in his lot with
the newly-organized Methodist cause. His house was
always open to all the travelling ministers who came
and went in those days, the Methodist itinerants among
the rest. From ^n early day family worship was con-
ducted twice in each twenty-four hours. Every one
of his large household was required to be present;
every one who could read, was provided with a copy
of the Bible, and the lesson was read in the " vei'se-
about" manner.
All the candidates for settlement as Presbyterian
ministers found a comfortable, loving home with him ;
and the first one settled in the town, the Rev. James
Harris, never had any other home from the first till
he married Mr. Ketchum's second daughter, Fidelia,
and went to live in a residence erected for him by
his generous father-in-law. The land on which the
church stood was his gift ; and the building itself was
almost wholly built at his expense, as it was planned
by him and the grounds were beautified by his hand.
Don't I remember how the ministers who came, (some
of them, all the way from Brockville) to install the
young dominie, were lodged at his house ; and how
their jaded horses were taken out by some of us boys
to one of Mr. K.'s adjacent farms to revel in the best
>
MY BOY LIFE. 227
of pasture during their needed rest of several days.
That farm was just beyond where the Mount Pleasant
Cemetery now displays its undulating surface and its
white cenotaphs.
Mr. Ketchum often boarded the school-master, and
took private lessons from him to remedy the defects
of his early education. I remember that grammar
was one of these ; and I suspect, that those lessons
were all the board money the pedagogue paid.
My old Boss's practical wisdom crystallized into
cautions to young beginners not to "eat up their seed
potatoes," and not to spend all their time over " the
wind work " of a subject — mere talk. A refractory
boy, or horse, had " too much democracy in his consti-
tution." The large assembly room in a new mansion
he erected, about 1820, was not the ball room, for he
disapproved of dancing, but it v/as "the fourth of June
room " — the place for celebrating the King's birthday !
He often talked lovingly to his horses and cattle.
" Mink," a, favourite black horse he had raised, was
often caressed by the arms of his master around his
neck, while he was pronounced * a fine old fellow." A
neighbour, one fine May morning found him driving
his well-fed cows out of the yard, talking to them the
while, and saying to them, " I have fed you all winter,
now go away on the commons, and go and hunt ! Go
up there by Mr. C.'s and go and hunt." Though thus
thrust out they did not fail to receive something tasty
when they came back to be milked.
228 MY BOY LIFE.
But I must check my pen, for it would take volumes
to tell of all the poor boys and destitute families he
befriended, helping them in the very best of all ways,
by giving them employment, and by putting them
in a way to create for themselves a home. Some
other of his quaintly amiable ways may come to view
in the further narrations I have to make.
Not to leave this section incomplete, I must not
forget to say, that he was born in Spencertown,
N.Y.,in 1782; came to Canada in 1799 ; removed from
Yonge Street to York probably about 1811 or 12 ;
went away to Buffalo, N. Y., the place of another
large property, in 1845 ; and passed away to the
place where he had laid up imperishable treasure,
September 7th, 1867.
No. XXX.
BUTTEKNUTTING ON SUNDAy, AND ITS PUNISHMENT.
THE last year of my unregenerated life, the one
immediately before my conversion, was a
perilous one for my morals and my soul.
There were a great many men and boys employed in
the establishment in which I was employed, with a
good many comers and goers besides, none of whom
were truly religious at that time, although a revival
came the following year which made some change in
some of them. In the meantime, none of them were
a safe copy to follow ; and those whose age and size
gave them a claim to matured manhood, and whose
company, as an aspiring boy, I ailected, were more
likely to lure me to wider fields of indulgence than 1
had yet explored. Alas ! these explorations were
mostly made on Sunday, including sometimes the
garrison, among the soldiers, not excluding the mili-
tary canteen, where the older ones treated the younger
to drink.
230 MY BOY LIFE.
It is true, our good old Boss enjoined upon us to
attend some church, which we usually did at least
once a day ; and the churches we attended were either
the Methodist or Presbyterian. My spending part of
the Sabbath with my mother, and her proclivities for
Methodism, led me to attend the Methodist meeting-
house the oftener ; albeit my place of residence led
me often to my master's church.
But, the morning service over, the scattering away
after dinner was seldom in the direction of any
church. Our devotions were oftener paid to the
blackberries, choke-cherries, hazelnuts, and butternuts,
in the fields and woods of unlimited extent surround-
ing the town on three sides.
One Sunday afternoon, John Jones, of potato-plant-
ing memories, asked me to accompany him up the
Flats of the Don, where butternuts were said to be
plentiful. We strolled along down Newgate Street as
far as what we now call Jarvis Street, then across the
ravine which then intersected what used to be called
Lot (now Queen) Street, just where the creek which
coincided with it a long way, broadened out to a
tangled, marshy expanse, which has since received the
euphonious name of Moss Park. Then we zig-zagged
along till we got into the road which led between the
cleared lots on the west and the pine woods which
stretched everywhere away to the Don River, which
had always been known as " The Park," which road
now constitutes Parliament Street. On we went along
MY BOY LIFE. 231
the sandy, dusty, stumpy waggon way, through the
woods which have since given place for the Church of
England Cemetery and the Necropolis, within which
were the remains of old Castle Frank. Then across
sundry gullies and undulations of the ground went
we, until old Col. Playter's meadows, dotted here
and there with lofty butternut trees, opened to our
view.
John was a good singer ; had both voice and science
for sacred music, in which he had been trained. Some
little time before he had been at a Methodist meeting
and had heard them sing the chorus to the hymn,
commencing — " Come, ye sinners, poor and needy," —
with which he was much taken, and which ran thus :
Turn to tlie Lord and seek salvation,
Sound the praise of His dear name,
lory, honour, and salvation,
Clirist, the Lord, has come to reign J
This he sung a great many times over to beguile
our tramp, which began to be irksome, when, as I
said, the wide, green meadows, bespangled more or
less with flowers, the shrubs and trees, and here and
there a glint of the silver stream, burst upon our sight.
A word or two about my fellow-transgressor will be
necessary, to account for some things which are to
follow. He was now nearly twenty-one, and very
anxious to take rank in all respects as a man. He
had lately taken to chewing tobacco, and sported a
quid in the hollow of his cheek big enough 'to show
232 MY BOY LIFE.
itself on the outside, which he thought added to the
manliness of his looks ; and provided himself with an
enormous tobacco-box, which came together with an
emphatic snap ; albeit, he had to keep these things on
the sly from the Boss, who was down on such indul-
gences. But if his tobacco-box was large, he was
small himself, which was a great grief to him. True,
he was strong and wiry, and few could out- work or
out-wrestle him. He was plucky, too. But then he
wanted to look muscular, as well as display muscle.
For that purpose he, when dressed up, wore a good
many clothes, such as vests and drawers, to swell
himself out, and at that moment he had on two pairs
of trousers — a linen pair, which he wore in the tannery,
under his Sunday pants, to fill up the latter to the
right proportion of plumpness.
The trees were tall, but the branches when reached
were loaded with the largest and finest nirts. John
divested himself of his coat and mounted into the tree
tops, and shook down the fruit to me, who gathered
them together ; and a great heap was the result. But
what were we to do with them now we had gathered
them ? Our handkerchiefs did not suffice to hold
them all. John bethought him of a plan to carry the
surplus ; he took ofi" his under trousers, tied up the
legs and filled them with nuts, buttoning them at top,
in which way they made a sort of duplicate bag.
Shouldering them up, we came on until we got so near
the town, we saw that for the present we must conceal
MY BOY LIFE. 233
them ; for we would not have liked to go through the
streets in such a plight in daylight on any day, still
less on the Lord's day. That would have been utterly
impracticable considering the character of our em-
ployer. It was, therefore, agreed to cover them up in
a way they would not be found by others, and come
with a bag and get them under the cover of the dark-
ness of the following Monday night, We, therefore,
turned into the woods, somewhere near where the
Primitive Methodist Church now stands on Parliament
street. We soon found a large log from under which
we scraped the leaves and earth, and stowed away our
nuts, then scraping back the leaves and rubbish to
cover them, leaving the place as natural looking as
possible, and making a mark on the roadside to show
us where to turn in, the little man resumed his under
clothes, and we made our way back by supper-time,
looking as demure as if we had been to an afternoon
service.
We had many an anxious thought- and colloquy
about our hidden treasure during the course of the
following day ; and when our work and supper were
ended, rolling up a bag, we stole out of town, and by
the time it was nearly dark we arrived at the spot we
were in search of. The log was there, all right ; but,
oh ! to our wof ul disappointment, not a single nut !
Some wanton boys, like ourselves (the squirrels could
hardly have taken them all away in twenty-four hours),
had found them and borne them off. We had been
234 MY BOY LIFE.
justly punished for our Sabbath-breaking. We turned
towards the town chop-fallen enough. For the sake
of better light, and other reasons, we came up King
street. Opposite the market stood the " English Chop
House," kept by a man who was afterwards converted
and became a zealous Methodist class-leader — I speak
of Mr. Bloor — and my senior treated me to some
refreshment of a kind to enliven our spirits for the
time and counterpoise our depression. By the follow-
ing autumn I had found an enduring source of
satisfaction.
No XXXI
A MISSPENT SUNDAY THAT ENDED WELL.
MY last story, of a misspent Sunday afternoon,
had at least a ridiculous finale ; the misspent
whole Sunday, of which I am now about to
give an account, had one element of the ludicrous
along with the sinful, but, thank God, ended well, and
put an end to all Sabbath-breaking by me forever.
I must tell it all, with its preliminaries, adjuncts, and
succeeding events.
I have told my readers, young and old, before this,
that my father lost his hundred acres of wheat at the
Grand River, by the war ; as also his beautiful span
of horses and waggon, by their capture by the Ameri-
cans, at the Battle of Niagara, May, 1813 ; besides the
loss of all our household effects, the burning of the
house in which we had been living, for which he had
put in a claim of something like a thousand dollars,
more or less, at the close of the war. After waiting
a great many long weary years, perhaps one-half of
236 MY BOY LIFE.
that sum was granted him out of the insufficient war-
loss fund ; but after the grant was issued, it was many
weary weeks, or months, before the money was paid.
For some time after -the issue was made, the position
of the family, which was now worse off than it had
been for some years previously, began to look up in
hopes of getting what would at least give us a start in
some newly-projected efforts to improve our fortunes.
On the Sunday morning, in 1824, to which I now
refer, I rose from my bed with a hopeful heart, took
my breakfast, and joined some irreligious companions,
for a day's forbidden pleasure. Although it was the
holy Sabbath, as far as I can remember we projected
a walk over the Garrison Common, including a call at
the canteen ; but the day was doomed to be overcast
by two circumstances, the one trivial, the other serious.
Along with putting on otherwise my best, I put on a
beautiful pair of new shoes, the most elegant I had
ever ventured to buy. I knew they were painfully
lihort for me, but their finish was captivating, and I
could not think of relinquishing them, hoping " they
would stretch !" and though they pinched me severely,
I stuck to them, although my walk increased the pain
every moment. At length I turned back and hobbled
through the town to my mother. When I arrived
there, a worse sorrow awaited me ; I learned from my
precious mother that father had drawn his money, but
had deposited it away from home, probably with some
crony of a tavern-keeper. He had treated himself.
MY BOY LIFE. 237
of course ; the taste of liquor had revived an appetite
which had ruled him, to our sorrow, all his life ; and
he was now "on the spree," and drinking up our
little, hut sole fortune [some of it was afterwards
recovered]. We were very sorrowful, of course. By
the time I had to leave for my place of employment,
against my morrow's work, my feet were so swollen
I was forced to take my fine shoes in my hand and to
limp to my quarters by a back street. Just at this
humiliating point, God's mercy interposed in my
behalf.
I stole into the premises by the back gate, and sat
down on a pile of boards in the woodshed, with my
back towards Yonge Street, overlooking the orchard,
now in full bloom, and fragrant as the " spicy breezes
which blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle," and in full view
of a glorious unclouded sunset. Presently two boys
younger than I — Frederick Phipps and Willie Jones
— came in from the Methodist Sunday-School, on
which I, alas ! had long turned my back.- There were
no library books, or even prizes, then distributed, but
each of the boys had in his hand a religious tract, and
they gave them up to me, who always dearly loved a
book, especially if it contained a story, a composition
which was now to lead to my salvation. One of the
tracts was " The Life of Old Bridget," — the other was
"Important Questions Answered from Scripture."
Old Bridget, an afflicted woman, the early part of
whose life had been irreligious, had been led by the
238 MY BOY LIFE.
death of her pious husband, a baker, to reflection,
repentance, and conversion. She afterwards became
a cripple by rheumatism, and was obhged to carry on
her late husband's business under great disadvantages
to support herself, performing the labours of her trade
on her knees instead of her feet. Nevertheless,
religion made her resigned and extremely happy in
the midst of all her afflictions. I thought — though
young and healthy, I am not happy, but disappointed
and miserable. How gladly would I give up for ever
all that the world has to give, and accept of that poor
woman's lot, if I could only be as happy as she was in
hope of a heavenly life. That tract had so solemnized
and softened me, that I did what I otherwise would
not have done, if I had not read it, read the other
tract. Let no one think that biographical tracts, with
their pictures, are written and printed in vain. The
" Questions " in the other tract related to our duty
and sinfulness ; our redemption and salvation by
Jesus Christ ; the nature and necessity of repentance
and conversion, and the like. It deepened the im-
pression made by the first tract. The other boys
had left me alone, and I sat musing by myself. I had
felt awakened and alarmed, almost every Sunday
night, in returning from the preaching of John
Ryerson, William Slater, Isaac Bateman Smith, David
Gulp, Henry Ryan, and David Youmans, in the
Methodist Chapel. For, let people denounce "hell-
fire " preaching as much as they like, it was always
MY BOT LIFE. 239
alarming sermons \\rhich aroused me the most. I
almost always said to myself, while under the sermon,
" I will be better ; I will repent and turn to God ;" but
no sooner had I joined the men and boys in our rooms at
Mr. Ketchum's, than their play and jokes drove away
my resolution, and I said to myself, " Not to-night ;
I will take another week of sinful pleasure, and I will
surely turn to God, and begin a religious life next
Sunday night." But, alas ! the following Sunday
evening the same causes had the same effects, and I
put off my repentance again. Thus did " procrastina-
tion prove the thief of time," and I had lost a whole
year, and stood on the brink of ruin from day to day.
Although it will break the continuity of my story a
little, and make it perhaps a little too long, I must
relate one occurrence, for I can nowhere tell it so well.
One Sunday afternoon, in 1823, I went to the old
meeting-house, at what we now call the corner of
King and Jordan streets (although there were no minor
streets intersecting the block at the -time, nor for
several years after) accompanied by John Jones, some-
times a sort of evil genius to me. Some minister,
whose looks did not impress themselves on my memory,
preached. Another preacher was seated in the long,
wide pulpit, who at the close of the sermon arose to
give an exhortation — something which was then
invariably given, if there was anybody to give it. I
perceived that he had but one leg of bone and flesh —
the other was of wood, and shod with iron — whom I
240 MY BOY LIFE.
did not then know, though I had heard of him, but
afterwards knew him well, and learned to distinguish
him as Thomas Harmon, the hero of Queenston
Heights. The exhorter soon became very impassioned,
stamping his wooden leg the while on the pulpit floor ;
and denounced hell and damnation, in no measured
terms, against all impenitent sinners, in a most piteous
voice ; but he did not forget to press the weary and
heavy laden to come to Christ, and welcome, then and
there. His address impressed me so much, that I
could scarcely conceal my intense emotion ; at length
he flung himself on the pulpit, and with hands stretched
out and brought together, as if grasping after some-
thing, he cried out, with a voice quivering and vibrating
with emotion, " Oh ! ye hell-bound souls !" I felt as
if I were just falling into perdition, and the man of
God was grabbing after me ! I quaked to my inmost
soul, and left the house after the service very much
solemnized. After we had passed out of hearing of
the dispersing congregation, wishing to bring on some
serious conversation with my companion, I remarked
to Jones, " That was a good old man that exhorted,"
With an expression of ridicule and contempt, he burst
out, " Ah 1 he's an old fool !" That scofiing utterance
was enoi:Z(]jh to scatter all my soul-concern for that
time, and the following week was passed in sin and
folly like all the others, and from week to week for
about three-quarters of a year.
But 1 must return to that Sunday night, in May,
MY BOY LIFE. 241
1824, in the wood -shed with the tracts. I said to
myself, " I will put off no longer ; and whatever others
may say or do, I will save my soul. That night I
went alone and prayed ; and prayed henceforth every-
day, not less than twice, but often three, four, five
times, and even oftener in a day. But I think it will
require another section before I have passed over
the crisis which I always considered as my conversion.
16
No. XXXIL
MY LAST ACCEPTED DRAM.
1?'bi my early days nearly every one drank a little,
I more or less, and the young as well as old. Pro-
fessors of religion did not see the evil of giving
and accepting treats, so long as it did not result in
visible intoxication ; and if it did once in a while
result in that, it was considered an accident from mis-
calculation of the strength of the liquor, or their own
" strength to mingle strong drink." I might say, in
passing, that about the time of which I was writing
I was sent by my master on a certain evening with a
message to one of his neighbours. Elder D , an old
Scotch gentleman, and one of the elders of the newly-
organized Presbyterian Church, with whom Ptev. Mr.
J , an old Presbyterian minister from the country,
very Scottish, was a guest. He was sometimes a guest
at Mr. K.'s, but I suspect, for certain reasons, he pre-
ferred lodging at Elder D.'s. To deliver my message,
I was shown into the room where the two Scotch
seniors were in animated conversation. Vision was
MY BOY LIFE. 243
almost totally obscured with tobacco smoke, and the
atmosphere was redolent with the fumes of hot
whisky, while the punch-bowl sat between them on
the table. They were not drunk, in the sense of
drunkenness which then obtained :
" They'd ta'en enough to make them canty,
They were na* fu', but just had planty."
Judging from the fervour of their language, they might
have been deeply engaged upon "the doctrines of grace."
But this is aside from the design of this story.
Although I had never been taught to refuse a glass,
from the moment I was resolved to save my soul I
saw, intuitively, that drinking in any degree was in-
compatible with what was now my paramount purpose.
The satisfaction produced by drink was not the sort of
comfort my hungry and thirsty soul hankered after ;
yet in a moment of weakness and shame-facedness, I
took a glass, to my deep sorrow and repentance.
Mr. Ketchum owned a small rough farm about three
miles out of town, on the west side of Yonge Street,
which, under the inspiration of the loyalty he culti-
vated, he called the " Wellington Farm." It was sown
and planted under his own supervision ; and a man,
one Halliday, lived in the farm-house, who had the
year before often worked with us in the establishment
in town, where he and I were fellow-labourers and
partial to each other. There was also a young man,
Samuel Tivy by name, who had joined the Methodist
244 MY BOY LIFE.
Church a few months before me, but " having no root
in himself," he soon fell away. A short time after I
set out, I spoke to him of my purposes ; it touched
him — he lifted np his voice and wept — confessed his
faults, and the next Tuesday night he returned to
class with me. Nevertheless, his persuasions led me
to act, not only against my convictions, but also against
my preferences. On the morning referred to, he and
I were despatched to the Wellington Farm. I drove
the horse and cart with a load of seed for the field, I
think oats and potatoes ; and Samuel drove a team of
horses with a waggon containing a plough and harrow.
We had luncheon with us, and the progTamme was,
that he was to hold the plough, while I drove, and
Halliday, perhaps, to plant the potatoes. My religious
purpose was of recent origin, and, as yet, I had but
little faith and courage, and especially I wished to
conceal my change of mind from my late fellow-
worker. When we arrived, he brought out his tin
flask, and offered us a dram, and Tivy accepted it.
My turn came next, but I hung back and refused, and
would a thousand times had rather not accept, but
Tivy urged the usual reasons assigned in that day,
" A little will not hurt you," and Halliday looked so
surprised, that I who had so often readily taken it
with him should decline, that, fearing he would dis-
cover a secret which I had resolved to keep from him,
I swallowed the poisonous bait. My meditations
coming out had been of a religious character, and very
MY BOY LIFE. 24b
tranquilizing ; but presently the fumes of the liquor
flew to my head and spoiled all my pious feelings. I
kept away from the house and went on with my work
in a very uncomfortable state of mind. At noon, I
ate my luncheon of bread, and went out into the woods,
where I tried to regain my communion with God.
And I then and there formed the resolute purpose not
to touch another glass of ardent spirits; and I received
strength to keep my purpose, giving up whisky, rum,
shrub, peppermint, beer, and cider, and because of its
resemblance in looks to intoxicating drinks, I also
eschewed the harmless spruce, or root beer, which the
mistress used to brew every summer with the notion
that it would " purify the blood." This was at least
six years before the " Old pledge " was adopted, and
ten, perhaps, before the formation of Teetotal Societies.
The position I then took was an effectual and very
necessary safeguard to me. It is likely this subject will
fall in my way again. Religion, logically followed up,
leads of itself to total abstinence ; but without religion,
it is very hard to persevere in the way of temperance.
I corrected my error, and spent a very happy week,
almost wholly alone, carting manure from near where
the little Episcopal Church now stands, opposite
Mount Pleasant Cemetery, to the farm above men-
tioned. Deep and solemn were the thoughts revolving
in the travailing heart of that uncouth young carter
there, far from the haunts of polished society. What
the travail issued in my next two sections will tell.
No. XXXIIL
HOW I CAME TO GO AMONG THE METHODISTS.
^51^\HE first person to whom I unfolded my purpose
jll ( to serve God was my poor mother ; and I did so
at the first opportunity. I have said it was on
a Sunday night I formed the deliberate purpose to lead
a new life. The next day I was sent by my employer
with the horse (fiaithf ul " Old Mink ") and cart to do
some errands through the town, such as I had to
attend to nearly every day — namely, to call at the
market, and several slaughter-houses, particularly that
of Mr. Thomas Bright, at the comer of Ontario and
Duke Streets, for whom Mr. Ketchum had a great
regard, for what were called the " green " hides, in
contradistinction to " dry " ones. But on my way to
those places I must needs call at my mother's, who had
then a temporary abode on the south-east corner of
King and Sherbourne Streets, and avow my newly-
formed purpose to my best earthly friend. She came
out to the gate to meet me, and before we parted I
MY BOY LIFE. * 247
said, " Mother, I am determined to set out and serve
God and try to save my soul." It was like life from
the dead to her poor withered heart. After referring
to the cheering fact that Nathaniel, the next older
than I, had taken up prayer at his bedside each night
and morning, she said, " Well, John, your father is not
a man to look after you ; go and join the Methodists,
you will find friends among them." I promised, and
drove off with a resolute heart.
How I managed to get through that week among
the wild men and boys in our large establishment, I can
hardly tell; but I kept myself as much as I could apart
from the rest, read my Bible and such grave sort of
books as fell within my reach. I almost always had a
book of some kind on my person and improved every
leisure moment. There was one lad — not of our
establishment, but often there — between whom and
myself there was a great attachment, whom, because
of that familiarity, I feared to meet, not feeling pluck
enough to avow my purpose to my old companions,
and I made several dodges to avoid meeting him ;
but a few days after it was unavoidable. I was
walking by the side of the horse I was driving, whose
heavy load prevented me driving rapidly away, when
I saw my erstwhile friend bearing down upon me with
eager pleasure in his countenance at the prospect of
meeting me after our longer than usual separation; he
rushed towards me with, " Well, John, how are you V'
In answer, I said abruptly, "Well, Jem, I'm determined
248 MY BOY LIFE.
to reform my life, and try to save my soul." It seemed
to afford him great pleasure, and he chimed in at once,
" And so will I, John, try to be religious, too." Poor
fellow ! there was now a new tie between us, a tie
which has never been severed.
But to return to the place where I lived. My serious
reading was taken notice of, and some of the boys said,
" John is becoming very religious." One of the hired
girls, Margaret Magar, an obliging creature, for whom
I had always a kindly feeling, one day when I was
assisting her in doing something which she could not
very well do alone, said, in a way to elicit my con-
fidence, " John, have you any notion that you are
going to die soon ? " " Why, no ; what makes you ask
me that ? " " Why, the boys think you must have
some idea that you are going to die, or you would not
be so serious, and be reading the Bible so much." I
disclaimed any premonition of death, but said that I
was resolved to try and be ready for death when it
did come, as all are exposed to death. Not many
months after, that young woman came and joined the
society class to which I belonged ; and when I
travelled my first circuit her house was one of our
stopping-places in our monthly rounds. She still sur-
vives, a venerable and much respected widow at the
head of an affluent household, all of whom are members
and supporters of our Church in the rising town of
Alliston, now rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Fletcher.*
* Since the above was in print, Mrs. F. passed away in holy
tranquility.
MY BOY LIFE. §49
During that first week I was surprised into the last
profane word I ever allowed myself to utter, the
result of an evil habit. I was riding old Mink to
pasture, barebacked, with nothing to hold or guide
him but a halter, when, suddenly turning a corner, he
was set upon and frightened by a dog, which angered
me so, that I bestowed at least one word of abuse upon
the cur, which I instantly felt defiled my mouth, and
repented of, and, through the grace of God, never
allowed myself to use again. Thus did I bid farewell
to foul language forever.
The next Sunday I met my brother Nathaniel at
our mother's, and with many tears stated my purpose
to him, which he was prepared to approve, for he had
started one or two weeks before me. He told me he
had been at class-meeting, and asked me to accompany
him the next Tuesday evening. We tried to improve
that Sabbath in attending the meeting-house on King
Street. The circuit preachers were absent at the
second of the two famous camp meetings held in the
Township of Ancaster, and we listened to exhorters, who
declined entering the pulpit. The one for the morning
was John Huston (from the country), afterwards a
travelling preacher ; and the one for the afternoon,
" Willie Clarke," a gifted young Irishman, who, how-
ever did not wear his piety very threadbare, but many
years after gave a son to the travelling ministry, a
very devoted man, who died early.
To fulfil my engagement about going to class on
250 MT BOY LIFE.
Tuesday evening, and yet not be observed by my
fellow-boarders, I slipped out supperless when they
went in to tea, turned up Newgate Street (now Adelaide)
to Bay Street, till I saw my brother coming over the
commons. We met and walked together to the class-
leaders's (Mr. Patrick's) door. The class that evening
was very small — ^nearly all the more lively and
prominent members (and there were only about thirty
in all,) were still absent at the camp meeting — perhaps
eisfht or nine at the most. Mr. Doel " met" the class,
and I was impressed and thrilled by everything I saw
and heard. The manner in which they received my
impassioned declaration of purpose — the testimonies
of all — the psalms and hymns and spiritual songs by
which they " taught and admonished " each other —
were all touching and exciting to me. But I was most
of all impressed by the way poor John Richards, him-
self a poor " Ready-to-halt," seized my hand after we
had got out into the road, and exhorted me with tears
never to imitate his early backsliding from his first
love among the Baptists, when a boy in England.
Though a man of sorrowful spirit, he was most blame-
less in life and conversation.
During the conversation which took place between
John Richards and my brother (who were of the same
trade, and well acquainted,) that evening in the road,
I heard them speak in glowing terms of admiration of
the deep piety and intense devotion of a young man,
now absent with others at the camp-meeting, who had
MY BOY LIFE. 251
been a member of the Church about three months.
When the opportunity offered I naturally clave to
such a one, and met with the utmost condescension
from him, though fully ten years older than myself.
We lived hard by each other, and were destined, on
the evenings when there were no meetings, and often
after the society meetings were over, to go out of the
town, either up Yonge Street or Dundas Street, and
thence into the woods, sometimes in winter as well as
summer, and for hours to pour out our souls to God in
prayer, and to each other in Christian communion.
Great was the benefit I received from that heavenly-
minded young man. That was John Russell, whom I
portrayed as an "Early Classmate," in the pages of
my first work, " Past and Present."
For four weeks I met in class with dear William
Patrick, without being formally received on trial (as
the usage then was), or my name being inscribed upon
the class-book. The quarterly love-feast was approach-
ing, and the actual members received their tickets,
without which they would not be permitted to enter.
The love-feast as was most common then, was to be
before the eleven o'clock service, on Sunday morning ;
the doors to be opened at half -past eight, and closed
at nine. The leader said to me, "John, you have no
ticket of admission ; but I will keep the door, and if
you are there by the time I unlock it, I will let you
in." I was there a full hour before the time, sitting
upon a log not far ofi", employing the interval in
252 MT BOY LIFE.
reading my New Testament and Hymn-book, with
which I had provided myself, and always carried on
my person. (The Hymn-book I read consecutively
through, as much by course as the Bible.) At length
the leader approached down the road ; I rose to my
feet and went to meet him ; he opened the door and
let me in. When the speaking began I declared my
purposes. At the close, the church door was opened
for the admission of members, by the " preacher in
charge," Rev. John Ryerson, giving an offer to any
who "wished to join on trial," "to stand up."
Nathaniel and I arose, the only ones who did, and our
names were taken down, after an appeal had been
made to the members, and we were accepted by show
of hands, a usage which should never have been
dropped. At the close of the love-feast, the Lord's
Supper was administered, and we joined in the Holy
Communion for the first time. That ever memorable
and pregnant event occurred in June, 1824!, fifty -seven
years ago, when I lacked about two months of fifteen.
A tie was then created, which, thank God, has never
yet been severed, and I trust it never shall.
We had no presiding elder, as was usually the case,
that day, but dear old Father Youmans acted as elder,
it being what was then called " only a temporary
quarterly."
No. XXXIV.
THE CRISIS I HAVE ALWAYS CALLED CONVERSION ; AND
WHEN, WHERE, AND HOW IT TOOK PLACE.
1 FORMED the purpose to seek and serve God in
the month of May, 1824 ; went to class-meeting
a fortnight or so after ; and about four weeks
after that attended a love-feast, and was received on
trial for membership in the Church. I found a happy
difference between a religious and an irreligious lift •
My meditations of God were sweet ; and sweet were
the " drawings from above." Sometimes I thought I
had a true Christian experience, and even professed it ;
at least others might have understood me so. But
then I had feelings and thoughts of a different kind.
I felt at times a great sense of darkness and depression,
and I could scarcely tell why. I had heard that death
was pleasant to the thought of a Christian ; but
" through fear of death, I was still subject to bondage."
I said, "If it be so with me, indeed, why am I thus ? "
I read several extraordinary experiences, in which the
254 MY BOY LIFE.
subjects spoke or seeing heaven open, and Christ upon
the cross. That I had not seen, and concluded I was
not converted. I foolishly sought for evidences or
grounds of hope in my own inward experiences, and
found none. Next I began to look out of myself, but
not, as I should have done — to Christ by the eye of
faith — but with the eye of the body, for signs and
wonders, and portents in the sky ; and resolved to
accept of nothing short of that, that I might have a
thrilling experience to relate. To gain it, I wept, and
groaned, and fasted, till my countenance became hag-
gard, and my eyes were swollen in my head, insomuch
so that those around me noticed it. I became, dis-
appointed, dissatisfied, and even vexed and grieved
with God, because he did not hear my cries. I was in-
clined to lay the blame on Him.
I used to remain to the Sunday noon class, as well
as go to the one on Tuesday nights. It had a very
inefficient leader (James Hunter, no great credit to the
cause), and was, therefore, usually met by the preacher
who had occupied the pulpit immediately before. On
one of these occasions, when the Rev. John Ryerson
was both preacher and leader, I complained — with a
burdened heart, and with floods of briny tears — that
" I had ' asked! and had not ' received ; I had ' sought!
and had not 'found! " as if charging God with
promise-breaking. The leader reminded me of Saul
of Tarsus, who was three days in distress of soul, and
thus tried to comfort me ; yet little comfort did I ac-
MY BOY LIFE. 255
cept ; I thought if I could but get far enough away
from the haunts of men, where I could use my voice
in supplication to its utmost extent, it might ease my
agony of soul. After dinner, if indeed I took
any, I passed up Yonge Street, and about where
Elm Street is now I turned westward into the woods,
and getting into a thicket behind a tree, I fell on my
knees and began to pray and cry, yea scream ! while
the tears streamed down my cheeks till my throat
ached with pain, but no comfort came. While I was
thus employed, a familiar voice accosted me ; it was
that of my childhood's friend, Edward Glennon, ac-
companied by a number of lads and young men. They
had been seeking amusement abroad during the Sab-
bath hours, and hearing my cries they had come
towards the place. Edward said, " John, what are you
doing there ? " " Ned, I am doing what you ought to
be doing — asking God to have mercy on my soul."
" Well," said he, " you need not pray so loud." Rising
from my knees, I said, " I will go where I can pray as
loud as I like," and rushed still farther into the thicket.
But I returned to the chapel at night as sad as I left
in the morning. I heard that Neddy said, "John
Carroll had been a good fellow," he was " sorry he had
turned hypocrite."
But gradually I became more calm, and wisely de-
termined not to prescribe a way to God ; and looked
for comfort in the ordinary means. Sometimes I
thought I found the promises sweet, but still it was a
256 MY BOY LIFE.
question. Have I received the pardon which I know
Christ purchased by His blood ? Often and often did
I repeat the verse which says : —
** 'Tis a point I long to know ;
Oft it causes anxious thought ;
Do I love the Lord ot no ?
Am I His or am I not ? "
The day of deliverance, however, was near. The
month of August had come, and with it Conference.
Our circuit preachers, Revds. John Ryerson and
William Slater, were away. A supply was provided
for the York pulpit for that day from a neighbouring
circuit — the "New Settlements," embracing nine or
ten townships to the north-west of the town — as it
proved a junior, who had been travelling the previous
year under the direction of the presiding elder. I had
gone, as usual, to the chapel timely, before the hour of
preaching, and after kneeling had seated myself on
one of the short seats to the right of the pulpit, where
the male members generally sat, facing the sisters on
the other side, and was occupied, as was my wont,
in reading my Testament, or hymn-book, when a
stranger in the garb of a preacher (with dark frock coat
of some thin coarse material, and a broad-leafed hat in
his hand) passed before me, groping his way up the
pulpit stairs. He was medium-sized, rather coarse-
featured, with coarse brown hair, freckled both on face
and hands, with a meekly, stooping carriage. He
MY BOY LIFE. 257
kneeled a while in silent prayer, and then rose and
commenced the service. His manner was solemn and
subdued, but he read well, and his voice was strong,
clear, and flexible, and very pleasant to hear. By the
way he held the book to his face, it was evident he
was very short-sighted ; and 'his accent was slightly
Irish. His prayer lifted us heaven- ward at once, and
the poor seeking boy among the rest. His text. Gal.
iii. 13, " Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the
law, being made a curse for us," was fundamental, and
graciously timely for me. I thought it was the ablest
sermon I had ever heard ; or rather, I thought not
then of the sermon as a performance, but of its theme
or subject. I forgot my sorrows and perplexities. In-
deed, I thought not of any kind of introspection — I
was looking outward and upward; and, without
knowing it, "looking unto Jesus." I was, uncon-
sciously believing upon Him with my heart unto
righteousness ; and thinking that if I had a thousand
souls, I could cast them all upon Him. • I had an en-
couraging story to tell in class ; and went home and
to Sunday-School, oh ! so very happy.
That evening the stranger preached again, with
equal sweetness and power. His morning sermon was
on the work done /or us; in the evening, it was the work
to be wrought in us, from the words, " Except ye be
converted, and become as children, ye can in no case
enter the kingdom of heaven." Matt, xviii. 3. His
description of a convert so exactly tallied with what I
17
258 MY BOY LIFE.
felt, that I said to myself, " Sure enough, I AM con-
verted ! " In the morning I received the witness of
God's spirit; after the evening sermon, I had the
witness of my own spirit How truly did I now go on.
my way rejoicing !
I afterwards heard that it was the Kev. Rowley
Heyland, who had been thus made the instrument of
leading me to Christ. He was ever afterwards my
favourite preacher, of all those in the Connexion. I
loved the very ground upon which he walked. And
had Rowley Heyland been as studious as he might
have been ; more attentive to his person and the minor
proprieties ; and if he had never become committed to
the management of property acquired by marriage, he
would have had few equals and no superiors. As it
was, all his life, and it was a long one, he preached,
from time to time, with the Holy Ghost sent down
from heaven. It was characterized, ever and anon, by
what the old preachers used to call " shocks of power."
A few weeks after my conversion, through the
effect of a sermon by Father Youmans, I received a
further blessing— a persuasion that God had cleansed
my inmost heart. What I experienced in those days
prepared me to receive the testimony of Scripture
relative to God's speaking to holy men of old. With
Paul, I truly felt that God had " revealed his Son in
me." I assuredly " tasted the good word of God," and
" felt the powers of the world to come." When I arose
in the morning, it seemed as if all creation was praising
MY BOY LIFE. 269
the Fountain of Beneficence ; and when I laid my
head on my pillow at night, it would have delighted
me if I had possessed the assurance that I should never
open my eyes on this material creation more. Surely
it is proof of the supernatural and the divine that
an uncouth, unlettered boy was so illuminated and so
blessed !
" Should all the plans that men devise,
Assault my faith with treacherous art,
I'd call them vanity and lies,
And bind thy Gospel to my heart 1 *•
No XXXV.
WHAT MODICUMS* OF KNOWLEDGE I POSSESSED AT
FIFTEEN, AND HOW I HAD STUMBLED INTO THEIB
POSSESSION.
I SPEAK mainly in this section of such kinds of
knowledge as belong to what is usually called
education or learning. But as there can be no
knowledge where there is no mind, no intellect, to
hold it (for an imbecile, an idiot, can have no know-
ledge) therefore a retrospective inquiry into the pro-
cess by which knowledge has dribbled into a young
mind will naturally involve, to some extent at least,
the discovery of its gradual development.
I have said in other parts of this book that the
• The hypercritical, watching for evidences of the old itinerant's
illiteracy, may say, "Modicums is Latin, and its plural is modica."
Well, may not extraneous words become so domesticated, as to con-
form to English modes of inflection. I suppose Shakespeare knew
English, if he did not know Latin. He says : —
" What modicums of wit he utters."
MY BOY LIFE. 261
faculties of attention and memory in me showed
themselves very early by comparing notes with
others ; I now think, earlier than in most children. It
was noticed at home, that I took learning easy, and
that it was a pity that I could not have opportunities
for a liberal education. About 1820, when I was
ten or eleven years of age, some respectable people
occupied for a time an unfinished upper part of a house
belonging to my brother Thomas, on their way to
settle beyond Lake Simcoe. A lady of that company,
then a young married woman, Mrs. Charles Partridge,
informed me, full fifty years afterwards, that my
paternal-hearted brother, Thomas (of course, unknown
to me) had spoken to them of his little brother John's
readiness to take learning, and his own regret of his
inability to furnish him with the means of gaining
such an acquisition as he had a capacity for receiving.
But I am proceeding too fast. I began with the
inteniion of trying to recall the first little glimmerings
of light which shone in on the morning twilight of
my infant mind. I must have become acquainted with
the meaning of words earlier than most children. I
can remember, that during the excitement and alarm
attendant on the inroads of the American Indians at the
house of Mr. Lawrence at the Cross Roads, mentioned
elsewhere, in 1813, when I could not have been more
than four years old, that when Mrs. Cassidy knocked
away the fusee pointed at the breast of the wounded
Corporal Smith lying on the floor, and exclaimed, "Don't
262 MY BOY LIFE.
murder the man in the house ! " that, from my defect of
hearing, which must have shown itself thus early, I
thought she said, " Man of the house," and instantly
thought " he is not the man of the house — Mr. Lawrence
is the man of the house." So early had I picked up
the meaning of a colloquialism, which, I suspect,
children of that age do not usually know how to
apply.
I think I knew how to repeat the days of the week,
consecutively, about the age of five, and soon after the
months of the year. Soon after that, I began to learn to
count ; but I think I had not attained to the ability to
count a hundred till some time later still. Beyond
the number ten, I think it was not so much a matter
of arbitrary memory as of reasoning and reflection.
Reflection taught me, that after ten, it was merely a
repetition of the same process, the two, three, four,
five, and so on, being repeated again. After a while it
dawned upon me, that twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty,
seventy, eighty, and ninety were a development of
one, two, three, etc. ; or twos, threes, and fours of tens.
I learned my letters at home without a teacher,
perhaps, with some assistance from my next older
brothers ; although I am sure it was the prompting of
curiosity which led me to seek to find out ; and by
myself I learned to combine the letters and spell out a
sentence in the New Testament, or among the hymns
at the back of it. I was not six years old when I could
perform this exploit, of which I was very proud.
MY BOY LIFE. 263
Just about this time a hawker came to the door with
trifles of various kinds to sell, and for " a York shil-
ling," as seven-pence halfpenny was then called,
we purchased a very small primer, which among
other little matters, gave the length of the several
months in a little rhyme to help the memory, thus : —
"Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November ;
All the rest have thirty-one.
Excepting February alone,
"Which claimeth just eight and a score ;
But in every leap year we give it one more."
This I immediately learned, and thenceforth was able
to determine the length of any given month ; and to
this day I have no other way of determining.
The following winter, there being no school handy
for us little ones, Mrs. Glennon, the Doctor's widow,
who lived in the other end of the same house as the
one in which we lived, who had received a fair
education when young, and who had ample necessity
for anything she could make, was persuaded to set
up a school in her own place, and commenced with
a good many little children and growing girls —indeed
some of the latter were young women for size — and
four of our family were sent to her school ; but I now
suspect, I dferived no benefit from that first attempt in
the scholastic line. Our teacher had no experience or
tact in teaching. And she was totally without skill
or authority to govern a school. She never could
264 MY BOY LIFE.
govern her own children, three at least of whom were
in that sohool; She was a very small person, and the
big boys and girls treated her with contempt, and
none so much so as her own eldest daughter, Theresa,
a very hoydenish girl. One day " Trase " became
utterly unmanageable, and set her mother at defiance.
Indeed, the latter confessed she "could do nothing
with her." Upon this, a stout, strong, young woman,
by the name of Ann Skinner, a step-daughter of the
lafce Mr. Senclair, long of the Don Mills, sympathizing
with Mrs. Glennon (for the school was now wholly
demoralized) offered her services to punish Theresa,
and received permission, and commenced operations
with a will. But the refractory girl had no disposi-
tion to submit patiently. Besides what she lacked in
strength, she made up in natural fighting qualities.
So that it soon became a rough and tumble battle
through the room, over benches, tables, and chairs, and
on to the bed, which stood in the corner, the curtains
of which (duly emblazoned with Bluebeard and his
wives) were pulled down. It ended in a sort of drawn
battle, Theresa getting a pretty thorough slapping and
Miss Skinner getting a punch in the eye which left it
painful and inflamed, and I suspect blackened in the
end — a pity for the young lady, for she was a very
comely person, and not imdeserving. She ^afterwards
married Mr. John Hayes, the "Jack Hayes" of the
young men's nomenclature.
The reader will expect to hear that an academy
MY BOY LIFE. , 265
conducted on such eclectic principles could hardly sus-
tain itself long, and that it soon collapsed, thus giving
me a long college vacation ; which was no great
interruption of my improvement, as the reader will
surmise, when I tell him I was taught, in spelling the
word Aaron, instead of saying "double a-r-o-n," to
say "big A, little a, r-o-n — ^Aaron." Reverence at
least was taught by our Roman Catholic preceptress,
which was to bow our heads when we pronounced the
name of Christ.
I went no more to school until "our boys" had
returned from the war, which school opened the sum-
mer I was six years old. It was taught by the Mr.
Barber I have already mentioned, the husband of Miss
Kendrake, the granddaughter of Lord Rodney. This
school also was set up at my parents' solicitation. Mr.
Barber was a slender person, who had lost some of the
fingers from one hand, which constituted a justification
of his natural indisposition to work. Before the school
enterprise, he had been, I think, a sort of auxiliary of
George Carey, who ran a sort of stage from York to
Niagara, that I think was hauled off when the war
closed. Barber wanted employment ; he had some
little education, and a school was needed in our section
of the town for those who did not attend the District
Grammar School, which was mostly appropriated by
the descendants of the Family Compact. " Old Judd "
taught a school in the east end of King Street ; but a
school was required to succeed one which had been
266 MY BOY LIFE.
taught by an old gentleman by the name of Bennett,
held near the junction of Richmond and Yonge Streets,
in his own residence, who for some reason had given
up. Mr. Barber opened near the same spot, in a
longish, low room, painted red, with a long front
window, which building had been used by a person
known as " Old GofF," as saddle and harness -maker's
shop, who, I think, about that time went to "the shades"
by drink, as nearly every fourth or fifth person did in
those days. The property around that corner had
belonged to a Mr. Chesney, a man of some substance,
who died and left a wife, known for a time as the
Widow Chesney, during whose widowhood things
were going to wreck. But about the time it came
much under our notice, a bachelor Scotchman, by the
name of Drummond, came to the place, courted and
married the widow and the property ; set up his busi-
ness of carpenter, joiner, and builder, and put the
whole premises in a thorough state of repair. He lived
and died a man of respectability and substance.
There was a large school made up of young people
of various ages, from toddling infancy, almost up to
adult years. Five of our family went there, including
Tom, a great favourite among the young ladies for his
good looks and gallant ways, who was trying to remedy
the hiatus in his school studies created by his two
years' service in the " Flying Artillery." Mr. Ketchum
sent four pupils. Miss Love, his step-daughter ; Miss
Polly, his own eldest daughter, (then very beautiful) ;
MY BOY LIFE. 267
Miss Fidelia, afterwards Mrs. (Rev. James) Harris;
and William, then simply known as " Sonny Ketchum."
Hiram Street, son of Mr. Timothy Street, afterwards
the founder of Streetsville, a buckish boy of sixteen or
seventeen, was there all the way from the Niargara
River. A very popular young fellow, not much older,
by the name of John Cameron, attended there, who
went from home for a time, learned to drink, came back
a sot, and died in a cart, about the age of twenty or
twenty-five, in which he was being conveyed from the
street, where he was picked up in a state of destitution,
to the hospital. Allan Jeffrey was there, a very fine
lad in disposition and looks, who lived where Yorkville
now stands, his father's the only house in the place.
I was a great favourite with the teacher, and was
never punished by him except once, when my little
brother, our unfailing companion — Ned Glennon — and
myself, had the misfortune to underestimate the
strength of one of Mr. Drummond's broad boards, on
which we were " teetering," which broke beneath our
weight. Mr. Drummond complained, and we were
feruled on our right hands. The others cried, but I
boasted that I never winced. I suspect the master
favoured me. That was my only punishment during
the whole of my school-life anywhere.
I learned to read and spell, and was at the head of
the second class. I seldom missed a word in those days,
which was more than I could say in after years. Spelling
well is the fruits of drill, which must be gone into
268 MY BOY LIFE.
thoroughly, early and long. But, alas ! interruptions
came, and I found it hard to surmount the effects.
Early in the autumn we had a great spelling match
between our school and Mr. Judd's. It was a regular
challenge, I think, from Mr. Judd, whose strong point
was spelling, duly prepared for, and came off on a
certain sunny day. We assembled at the Red School
House, — were duly drilled, — charged as to how we
were to behave, marshalled, and marched in procession
down the road which formed the boundary between
the town and the adjacent farms, which we now know
as Richmond and Duchess Streets, till we reached the
corner of Duchess and Ontario Streets, but that we did
not do continuously ; for, if I remember right, at Sher-
boume Street we made a detour northwards into what
wc now call Queen, went down that street to Ontario,
when we turned south, to a sort of avenue, or bower*
formed by parallel rows of cherry-trees on the northern
comer of the Ridout property, the use of which was
granted to the schools for the spelling match, a spot
which is yet without houses. Only the first class on
each side was brought into action, which some of the
best spellers in the lower classes regretted. Further-
more, that class itself was winnowed to leave out
doubtful ones. But, as far as our side was concerned,
the selections were not all judicious ; a girl by the
name of Betsey Hardy, who had afterwards a not very
enviable history, was, through the master's partiality
retained, and by her frequent failures bi ought us
MY BOY LIFE. 269
defeat. Besides, Mr. Barber was hardly the man to
cope with such a determined old pedagogue as Judd.
They took turns in giving out spellings, and what
word failed on one side passed to the other, while all
the failures were duly registered according to a system
agreed on before hand; but where there was any
difference of opinion, Barber had not pertinacity
enough for Judd, and acknowledged our defeat. Many
of the gentry of our little capital came to witness the
display ; and in the end, the scholars were rewarded
or consoled by a treat of luscious peaches, and, if I
rember right, cakes as well. That was the first of the
only two school treats in which I remember to have
been a participant. That was nearly sixty-five years
ago.
While attending that school, I first heard the project
of a Sunday-school from the lips of its first Missionary
in Canada, the Eev. Thaddeus Osgood, who addressed
us, and offered the first prayer I ever heard, by both
of which I was solemnized and wept, hiding myself
behind others to conceal my emotion and tears. The
projected Sunday-school did not come into operation
for four or five years to come.
The winter came. The school closed,* and my
schooling was interrupted, during which I pretty
nearly lost all I had gained ; albeit I did con over the
Testament from time to time, and a copy of Dr. Watts'
" Divine and Moral Songs for Children," which consti-
• As an easy employment, our teacher adopted that of Bailiff
270 MY BOY LIFE.
tuted almost my only reading book. Often did I pore
over —
" The voice of the sluggard,
I hear him complain," &c. ;
" Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so," &c.
which, with others of a similar character, left no ill im-
pression on my infant mind and heart. Once I received
more commendation than I deserved, by helping out
my mother and brother William in some discussion of
theirs on the subject of our Lord's resurrection, by
turning to a chapter on the subject which I had been
spelling out by myself, and which, if tested, I fear
was the only one I could have read intelligibly. I
was then in the neighbourhood of eight years old. It
was about that time I used to hear read the songs about
Robinhood already referred to, but which I could
scarcely say I was able to read myself, though I did
afterwards.
The only schooling I received for nearly or quite
two years thereafter was one fortnight, in which I took
an older brother's place in Mr. Judd's school. His aca-
demy was conducted in the " Old Yellow House," quite
an institution in its day. For a long time, there was the
concession of a small lot on the corner of Ontario and
King Streets for a market, though not built on for a
long period after the time to which I refer. The
yellow house came next eastward of the vacant lot, on
MY BOY LIFE. 271
King Street. Who built and owned the house origin-
ally I know not ; I know, however, it was owned and
occupied for a dwielling by Dr. Stoyles after his second
marriage (to Mrs. Matthews). It had at one time been
one of the most pretentious houses in the infant town.
It was only a story and a half in height, with dormer
windows in the roof, and one if not two bay windows
below, facing King Street. It covered a good deal of
ground both below and above. How it had come so
early to be a hack for all purposes, I know not ; but
for many years the lower front rooms were rented for
school purposes, and the upstair's apartments were
rented as residences for the poor. For a long time it
bore the name of being haunted; and one room, I
know, which was used as " black hole " to confine
refractory pupils in was dreaded for that reason by
such hapless urchins as had the misfortune to be
doomed to solitary confinement therein.* The wood,
when there was any, was stored and chopped there. I
say, when there was any, for there was sometimes a
famine of that indispensable article ; and then the
scholars were turned out to gather fuel, consisting of
roots and limbs of trees, old knots, and bits of bark, to
be picked in plenty in the Park, which began on the
east side of Parliament Street, and, which, despite all
the poaching by townspeople, was down to a much
later period, covered with trees and logs.
* "Eifihi or nine years after, a Methodist Society class met in that
room.
272 • MY BOY LIFE
Mr. Judd*s method of teaching was characterized by
the spelling, which was a large element in the exer-
cises, being conducted in chorus, the good spellers
leading, and the learners following, and all at the top of
their voices, thus : 1-e-g-e-r, leger ; d-e, legerde; m-a-i-n ;
legerdemain. " The noise was as the sound of many
waters," and could be heard for a great distance around.
It suited the teacher well enough, for Le was quite
deaf ; and it was fun for the children. And a great
deal of this sort of drill made them ready spellers of,
at least, all the words in the text book.
There was a stout boy at that school who gained an
undesirable notoriety in after years. His name was
William (usually called "Bill") Bastedo, some relative
of Mr. Joseph Rogers, who had come from his country-
home to learn the hat-m.aking business ; and it was
thought desirable for him to receive schooling early,
before he settled down to his trade. He was a kind
of silent, diffident lad, and other boys, for a time,
rather put upon him ; but his temper proved to be hot
when roused, and when he resorted to blows, (school
boys' usual method of settling difficulties) thenhe proved
to be possessed of unusual muscular strength and strik-
ing power. I remember he awed us all one day : a lad a
head taller than himself, was asked a civil question by
Bill, and gave an impertinent answer, upon which
Bastedo, by a blow under the ear laid him flat on his
face. This discovery was a misfortune to my hero,
who thenceforth became a huffier and engaged in
MY BOY LIFE. 273
battles innumerable, in one of which encounters he
broke a man's jaw. All sorts of dissipation followed
in the train of this penchant for fighting, and issued
in the waste of more than half his life. But the grace
of God is greater than the strength of the pugilist. I
was told, some seven or ten years ago, by a young
relative of his that " Old Bill " was still alive, and had
become a Christian and a Methodist, for which I felt
thankful to God.
The following summer, that is in 1817, a large
school was conducted in the same place by a new
teacher, and I suspect a more competent one than -any
I have mentioned, a Mr. Castles, a Scotchman, not
large, but determined enough to hold the biggest and
most rebelliously inclined boy in subjection. Some of
his " trainings " of those big ones, I remember. Our
master boarded with Mr. Ketchum, who, I think I
heard, received lessons from him out of hours. Mr.
Castles was not an unkind man, and I confess I loved
him, and believed I was a favourite with him. He
was the first teacher I had known to pray with his
school, which he did sometimes, — perhaps on Monday
mornings. Saturday afternoons he taught the Church
of England Catechism, to all whose parents desired it.
Unhappily, my parents did not desire me to learn it,
under the supposition, that all that related to "baptism,"
and " godfathers and godmothers " was inapplicable to
me and my brothers, as we had never been baptized,
much less had we ever had a godfather or godmother.
18
274 MT BOY LIFE.
But I have deeply regretted the omission, since I have
been able to understand how important and valuable
it would have been to know that formulary, and
especially to have committed to memory the Ten
Commandments and the Apostles* Creed. The result
of the omission was, I had to commit them to memory
after I began to prepare for the ministry.
Before I dismiss the subject of " my schools and
school -masters,' to use a phrase of Hugh Miller's,
I must not forget, in the interests of correct history,
to tell that up to my ninth year, I never attended a
school where geography (at least with maps) and
grammar were taught ; " the three Rs " constituted
the curriculum, and the first R, so far, was all that I
had learned. American books were largely used ; for
we had then no national ones of our own, nor for long
afterwards. Webster's was our spelling-book, which dis-
placed old English Dilworth, with his n-a,na; t-i,nati; on-
nation. Something at which my " Britisher " father
was furious, denouncing the tion shuns, in no moderate
terms. The American Selections also largely displaced
the noble English Reader of Lindley Murray as a
reading-book. Selections to read and declaim on
special occasions, from one or other of these books,
constituted all the elocutionary training given, which
did not leave any of us very finished elocutionists.
With the close of Castle's school, in the winter of
1817-18, at the age of nine and a half, my school-going
almost wholly ended, until at the age of seventeen, I
MY BOY LIFE. 275
started anew and pursued a course on my own account.
True, about the age of eleven, Mr. James Bigelow, a
famous teacher before that, set me a few copies, taught
me how to hold my pen, and showed me how to make
the letters of the MS. alphabet. Also, did I not go
one month, a little later to Mr. Appleton, a fierce
English pedagogue, who never learned himself to place
his aspirates aright ; (he taught in Market Lane) and
learned something of the first four rules of arithmetic.
Furthermore, I was about as long, a year later, in Mr.
Spragg's Central School, perhaps a little longer. But
I never could " get the hang " of the Lancastrian
system, employed therein. Drill and parade seldom
do much for children ; there must be more personal
contact with the teacher's mind ; and the child must
have time to think out his lessons.
That was my last schooling for a long time, except
what I learned at the Sunday-school, where, in those
days, we did spell as well as read ; and we learned
much relative to the meaning of words, in which latter,
by a kind of intuition, I excelled all of my own age.
But then I was behind in spelling, and my teacher,
Mr. Patrick, would not allow me to move down when
I failed in that respect, on the ground, that "John,"
unlike the rest, " had to work instead of going to
school." I thought out the etymology of many of the
words I was taught to define afterwards, while at
work by myself in the bush. • I have spoken of what
books were accessible there. In town the year before
276 MY BOY LIFE.
my conversion, I read the whole of Cervantes' Don
Quixote, and thought it the prince of story-books !
I might have continued to go to night-school, after
I returned to town and got a place ; but I was so far
behind in school learning, that I was ashamed to be
pitted against other boys, who had possessed greater
advantages ; albeit, I had read more books, and had
quite as much general information as they. It was
religion which stimulated my mind afresh and over-
came this false shame, and it was a subsequent desire
for the ministry, as I shall have to tell, which put me
upon regular study.
Thus, when I was converted at fifteen, I could read
pretty well, scrawl my name, and, by counting my
fingers, do a sum in simple addition. I had a good
many facts of history in my head ; yet as I knew
nothing of geography and chronology, they were in a
pitiful jumble ; and my blunders in story-telling,
which then obtained as an amusement among boys, in
which Arabian-like accomplishment I was conceded to
excel, have seemed very ludicrous to myself since I
became better informed — only that the remembrance
has often covered my face with blushes. Oh ! ignor-
ance, what a humiliator thou art !
No. XXXVI.
MY BOYISH THOUGHTS OF A BUSINESS FOR LIFE, AND
THE ONE I FINALLY CHOSE.
^ip^HROUGH the lowly situation of my friends and
ill ^ the sordid influence of my surroundings, I
cannot say that I ever seriously thought of a
liberal, or a learned profession, until it was too late to
secure so elevated a prize. True, when I was very
young, and off and on, till I was converted, my father's
and brothers' war stories, and my own war ex-
periences, made me sigh for the profession of arms ;
my idea being to begin as a common soldier, and to rise
from the ranks to, of course, a command ! That pro-
ject, however, never advanced the first step towards
realization.
I was noted, they said, from a child for arguing my
own case, whenever my views were crossed, or I found
myself in any disagreement with others; on which
account they used to call me " the lawyer," and to say
278 MY BOY LIFE.
I would do well in the legal profession. But, certainly,
there was no serious thought of our moving in that
direction, and if we seriously intended it, to all
human appearance, the object was impossible of
achievement to us. It would not have been a popular
profession with us or our friends, if practicable, as a
general opinion among us was that all lawyers were
rogues, and it was next to impossible for them to be
otherwise than such.
But one other liberal profession did once open to
me in a form that was practicable ; but I myself turned
from it for want of interest. Just about the time
the break-up in our family took place in the spring
of 1822, when I was revolving the matter of going
out to my brother in the bush, a physician, a
near neighbour, who had observed my industrious
habits, and that I had been brought up among horses,
and furthermore, was told by mother that I had a
good capacity for learning and was fond of books, if
not of study, proposed to her, that I should come
and live in his family, groom his horse, do his errands,
and attend his office in his absence; and that he
would furnish me with books, and teach me all that
he knew himself — both preparatory and professional,
and open my way into practice. Such a method was
then not unusual. Students " studied with a doctor,"
as it was termed ; went to New York, or some other
distant place for lectures ; came back and went before
a board of medical examiners, and if approved, were
MY BOY LIFE. 279
licensed. Dr. McCaig, who made the proposal was not
a haughty, stuck-up sort of man, but very plain and
condescending, his practice being largely among the
humbler classes, especially those of his own nationality
— the Irish ; and I have no doubt, that so far as non-
pretentiousness was concerned, we would have got on
together well enough; and yet, though largely the
poor man's doctor, I have reason to believe he was
well educated, both in general learning and that which
related to his profession as the majority of physicians
in his day, and better indeed, than a great many. He
had the reputation of being very skillful. And had I
then possessed the advanced views I held afterwards,
I would have accepted his offer. But all my friends
belonged to the operative classes in society, and any
aspiration to anything higher, was like a desertion, if
not a reflection, on them. We were all so narrow, as
to think thsit gentility and pride were inseparable — a
great instance of folly, but not the only one of which we
were guilty. Besides, I had predilections for farming ;
and, just then, was all agog to go to the bush. By the
choice I made, I escaped, especially as it was then con-
ducted, one of the most slavish professions a human
being could engage in. Besides, in not going to Dr.
McCaig, I escaped something worse. He and his wife,
I believe were Protestants, perhaps — as North of Ire-
land people often are — of Presbyterian proclivities; but
whether, if I had gone with him (for he soon after
went out on Yonge Street, near where Newtonbrook
280 MY BOY LIFE.
now stands), I would have come under those influences,
which, two years after, led me to Christ, and four
years after that again, into the ministry. Besides, not
being converted, I would have stood a chance to go
far in the opposite direction. If I had remained un-
converted and continued to live in his family, I would
have been almost sure to have become a drunkard, as
so many in that noble profession (strange to say) have
done ; the Irish national beverage, whisky punch, was
an institution with them ; and I think I was informed,
that poor McCaig's early death was largely due to
drink. If true, it was a pity, for, from all I ever
heard, he was a noble man. Alas ! Alas ! for the
many mighty fallen ! There is no telling what might
have been, had I gone into medicine ; but my good
friend. Dr. James Brown, then of Peterboro', used to
say to me, when he saw the energy and industry I put
into the ministry, " Mr. Carroll, if you had been a
doctor, you would have made a fortune."
A real aspiration of mine, of a semi-liberal kind, was
more feasible, and might have been attained, if my
friends had possessed discernment and reflection, or
any energy been shown, or pains taken to plan for me,
and then to carry their plans into execution — that was
the career of an artist I always had a quick eye
for external appearances and a disposition to reproduce
them. I very readily cut the profile of almost all
visible objects in paper — especially, sheep, oxen, horses,
dogs, and men; also, it was thought that I could
MY BOY LIFE. 281
draw them correctly on a slate, which I amused my-
self for hours in doing. And when that canvas
was not wide enough I filled the great wide hearth-
stones with these rough cartoons ; or the floor and
walls of the house with crayon sketches in chalk. To
sketch from nature seemed always to me one of the
most desirable of accomplishments ; and yet the op-
portunity of even attempting to learn it, did not occur
till far on in life, when my engagements were too
numerous to leave sufficient leisure for the necessary
practice. As a trade, because of these tastes, I would
have preferred that of painter to almost any other ;
only I did not like the idea of being suspended in mid-
air painting the walls of a high house or a steeple.
Otherwise, if I had once got into ordinary house and
sign painting, it would have led to portraits and the
finer parts of the art. But I never met the man to
learn from, or the opening in any respect. I have in
some measure indemnified myself for the loss, and
gratified the graphic propensity in my mind by a great
many pen-portraits and pictures of scenery as well as
human persons. It would afford me pleasure now to
furnish the letter-press for pictorial illustrations of
books, and I have furnished some, but never done any-
thing of that kind that paid me for my time.
Another fanciful attachment to an impracticable
scheme, and one that would have been less beneficial
to me than that of an artist was this. When I was
about seven or eight years old, it was discovered, that
2*^2 MY BOY LIFE.
while describing any scene between persons that I had
witnessed, that I unconsciously personated the people
I described ; and that I had ready and accurate powers
of mimicry. One of the first of these occurrences that
I recollect was the appeal of "Mother Long," an affected
old coloured neighbour, to Mr. Drummond, already men-
tioned, for assistance to get her " cross-grained little
brat " (as she called him) of a son, John, free from the
consequences of a case of assault and battery (or " salt
and batry," as it used to be called,) brought against him
by a Mr. Heward, who lived hard by, which struck
them as so histrionic as to cause them great amuse-
ment, and they afterwards brought me forward to re-
enact it for the amusement of visitors. These powers
of mimicry often led those who knew me to say, that
"John would make a good play-actor," and that I
" ought to go on the stage." I always delighted in
spectacular representations, and had I been trained, I
might have made a comic actor at least. Whatever
good elocutionary drill might have done me, play-act-
ing would have ruined me as to morals and religion.
Upon the whole, therefore, I have cause to be thank-
ful, that no opening for following this bent occurred ;
albeit, I am sorry I never had the first lesson in
elocution and declaiming in any school that I ever
attended.
Having eliminated all the visionary schemes that
flitted, for a short time before my fancy, I may say,
I was shut up to some form of manual labour — either
MY BOY LIFE. 283
farming, to which I have said, I was partial — or a
mechanical art. The prospect of a farmer s life, how-
ever, closed with my leaving my brother's ; and I
became a boy of all, or any work, about a tannery.
When I was converted I was receiving the monthly
wafjes of four dollars. At that wacre I continued to
work for one year after my becoming religious ; and I
now wish I had never sought any other relation ; for
my wages would have soon been increased, and would
have gone on increasing every year as my strength and
activity increased. And with increased wages, I might
have done more for an old, infirm father and mother, and
a blind brother whose only income was a pension of £20
($80) a year ; besides I might have saved something to
educate myself. Many well-intentioned friends said I
ought to learn a trade. Of these, the late Joshua Van
Allen, a zealous young Methodist, then very influential
in the junior circles of the York society, was especially
forward and earnest. And as there was nothing so
attainable as Mr. Ketch um's business, through my
mother, between whom and him there was a great
mutual respect, I applied and was accepted to
learn the tanning and currying trade; and gave up
the horse and cart, the hayfork and shovel; and
took up the "flesher" and "worker," and in due
time the "scouring brush," and "currying knife;"
but then as I was supposed to be learning a business,
I had to keep on at the wages I received when only
fourteen; now I was sixteen and on to seventeen
284
MY BOY LIFE.
and over. The whole matter was against my con-
victions for all this time, there was not an hour I
did not revolve in my mind the Christian ministry
as a life-work. But that must be relegated to a
separate article.
No. XXXVIL
A SUMMAEY AND CONNECTION OF THE FORGOING
STORIES.
1KELINQUISHED the idea of a continuous nar-
rative — first intended, and even drawn up far
beyond the period of my boyhood, for reasons
assigned in the preface ; in doing which, I have pro-
bably failed in leaving a correct succession of the
events that transpired in my young life for the first
fifteen years of my existence. To supply this lack
to such as might be inclined to complain of it, I now
furnish a digest and summary of the pen-pictures
above exhibited, briefly supplying some omissions.
Those who do not need any such presentation may
skip this section.
The reader is hereby reminded that I was born of
parents of unequal ages, a father of about sixty, and
a mother about forty, the eleventh child, and the last
but one, who was born half an hour after me, whom I
have survived more than sixty years. I only justj
286 MY BOY LIFE.
escaped being born in Fredericton, the capital of New
Brunswick, to be brought into the world on Saltkill's
Island in Passimmaquady, Bay of Fundy, N.B. A few
days after my birth I removed across the Province
line to Campo Bello Island within the State of Maine,
U.S. At three weeks old, we went by a sailing vessel
to New York ; thence by a sloop up the Hudson to
Albany ; next in a springless lumber- waggon over, or
through (literally through) execrable roads to Youngs-
town on the Niagara River. Then ferried across to
Queenstown, U.C., where we remained till the follow-
ing spring.
Lived about two years in the Niagara Country,
mostly on the Ten Mile Creek — partly at the " Lower
Ten," and partly at the " Upper Ten." Just as we
were about to leave that region, somewhere near the
Twelve, I lost by a cruel death my best and ablest
brother, Joseph. Then, in sad desolation as a family,
we proceeded by a toilsome journey to the Grand
River country, where we lived in two several places —
at Fairchild's Creek, and on an Indian farm belonging
to Chief Davis, on the river bank in the heart of the
Indian country.
In 1 8 IB, father joined the army, and trailed us out
to Niagara, where we witnessed the battle, a fortnight
after our arrival there. Mother and we, her four
youngest children, escaped out of the town during the
action, and fled to the Cross Roads, four miles away,
.and took up our abode at the house of Mr. George
MY BOY LIFE. 287
Lawrence, where we remained a good part of the
summer, until we were disturbed by an onset of
American Indians. Upon which, we lied towards the
interior, suffering great fatigue and hunger by the
way — passing through the Black Swamp road, and
spent the early part of autumn in the vicinity of the
" Upper Ten " Mile Creek and the Twelve.
Our next removal was to Burlington Bay, where we
lived, or existed — first in an unfinished house, then in
a hole in the ground at the Heights, and next in a loft
in what is now the centre of Hamilton City. With
the removal of the army, we went to Queenston,
where, for a time, we were a united family again,
living over the military blacksmith's shop.
Early in the summer of 1814, father, mother, and
the four youngest children, coasted around the Lake to
York ; where, after a short interval in and near the
fort, we took up our abode in the town, in which we
remained till the close of the war.
That town was the base of the family's operations
so long as we held together as a family of any sort.
My several places of abode after the war, till I went
to the bush in 1821, were the corner of George and
Duchess Streets; Duke Street, a short time; the
corner of Bay and Richmond; near the corner of
Richmond and John Streets; Adelaide, near York;
and Duke, once more. And after returning from the
bush, at Mr. Ketchum's, corner of Yonge and Adelaide,
till my conversion and afterwards.
288 MY BOY LIFE.
*^,t* A friend suggests that I may not live to produce
the volumes promised to succeed this ; and in that
case the more important part of the story of my life
will remain untold. In the event of my passing away,
the reader may be told, that I began to exhort about
one year and a half after my conversion ; a short
time after which, I left my business and spent about
two years at school, and in teaching, during which
period I exercised my gifts in public constantly — went
out as a supply on a Circuit before I was nineteen, four
years after my conversion — and have spent all the
time since, fifty-three years, in some form or another,
in the Christian ministry.
THE END.
BEN OWEN
BEN OWEN
^ ^maMvt ^tmj.
BY
JENNIE PERRETT.
** He that does good deeds here, waits at a tabl*
Where angels are his fellow-servitors."
TORONTO :
WILLIAM BRIGGS,
78 & 80 Kins Siiirkt East.
1882.
O N T E N T S^
I Kept in T
IL Ben's Home 18
III. An Evening Visit 25
IV. Sam'l Hornby's General Shop 35
V. A Bitter Disappointment 43
VI. The Strangers 50
VII. Mr. Henry Ashford's Refusal 57
VIII. A Painful Discovery *. 62
IX. In the Works 70
X New Year's Eve 79
DL At Liberty 87
BEN OWEN.
CHAPTER I.
KEPT IN.
T^HE heat had been intense all the day, for
more than a week no rain had fallen ; the grass
in the fields, and along the roadside, was brown
and scorched, the thirsty flowers in the gardens
drooped upon their stems, only the tall sunflowers
held their heads erect, and looked proudly up to the
blue, cloudless sky.
The church clock of the village of Ashleigh had just
struck four when a slight breeze arose, stirring gently
the branches of the trees in the playground of the
village school, and the birds that had been venture-
some enough to build their nests there, peeped cau-
tiously and expectantly around.
The breeze might mean that rain was coming, or it
5 BEN OWEN.
might not ; anyhow it was a new topic for conversa-
tion ; there had been nothing but the heat to chatter
about for some days past ; so the birds chirped and
twittered away, and the most weatherwise amongst
them watched a tiny, white, fleecy-looking cloud pass-
ing along the sky.
Some one else as well as the watchful little song-
sters saw the first signs of the coming shower. A tall,
stalwart man, who had been walking through the dusty
lanes, and now came slowly up the street where there
was no shade or shelter from the sun's burning rays,
looked up, and as he saw the cloud, a grim smile of
satisfaction passed over his hard, stern face. And a
little girl who stood at the open door of the school,
watching a butterfly with bright, coloured wings, saw
the same tiny cloud, but it was no longer alone, others
larger and darker were spreading themselves rapidly
over the sky.
The child left her post, and hastened across the
room.
"What is it, Nancy?" asked the schoolmaster
kindly ; " you may stand at the door a few minutes
longer."
" Please, Mester Deane, it's comin'," said the child.
" What is coming, Nancy ? "
"Please, sir, th' rain's comin'."
The schoolmaster went to the door, and looked up
at the dark clouds.
" Yes, Nancy, you are right," he said, " we shall hav
a heavy shower, and then the air will be cooler."
BEN OWEN. 9
Mr. Deane rejoiced at the thought, for he had found
the intense heat very trying.
It had certainly affected the children's conduct;
they had been restless, fidgety, inattentive, and sleepy
the whole of the day. More than one little head had
fallen weariedly upon the desk, the book or pen had
dropped from the tired hand, and certain unmistakable
sounds had borne witness to the fact that for a time at
least sleep had conquered any desire for knowledge.
Mr. Deane had not attempted to awaken the sleepers,
he put the cushion from his chair under a little girl's
curly head, and he placed another wearied child in a
small recess near his own desk.
More than once he thought of dismissing his scholars
early in the afternoon, and giving them an additional
hour's instruction another day.
But the schoolmaster was a quiet, methodical man;
with him each hour of the day had its allotted amount
of work, and he shrank nervously from any deviation
from the existing school routine.
Therefore, instead of closing before the appointed
time, he exerted himself to the utmost to make the
afternoon lessons as pleasant as he possibly could, and
exercised an unusual amount of patience on behalf of
his scholars.
They were troublesome and unruly, these children ;
almost unconsciously they had taken up the idea that
a schoolmaster was a tyrant whom they were bound
to outwit, and cheat, and conquer if they possibly
could.
10 BEN OWEN.
Some of them would have rebelled openly had they
dared, or if they could have gained anything by so
doing, at being obliged to attend a school at all. They
were not so entirely to blame for this, as any one un-
acquainted with the facts of the case might have sup-
posed them to be.
For the children knew what Her Majesty's Inspector
who visited Ashleigh at certain times did not know,
how some of the parents grudged the few pence weekly
for " th' school wage." And also how they grudged
still more the precious hours which bore no fruit, so
far as they in their shortsightedness could see. The
children knew, too, how they were kept at home on
the faintest pretext of an excuse to help with the work
of the household.
Still, parents and children had sense enough to
know that it was useless fighting against the laws of
the country. The Government had taken all children
from collieries, factories, and workshops of every de-
scription into its own hands, and was fully prepared to
carry out all it had undertaken.
But, if the Ashleigh children could not unsettle the
Government, they could, and theg did, make one of its
representatives, in the form of the schoolmaster, very
uncomfortable at times.
The village was a few miles away from busy, noisy
Manchester, and some of the oldest inhabitants of Ash-
leigh could remember the time when the houses on the
high road to the city were few and far between.
BEN OWEN. 11
But the houses were very numerous now, and in the
village itself whole rows of workmen's cottages had
been built during the last few years for the accommo-
dation of families who worked at the Ashleigh Calico-
print Works.
To these Works, the calico woven in the cotton mills
was brought, here it was bleached, and passed from
the men working in the "dyehouse," "steaming " and
" raising rooms," to the women and girls who did the
"plaiting" and "folding," the *' sewing" and the
" marking."
When it left the warehouse placed in immense bales
on large lurries it was no longer plain calico, but print
of all colours and various patterns.
Some of the bales went direct to the Manchester
market, and from thence all over the United King-
dom ; and some went to Liverpool, and from thence
across the broad Atlantic, and away to far distant
lands.
The Print Works found employment not only for
men and women, but also for children.
At the age of ten they could enter as " half-timers,"
working one part of the day, and attending the school
the other part. Working among men and women,
many of whom had not " the fear of God before their
eyes," seeing and hearing much that was wrong ; was
it any wonder that the children soon lost the inno-
cence of childhood, and that their finer feelings were
dulled and blunted ?
12 BEN OWEN.
Mr. Deane endeavoured to bear these facts in mind
in all his dealings with his scholars. And on this hot
summer afternoon, wearied as he felt, not one impa-
tient word escaped his lips, and when he saw the gath-
ering clouds he resolved to dismiss the children at
once, so that they might reach their homes before the
rain came. So he rang the bell, and gave the word of
command, "All books closed."
At that very moment a little boy sitting on one of
the back seats took a hard, green apple from his
pocket, and deliberately threw it at a boy who was
sitting on a form in front of him.
The apple went too far, it missed the boy, and. hit
the master instead.
Mr. Deane's pale face flushed ; some of the children
laughed, and looked round at one another, and then
stared at the master, wondering what he would do.
They were not left to wonder long. Mr. Deane
looked gravely at them, and said quickly, but firmly,
"How many times have I forbidden you to throw
anything across the schoolroom ? Only a week ago
one of the windows was broken by a ball, and the
other day a little girl was hurt by an old knife thrown
by a thoughtless boy ; now, children, I ask you who
has thrown this apple ? "
All were silent for a few moments, then little
Nancy's voice was heard.
"Please, Sir," she said, "yo' dunnot need to think as
onybody throwed it at yo\ yon apple were na meant
for yo'."
BEN OWEN. 13
" I don't think it was, Nancy, it was intended to hit
some one else, and I hope the boy or girl who threw it
will at once tell me the truth. I would rather have a
dozen apples thrown, and every window broken, than
that one of you should tell me a lie ! "
There was silence again, only broken by the ticking
of the clock, and the patter of some raindrops on the
stone step at the door ; then came a dull, heavy sound
like thunder in the distance.
A pale-faced lad about thirteen years of age started
as he heard the sound ; the master looked steadily at
him, the boy felt rather than saw the look; his face
flushed crinison, and his eyes sought the ground.
Naturally unsuspicious though he was, Mr, Deane
felt certain that the lad had some knowledge of the
point in question, and he was grieved at the thought ;
he liked the boy, and up to the present time had
always found him truthful and obedient. He waited
a little while, hoping that he would speak, then he
said, " Ben Owen, did you throw that apple ? "
The boy looked up then. " No, Sir," he replied.
But his eyes dropped again as soon as he had
spoken, and the bright colour rushed to his face.
Mr. Deane was grieved and puzzled, and the chil-
dren began to look impatiently towards the door.
"Ben Owen," asked the master, "can you tell me
who did throw the apple ? "
The boy raised his head, an earnest, beseeching look
in his blue eyes.
14 BEN OWEN.
" Did you hear my question ? "
"Yes, Sir."
" Am I right in believing you know who threw that
apple?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Who was it then?"
"Please, Sir, I canna tell yo'!"
" Very well, if you cannot, or rather you will Twt,
tell me, you will be kept in after the others have left.
Mind, children," added Mr. Deane, " I do not wish to
encourage you to tell tales of one another, but I am
determined that this dangerous practice of throwing
things across the schoolroom shall be put an end to."
When the school was dismissed, a few boys lingered
near the door, and Ben Owen went back to his own
seat.
" Ben Owen," said the master, " I will leave you
three sums to work while I am away, numbers ninety-
one, ninety -two, and ninety -three ; I will return pres-
ently. Run av/ay home, boys," he added, as he locked
the schoolroom door, and walked quickly away.
Ben Owen took from his desk his slate and book ;
as regarded his task he would rather have had a page
of history or poetiy to learn. He was not quick at
figures, and the three sums given him meant for him
an hour's hard work.
An hour's work! And his head ached and throbbed
now ; he had been up since five o'clock, in the Print
Works by six, in the hot schoolroom all the afternoon ;
BEN OWEN. 15
he had behaved well himself, and had done his best in
his quiet way to persuade the boys in his class to be-
have well too.
As he thought of this his mouth quivered, and he
leaned his head upon his hands ; there was no tor-
menting schoolfellow near to call him " a cry baby,"
the hot, burning tears fell fast now.
They fell upon his slate, rubbing out the figures he
had just made. He pushed back his hair from his
forehead ; such beautiful hair it was, as fair and curly
as that of any dainty drawing-room pet.
" I'm a brave soldier, I am," said Ben half aloud, as
he commenced his sum again ; " it is na such as me as
will win th' prize. Th' Great Master did na stop to
think about Himself when He were on earth. He had
a world of trouble and died a shameful death for usj
but we think we mun ha' no trouble, we're noan so
ready to take up our cross and follow Him."
The rain was falling fast now, the wind had risen,
the peals of thunder were long and loud, and the
flashes of lightning bright and vivid.
The boy all alone in the large schoolroom looked up
to the window nearest to him, and a bright smile
passed over his face.
" It's a real storm an' no mistake," he said, " an' I'm
glad now I've done as I have, poor little Jimmy is so
feart of thunder, he would ha' shrieked if he'd been
here alone, an' I'm noan feart my sen ; it's all of God.
whether it be thunder, or hail and tempest, or th' still
small voice."
16 BEN OWEN.
Ben applied himself with redoubled energy to his
task.
Half an hour passed away ; the storm was at its
height now, the rain falling in torrents.
"It does na' stop," said Ben; "there's a mighty
sight of water outside, I wish there were but a gill-pot
full in here, I'm real dry, I am ; what with th' heat an'
th' dust I feel pretty near choking."
On the floor, by Mr. Deane's seat, just where it had
fallen, lay the apple, the innocent cause of all the
trouble.
The boy's eyes brightened as they rested on it;
green and sour, and uninviting as it looked, it was
only too tempting to the thirsty lad. He left his seat,
and stooped to pick it up ; he held it for a moment in
his hands, and then dropped it as suddenly as if it
were a burning coal.
" It's like as if th' heat had turned my brain," he
exclaimed, " Lord Jesus forgive me, I were na' thinking
rightly what I were going to do, I conna steal!
"No, I conna, by th' Great Master's help I will na
steal," he said, as the tempter whispered to him that
the apple no longer belonged to any one, no one
wanted it, it would never be thought of again.
" Yon apple's not mine, an' I will ha' nowt to do wi'
it," exclaimed Ben.
And praying for grace to resist the temptation,
thirsty and wearied though he was, he finished his
task, and sat quietly waiting for the schoolmaster's
BEN OWEN. 17
return. More than an hour had passed away "before
he heard the sound of the key in the lock, and saw
Mr. Deane coming towards him. Ben rose from his
seat, and gave the slate to the master.
" The answers are correct," said Mr. Deane, as he
handed back the slate, and looked earnestly at the
boy*s face.
Very tired the pale face looked now, the features
worn and thin, there were lines about the mouth that
told their own story of the boy's powers of endurance
being tried to the extreme point at times.
But there was no trace of sullenness there, no
resentment.
" Ben," said Mr. Deane, " I must have been away an
hour and a half, I never intended to stay so long, but
after I reached my house and was waiting for a cup
of tea (it does not sound very manly, Ben, and you
need not tell any one), I almost fainted."
" Yo' did. Sir ? Ay, but yo' are noan strong enough
for such like work as yo' have here, we're a rough lot
here ; I reckon they are a deal smoother spoken, softer
mannered sort o' folks, where yo' come from. I'm
sorry, Sir, as I couldna' feel it reet to tell yo' what yo'
axed me, but I knew him as had throwed yon apple
would ha' had to be kept in, an* I could na' think of
letting a little chap who's feart of his own shadder,
bide here alone ; yo' will forgive me, will yo' not. Sir ? "
" I will, my lad," replied the master, as he turned
his steps homeward again.
B
CHAPTER IL
BEN'S HOME.
T^HE cottage in which Ben lived stood alone, near
the church.
To this cottage, sixteen years before, Ben's
father, an industrous, steady young man, had brought
his bride. Four years of quiet happiness passed by,
then the messenger who visits the homes of rich and
poor alike came to the cottage, and called away the
kind husband, the loving father.
Ben was a baby then, a year old, and became the
joy and delight of his widowed mother's heart.
The widow was not left wholly unprovided for.
Her husband had saved a little money, and had bought
the cottage in which they lived.
Mrs. Owen commenced again her former business of
dressmaking, and earned sufficient to keep her child
and herself in comparative comfort.
When Ben was six years of age, his mother became
the wife of a man named Bell, the night-watchman at
the Print Works.
BEN OWEN. 19
Those who knew Bell best, knew how utterly un-
suited he was in every way to Mary Owen, and with
true northern frankness did not hesitate to tell her so ;
they reminded her that he was not a godly man, and
that he was considered selfish and miserly.
Mrs. Owen listened quietly to these objections ; as
to being selfish, she said, well, all men grew more or
less selfish who always lived alone, and who had only
their own comfort to study.
As to being miserly, she granted John Bell took
great care of his money, still it was better he should
do that than squander it at the public-house as so
many did.
And as to his not being a religious man, well, he
did not drink, nor swear, nor gamble, nor quarrel with
his neighbours ; and when once they were married she
knew she should be able to persuade him to attend
Church with her ; she would win him away from his
love of gold, and teach him to " set his affections on
things above."
" Tha' art makin' a mistake, Mary Owen," said old
James Wynnatt, one of the oldest inhabitants of the
village, "tha' art goin' to be onequally yoked, an
there's never no good comes o' that : yon chap's ways
are not thy ways ; if I'd twenty darters John Bell
should na' ha' ony one o' them, that he should na'."
'• Mary's made up her moind, oim thinkin', an'
hoo'll noan listen to thee, James," said the good man's
wife, " hoo'll do her own."
20 BEN OWEN.
She " did her own ;" that is to say, she refused to
listen to her friends, and had her own way.
After her second marriage she still lived on in her
old home. Her friends surmised, and rightly too,
that the days of her widowhood, sad though they
were, had yet been brighter and happier than those
which followed.
But whatever disappointments and troubles befell
Mary, she never complained of them, she kept her own
counsel.
She had her boy, her fair-haired darling, she couM
not be utterly miserable so long as he was spared to her.
And she worked away more industriously than ever
at her business, for, though John Bell earned good
wages, and had few personal expenses, yet he only
gave his wife a few shillings weekly for house-
keeping.
So Mary had to supplement the small sum from her
own earnings, and she also put by some money weekly
for a special purpose.
The kind, loving mother wanted to keep her only
child at home, and at school, longer than was cus-
tomary in Ashleigh, and then apprentice him to some
business.
She had her own hopes and ambitions, this quiet-
looking woman, who rose early, and sat up late, and
kept her home so scrupulously clean and tidy, and
who was never heard to murmur or repine.
Mary Bell not only hoped, and planned, but she
BEN OWEN. 21
sought help where alone true help is to be found ; by
exercise of faith in a crucified Redeemer she sought
and found forgiveness for her sins, and rejoiced in the
love of God.
And, as the mother Hannah took her child to the
Temple, and " lent him to the Lord," so Mary took her
boy in faith and prayer to the Saviour ; and He who
said, " Suffer little children to come unto me, and for-
bid them not," heard and answered the mother's
prayers, and before Mary passed away from earth she
had the happiness of knowing that her child, young
as he was, was a true follower of Christ.
Ben was nine years old when he lost his mother ;
how keenly he felt her death he alone knew.
It was sudden, and unexpected. For some weeks
Mary had not been well, but she was one who would
never complain about any ailment until compelled to
do so ; she put down some work one day intending to
finish it the next, but ere the sun set on the following
day she had reached the city where " there is no more
pain, neither sorrow, nor sighing."
Some said John Bell did not feel his wife's death at
all. He certainly felt it, in so far as it affected his
own personal comfort; but if he had ever had any
real, true affection for her he would have shown more
regard to her wishes than he did, when he entered her
boy at ten years of age as a half-timer at the Works.
Ben knew his mother's wishes, and pleaded earnestly
v/ith his stepfather to let him go to school at least
another year or two.
22 BEN OWEN.
" Tha* wilt go to th' school half the day until tha*
art fourteen/' replied John Bell, " what more dost tha'
want ? Dost tha' want to be one o' th' gentry, or a
larned man same as th' parson ? Tha' dost try to
mince thee words foine same as he does !"
" I should like something different from yon Works,"
replied Ben ; and, almost unintentionally, he gave
utterance to the lonortngrs of his heart, " I should like
when I'm a man to be a missionary."
" Tha' would loike to be a missioner ? That comes
o' church goin', an' meetin' goin', and Bible readin' ;
now look here, young Ben, oi'll ha' no more o' such
loike nonsense ; let them go to f urrin' parts as 'ave
got no carakter to get work in their own country, an
honest man does na' need to leave his own land."
" But missionaries go to do good."
" Let em bide whom oi say, an' as for thee, tha' wilt
go to th' Works, an' earn thysen a carakter same as oi
did."
So that question was settled.
Ben offered no further opposition to his father's
wishes, and John Bell rejoiced that he had, as he con-
sidered so easily, and so efiectually, settled the ques-
tion of the bpy's future life.
Had he known the thoughts and plans passing
through the young mind ; had he heard the earnest
prayers the boy offered, that if it were the Lord's will
he might one day realize his heart's desire, John Bell
might not have felt so elated. He had his own schemes
6£N OWEi^. ' S3
with regard to the future, and for the present the
wages the boy earned weekly purchased his food and
clothing.
For the food was plain, and poor as to quality, and
as to quantity, Ben had not the amount of nourish-
ment a growing child required ; often he rose from the
table at meal times only half satisfied, yet unwilling
to ask for more.
Sometimes he would look longingly at the loaf on
the table, and John Bell, seeing the look, would cut
him another piece of bread, and tell him at the same
time that if he himself ate as greedily as Ben did they
would both soon be " in th' Union."
The poor boy, who was not greedy, but was pain-
fully sensitive, would make some stammering apology,
and resolve to eat less for the future.
Then, Ben's clothing certainly could not have been
very costly, a common suit for week days, and a better
one for Sundays, and these of the cheapest and plainest
material.
And those who knew how neatly and carefully the
boy had been dressed during his mother's lifetime,
made remarks about his present appearance which
were anything but complimentary to John Bell.
But Bell had decidedly too good an opinion of him-
self to trouble greatly about the opinion of others.
He visited no one, and no one visited him ; a more
unsociable man could scarcely be found.
He allowed Ben to go to church, though he boasted
24 BEN OWEN.
of the fact that he had never been there himself since
the day of his wife's funeral.
Sometimes he would give Ben permission to read to
him, and on these occasions would either sit in dogged
silence, or give utterance to sneers and contemptuous
remarks. He was a man of one idea, of one fixed
purpose, he meant to save and to make money, he was
determined to die a rich man.
Other men as poor as he had made fortunes for
themselves : why should not he succeed as they had
done ? To this end he worked, and pinched, and
saved, and each year the sum in the savings bank
became larger, and the man's life and sympathies grew
narrower, and his heart became harder.
He did not hesitate, in order to add to his gains, to
take advantage of the widow, the poor, and the father-
less. In his case " the love of money " was indeed
" the root of all eviL"
CHAPTER IIL
AN EVENING VISIT.
BEN found his father standing at the door when
he reached his home after the long afternoon
he had spent at school.
" A minute longer an' oi should ha' been off," said
John Bell. " Tha' hast been kept in, oi hear ; it's not
for me to say if tha' desarved it or not, but th' Govern-
ment says we are boun' to uphold th' skoomesters, so
happen oi owt to thrash thee, but as 'tis th' first offence
oi dunnot want to be too hard on thee, tha' wilt ha* to
go bowt thee tea, an' think on as it does na happen
again, lad."
" Shall I bring your supper ?" asked Ben.
" Ay, tha' con bring it at noine o'clock, it's wrapped
up in yon hankercher, an' thine is on a plate in th'
cupboard ; come, Jess, we mun go."
Jess, the watchman's dog, looked up wistfully in
Ben's pale face, and followed her master slowly, and
apparently unwilling : the dog obeyed her master, but
she loved the boy.
26 ^EN OWEl^.
John Bell was not one who valued the affection of
man or beast, or else he might have felt jealous of the
preference Jess invariably showed for his stepson.
" It's better walkin' now nor it were this afternoon,"
muttered Bell ; " what a graidely f oo' yon skoomester
mun be if he conna tackle sich a lad as Ben, he's ower
quiet to gi' onybody mich trouble."
Ben closed the garden gate and entered the cottage,
hung up his well-worn cap, put his books on the table,
and sat down on a low rocking-chair. The room was
clean and tidy, there had been a small fire lighted to
boil the water for John Bell's tea, but it had been
allowed to go out directly after, and the tiny kettle
stood on the hob filled with cold water.
" I'm not so very hungry," said Ben, as if trying to
convince himself, *' but I am thirsty ;" and taking a
cup from the shelf he filled it with water and drank
it eagerly. Then he washed his hands and face and
sat down to learn his lessons. He did his best to fix
his attention on his books, but he was sick and faint
for want of food.
He opened the cupboard door and looked at the
plate upon which his father had placed his supper.
A hard crust of bread, and a very small piece of
cheese, about two mouthf uls altogether for a hungry
boy.
" If I eat it now I shall be hungry again before I go
to bed," said Ben thoughtfully, as he left the food
untouched and sat down again. His tired eys wandered
round the room as if in search of some beloved object.
BEN OWEHt. 27
There was the chair near the window, his mother's
favourite seat, and the table she used for her work ;
the book-shelves in the corner containing her modest
library, her Bible, and "The Pilgrim's Progress,"
" Foxe's Book of Martyrs," and two or three hymn-
books. The boy's thoughts went back to the time,
the never-to-be-forgotten time, when he had his
mother ever with him as his constant friend. He
heard the gentle tones of her voice again as she read
to him from the precious Book the sweet story of old,
he saw her pleading with his stern stepfather to grant
him some childish pleasure, or to forgive some childish
offence; again he wandered with her through the
fields and lanes, and filled his hands with daisies for
her to weave into chains for him.
Again he sat by her side near the bright fire, when
the snow lay white on the ground, and the bright-eyed
robins came up boldly to the window-sill for the
crumbs his mother never forgot to place there.
Once more he knelt at her knee, and offered up the
prayers she had taught him, and heard her gentle
whisper, " God bless you, my boy," the mother's hand
again pushed back the curly locks from the boy's fair
brow, he was clasped tightly in her arms, and felt her
loving kisses on his face.
" Mother, mother," he cried, "oh, tell me that you
will never leave me again."
"Ben, Ben," exclaimed a child's voice, "dunnot
carry on so, I'm feart, I am." Ben opened his eyes,
28 BEN OWEN.
and saw the little schoolfellow on whose account he
had been punished.
" Why, Jimmy," he exclaimed, " how long have yon
been here, how is it I did na' hear you ?"
" I opened th' door an' corned in," replied Jimmy,
" an' then I seed as tha' wert asleep, an' I waited a bit
thinkin' tha' would waken up, but when tha' called
out ' Mother, mother,' I were f eart, I were, so I shrieked
out a bit : see I've brought thee some cakes an' a tin
can full o' tea. I told mother tha' had been kept in
all along o' me, an' she said as she were sure tha*
would ha' to go bowt thee tea, so when I knowed thy
father were safe in th' Works I comed along, an' I ha*
na' spilled a drop, no that I ha' na'," said the little
fellow proudly.
" Your mother is real kind to think o* me," said Ben,
as he poured the tea out into a cup.
"Nay, it's thee as is kind," exclaimed the child.
" Mother said there were nor a lad in th' whole school
as would ha' done as tha did to-day. How is it tha'
art different like from th' rest o' them, Ben? "
" I dunno as I'm so different," replied Ben, who was
quietly enjoying the tea and cakes. " I try to say my
words same as Mr. Deane an' Mr. Mervyn, but I'm
noan a graidely talker for all that."
" It's not just the talkin', tha' dost na' fight nor
swear nor knock th' little uns about same as th' other
big uns do."
" No, I dunnot," said Ben, " because th' Bible tells
BEN OWEN. 29
me I mim think of Christ, an' try to follow th* ex-
ample He left us, an' tha' knows how kind an' gentle
He was."
" Ay, it says in th' hymn-book, ' Gentle Jesus, meek
an mild.' Ben," added the child, looking timidly
around, " art na' tha' feart to bide here alone at nect?"
" Feart ! Nay, Jimmy, why should I be ? I am as
safe here alone as in a room full o' people. Father
goes away at six an' I take him his supper at nine,
then I come back an' go to bed, an' never see him
again until six in th' mornin' !"
" Does he sleep most o' th' day ? " asked Jimmy,
wonderingly.
" He sleeps in the forenoon mostly, an' sometimes
he goes out a bit before tea for a walk."
" He went out this arternoon, mother seed him go
up th' street just before t' rain came ; how it did come
down, Ben, an' th' thunder an' th' lightnin'. Oh ! I
did wish as I'd never throwed yon apple. I meant it
to hit Charlie Wills, I did, he'd been t<3asin' me all th'
arternoon, an' I thowt I'd give him a real stinger on
th' side o' his head, an' then I were real feart arter
when I thowt I'd ha' to be kept in all alone ; it were
mean o' me to let Mr. Deane keep thee in instead
though, that it were."
" I think tha' should tell Mr. Deane th' truth about
it, not for my sake," said Ben, gently, " but because
it's right an' pleasing to God when we tell th' truth,
an' tha' does na' need to be feart o' Mr. Deane, he's
as kind as he can be."
80 BEN OWEN.
"Ay, he is," said Jimmy, " how long has he been
here now, Ben ? "
" Three months."
"I'll tell him in th' mornin' I will."
"Tha' had better tell him now."
"What, to-neet. Ben?"
« Why not ? "
" It would be troublin' him."
" Not so, Mr. Deane would na' think it a trouble
he's been noan so well to-day, an' happen he'd sleep all
th' better for knowin' a little lad had found courage
to tell him th' truth."
" Wilt tha' come wi' me ? " asked Jimmy.
" Ay, I'll come, we'd best go reet off at once."
The little hand Jimmy placed in Ben's friendly
grasp trembled.
" Come along," said Ben, cheerily, " haven't I told
thee tha' dost na' need to fear ? "
" Tha' wilt knock at th' door an' ax for him," whis-
pered Jimmy.
" Ay, sure I will," replied his friend.
Mr. Deane himself opened the door in answer to
Ben's gentle knock.
There stood the two boys, Ben pale and tired, Jimmy
trembling and tearful. The schoolmaster looked at
them inquiringly.
" What is the matter with Jimmy," he said, " has
any one hurt him ? "
" Tell him," sobbed the child, clinging more closely
to Ben, " I conna."
BEN OWEN. 31
" Come in, boys," said Mr. Deane, leading the way
to his pleasant sitting-room ; " now tell me all about
it," he added, as he closed the door.
" Jimmy wants to tell yo' as he throwed yon apple
at school to-day, he wants to be a good boy, an' always
speak th' truth," said Ben.
The ice was fairly broken now, and venturing to
look up in Mr. Deane's kind face, Jimmy saw how
needless his fears had been.
! "I throwed it at Charlie Wills," said the child,
whose tongue was loosened now, " he'd been teasin' me
for ever so long, pullin' faces at me, an' callin' me cry-
baby; an' I forgot all as yo' said about throwin*
things in th' school-room, an' then I were so feart o*
bein' kept in I dare na' tell yo', but Ben said I mun
tell yo' the truth."
" Ben was right," said Mr. Deane, " never be afraid
to speak the truth, Jimmy ; whatever it may cost you,
or however hard it may seem, still, never hide the
truth; I am thankful to find I have a boy in my
school who not only tries to be good and upright him-
self, but also endeavours to help and teach others."
Just then the door opened, and an old lady came
quietly into the room. Such a beautiful old lady Ben
thought as he looked at her.
She wore a black dress, not a silk, but of some soft,
shiny material, and a small grey shawl upon her
shoulders, and a white net cap with pale lavender
ribbons.
32 BEN OWEN.
She would always have worn black ribbons in her
snow-white cap in memory of her precious dead, had
she not yielded to the wishes of her only son, with
whom she lived, who begged h^r not to dress herself
entirely in mourning.
She spoke kindly to the boys, and smiled approv-
ingly when her son told her briefly their errand.
" You will never be sorry for what you have done
to-night," she said to Jimmy ; then noticing Ben's
wearied look she turned to him and said, " You ought
to be in bed and asleep, my boy, you look so tired."
" I am tired," replied Ben, " but I must take my
father's supper to him before I go to bed."
" Does your father work at night then ?"
" He's watchman at the Works, ma'am, he's there
from six at night to six in th' mornin'."
" Is your name Ben Owen ? "
" Yes, ma'am."
" Ah ! then I heard about you to-day at old James
Wynnatt's. You see I am only beginning to know
some of the people now, Ben, we have not been here
long, and I have been very busy since we came. Good
night, my boy, and remember, Ben, if I can help you
at any time I w^l."
Thanking her for her kindness, the boys hurried
away, Jimmy ready for any amount of conversation,
Ben more quiet and thoughtful than ever.
" Wasn't they kind, Ben ? An' isn't schoolmaster's
mother like a pictur', an' flowers aJl o'er th' carpet, an
BEN OWEN. 83
a big chimbley glass, an* a sight o* books, did'st tha'
not see it all ? "
" Yes, I saw it all," replied Ben, to whose imagin-
ation the room had seemed like a leaf out of a story-
book ; the pretty paper on the walls, the plain but
tastefully arranged furniture, the white curtains looped
with bows of coloured ribbon, the books and ornaments,
the sweet summer flowers on the table and mantel-
piece ; all the nameless, little refinements ; Ben was
conscious of all these.
But to the motherless boy, the sweetest and the
fairest of all had been the sight of Mrs. Deane^ her
motherly presence, and her kind words.
He recalled each glance of the loving eyes that had
shed so many tears, but had not forgotten how to
smile upon the young, and his heart beat faster when
he remembered her promise of help.
How Mrs. Deane could befriend him he could not
tell, he did not stop to question, but rejoiced at the
remembrance of her promise.
He took his father's supper to the Works, and on
his way home called to thank Jimmy's mother for the
tea so kindly sent.
It was too dark to attempt to learn his lessons, and
he had only a very small piece of candle (" enough to
last him a week," his father had told him the day
before), so he resolved to rise an hour earlier the next
morning.
He ate his supper standing by the window, and
34 BEN OWEN.
talking to a lark in a tiny cage. His father had
brought the lark home a year ago, and had kept him
a prisoner ever since.
Ben had begged and pleaded for the bird's freedom
far more earnestly than he ever had done for any
favour for himself, but i"ohn Bell' only laughed at him.
So the boy, thwarted and defeated in his kind pur-
poses, did all in his power to make the poor little
songster's captivity less painful.
There were two cupboards in the room, in one some
of the food was kept, in the other John Bell kept his
lantern, and a few books and papers.
The second shelf in the cupboard was given to Ben.
Here he kept a slate, his old copy-books, and some
of the toys his mother gave him when a child.
One of these toys was a small money-box in the
shape of a house, and this Ben kept far back in the
darkest corner of the cupboard.
Any one opening the door, and not stopping to look
carefully, would never have noticed the little box, but
Ben knew exactly where it was, and before he went to
bed he climbed upon a chair and carefully reached it
down. He emptied its contents on the table, and
lighted the candle just for a minute while he counted
the money.
" Only one more," he said, " then I shall ha' enough."
He put the money back again, and replaced the box,
blew out the candle, and went to his lonely littlf bed,
confiding himself first to the all-watchful care of Him
" who neither slumbers nor sleeps."
CHAPTER lY.
H
SAM L HOKNBY S GENERAL SHOP.
[(AY I go as far as Eastfield to-night, father V*
asked Ben the following afternoon.
" Ay, tha' con go," replied John Bell un-
graciously, " it's a good three miles to Eastfield, an'
three back agen makes six, there's nothin' like trampin'
along country roads for wearin' out shoe leather, an'
tha' wilt come whom as hungry as a hunter ! "
" I shall na' want more supper than I have other
nights," said Ben quietly.
"More supper ! No, oi should think not, we should
very soon be in th' Union if tha' started eatin' more
nor tha' dost now."
And John Bell, having found as he thought sufficient
cause for grumbling, grumbled away until it was time
for him to start off to his work.
Eastfield was a queer little place, half village and
half town, three miles away from Ashleigh.
36 BEN OWEN.
There were no large Print Works there, but there
were two cotton factories. Ther^ was not much inter-
course between the two places.
The Eastfield people trooped over once a year to the
annual fair, "th' wakes" at Ashleigh, and the
Ashleigh people returned the compliment by at-
tending "th* wakes " at Eastfield, and that was
about all. Each of the two places had its own shops,
and co-operative stores, therefore each was independent
of the other as regarded business transactions.
Little Ben Owen had at this time a private business
transaction pending at Eastfield.
There was a shop there known to all the boys in
the neighbourhood, the like of which was certainly
not to be found in Ben's native village.
The proprietor of this renowned establishment
designated it modestly as "A General Shop," but, as he
did not deal in soap, candles, treacle, or blacking, and
various other useful articles which are always to be
met with in a genuine bond-fide " General Shop," this
designation might prove rather misleading.
A curious collection of useful and ornamental articles
Samuel Hornby (or " Sam'l " as his neighbours called
him) always kept in stock.
He had ironmongery of every description, from
bedsteads, and bright, shining fenders and fireirons,
to small, clasp-handled knives, and pennyworths of
brass-headed nails and tin-tacks. Crockeryware of
all kinds was also to be met with here ; jugs and
BEN OWEN. 37
inng3 of all sizes hung on nails around the shop and
warehouse adjoining, while dinner and tea services
of various colours, and most remarkable patterns, were
placed safely row above row on high shelves.
Here the hawker could replenish his stock of note
paper and envelopes, thimbles, buttons, hooks and
eyes, paltry jewellery and picture frames ; and here,
too, the thrifty housewife could buy needles by the
hundred, and reels of cotton at so much per dozen, at
a lower price than at the draper's.
No wonder SamTs shop was a popular institution,
and Sam'l himself a successful and prosperous man.
Sharp and shrewd, he made but few mistakes in
buying or selling.
He made a sad mistake once, though !
It was after a trip to Blackpool, where Sami and
some of his friends went one Whit Monday, and
where they enjoyed themselves greatly.
During the few hours they spent there they man-
aged to have a drive, a donkey-ride to South Shore,
a walk through the town, and along the promenade
and pier; and in memory of their visit they were
photographed by a travelling photographer.
Nor was this all.
They dined at an eating-house, and had tea and
shrimps in a damp arbour, they had a bathe in the
sea, and a row in a small boat, in which they struggled
bravely through all the earlier stages of sea-sickness,
and presented themselves afterwai-ds with pale, sickly
faces at a chemist's shop.
38 BEX OWEX.
The chemist was a humane man, and seeing at once
that in their present state of feeling any attempts at
conversation would not be pleasant, he kindly refrained
from asking them many questions, but quickly mixed
some powders in soda water glasses, and handed them
the mixture with an air of quiet sympathy.
" He were precious sharp a mixin' up yon fizzin*
stuff," observed one of the party, as they left the shop.
" It's noan th' first toime as he's seen pasty-faced
looking foaks," replied Sam'l, " he knows by this
toime pretty well what to do ; them little boats ought
to be put down, they didn't ought to be allowed to
upset people's feelin's in this way."
But Sam'l soon forgot his vexation, and sat down
for a little rest. While resting he listened with de-
light to the music played by a German band, and to
the songs sung by some negro minstrels. Sam'l seated
himself about half-way between the two rival repre-
sentatives of the musical world.
One of his friends suggested that they should go
nearer the one or the other, in order that they might
hear more distinctly, and more fully appreciate the
merits of the performance.
" Tha' con go reet in th' front o' th' minsters, or
reet in th' front o' th' Prussians, oi shall bide where oi
am," replied Sam'l, " an' get all oi con for my money,
oi dunno' come to Blackpool every day." So Sam'l
remained where he was. It might have been more
than slightly trying to a musical, or highly sensitive
Sen owEJf. SO
ear, to hear " Die Wacht am Rhein " vainly trying to
assert the supremacy over " Ring, Ring the Banjo ; "
but to Sam'l it was delightful ; and with praiseworthy
impartiality he bestowed the same remuneration on
the grinning black-faced man in the coloured cotton
suit and grey hat, who collected on behalf of the
minstrels, as he did on the solemn-faced German who
asked for a small donation for the band.
" Tha' does na' need to think as oi'm deceived by
thee black face," he said to the minstrel, as he placed
some coppers in his grey hat ; " oi come fro' Eastfield
i' Lancashire, an' we're noan sich foos there as not to
know a nigger when we see one ! '*
" Tha' art th' genuine article," he said to the aston-
ished German, "but oi'm feart tha' wilt do thysen
some harm some day if tha' blows yon trumpet so
hard."
It was soon after this memorable visit that Sam'l
made a rash, and as it proved, an unfortunate specu-
lation.
His quick, observant eyes had seen in the market
at Blackpool, a number of pretty china cups bearing
this inscription, " A present from Blackpool for a good
boy."
The idea suggested itself to SamTs enterprising
spirit why should he not have china mugs for sale
similar to these, only with the name Eastfield substi-
tuted for Blackpool ?
He wrote off at once to the Potteries to order fifty.
40 BEN OWEN.
A reply came by return of post to say that an order
could not be executed for a smaller number than a
hundred and fifty.
"Then send a hundred an* fifty, an* look sharp
about it," wrote back Sam'l.
In a wonderful short space of time the goods
arrived.
Sam*l carefully unpacked the large crate ; not one
of the precious mugs was broken, nor, so far as he
could tell, even cracked.
He rubbed and polished each one separately with a
corner of his large apron (a very useful article was
Sam'l's apron, it answered the purpose of teacloth,
duster, and pocket-handkerchief, and occasionally did
duty as a table-cloth), and then placed them in rows
in his window.
He made room there for as many as he possibly
could, even taking down a timepiece, a set of lustres,
and some figures under glass shades which had been a
source of wonder and admiration to the juveniles of
Eastfield for many months.
" No fear that they'll sell," said Sam'l to himself as
he looked at his window, " oi shall ha' to order more.''
' But he never did order any more, simply because he
found himself unable to dispose of those he had.
Whether it was because the boys at Eastfield (and
there were plenty of them, of all ages and sizes) could
nor truthfully be said to belong to the class for whom
the mugs were intended ; or whether the boys them-
BEN OWEN. 41
selves showed a lamentable want of taste by persuading
their parents to bestow upon them as rewards for good
conduct, other gifts, such as balls, tops, knives, kites,
etc., certain it is that the mugs remained on hand,
greatly to Sam 'Is annoyance.
The village schoolmistress bought nine, and gave
them away to the most docile and diligent of her
pupils.
" Have yo' no cups for good girls as well as good
boys, Sam'l ? " asked a motherly-looking woman one
day when she was making several purchases at the
" Nay, oi never gave th* lassies a thowt," replied
Sam'l.
" Well, oi'm surprised," said the good woman, " tha*
knows oi've three girls, an' oi would ha' bowt them
each a gill-pot lik e yon, for they're real pretty."
" Then why no ha' them ? " exclaimed Sam'l, " what
does it matter if it says boy or girl ? Th' tea ull taste
all the same, an' little uns like youm conna read, yo'
know."
" Martha Ann can read a bit," said the mother, with
a slightly injured air.
" They sell a sight o' cups like these at th* seaside,"
said Sam'l to another customer the same day.
"Oi know they do," replied the party addressed,
" but Eastfield is na' th' seaside, an' children would na'
set as mich store by them there mugs same as they
would if they'd comed fro' Blackpool and Southport."
4-2 BEN OWEN.
In vain Sam'l spoke about the beauty and utility of
the mugs ; he invariably offered them for approval to
any strangers passing through the village, who hap-
pened to find their way to his shop.
Perhaps they did not care to be troubled with such
breakable articles as china cups, or they may not have
admired Eastfield sufficiently to wish to carry away a
memento of it; anyhow they always declined the
purchase.
In his anxiety to dispose of his large order, Sam'l
even offered the unfortunate mugs at a little more
than cost price, at so much per dozen, but all in vain.
He sold about twenty of them, kept a few on a shelf
in the shop, and packed the remainder away in his
warehouse, " a livin' moniment of my folly in imitatin*
waterin' places," Sam'l would sometimes say.
CHAPTER V.
A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.
IT was after seven o'clock when Ben reacked East-
field ; and Sam'l was busy in his shop.
Ben waited until several customers had beeii
attended to, and then stated his business.
" A cage tha' says," said Sam'l, " oi ha' a graidely lot
o' cages, lad, what sort were it ? "
" A wicker cage," replied Ben, " a good sized un, yo'
said it were two an' six but you would let me ha* it
for two shillin' ! "
" Ay so oi did now oi think on't ;* well dost tha*
want to tak it wi' thee now ? "
" Nay, I ha' only getten one an' eleven pence, but I
thowt I'd come an' make sure that as th' cage were
na' gone, I shall soon ha' another penny, an' then I'll
come again, good night, an' thank yo'."
"Here, stop," exclaimed Sam'l, "hast getten th'
money wi' thee ? "
" Ne," replied Ben.
44 BEN OWEN.
"Tha should ha' browt ib, oi would ha* Ictten the©
ha' th* cage, an' ha' trusted to thee bringing mo th*
other penny, tha' looks honest."
*' I am honest," replied the lad, " an' no fear but I'll
come soon an' fetch th' cage away.
" I shall soon ha' it now," said Ben to himself as he
walked homewards, " an' the lark will be a sight better
off in 3^on than in th' little cage. I wish father would
let it go free, it seems to long to fly away, an' beats
itself against th' bars of th' cage till I'm sure it must
be hurt sametimes ; an' when it sings it seems to
be beggin' an' prayin' for its liberty."
A year ago John Bell had greatly astonished Ben by
telling him that he had resolved to give him a penny
every other Saturday for pocket-money. Not a very
large sum' certainly, not half the amount other boys of
Ben's age spent weekly in marbles and sweets, but
small as it was it was a great surprise to Ben, who
knew his father's love of money.
" A penny every other week, Ben, makes two an'
tuppence a year," said his father, " think o' that, Ben ;
think o' all as con be done wi' two an' tuppence ; why
there's mony a mon i' Manchester ridin' i' his carriage
as did na' ha' more .nor two an' tuppence to start wi*
i' life."
Ben spent the first three pennies he saved in pur-
chasing ' some daisy roots, which he planted on his
mother's grave.
He then began to save his money again, intending
BEN OWEN. 45
to buy some more plants for the same purpose early
in the spring.
But when the spring came, Bon had resolved to
spend his mony on something else. " Mother loved th'
birds," he said, " an' she would ha' grieved to see th'
poor lark frettin' itself in its little cage, she'd be far
better pleased if I spent th' money on th* poor bird.''
That very week a boy passed the cottage, carrying
in his hand a good-sized wicker cage.
" What might yo' give for that ? " asked Ben.
" I gave one an' sixpence at Sam'l Hornby's o'er at
Eastfield, but he has some a deal bigger for two
shillin' an' two an' six, but this is big enough for a
throstle."
" It's cruel to keep 'em," said Ben.
" To keep what," asked the lad, " th' cages ? "
"No, th' birds."
"Not it, they're as well off in th' cages as flyin' all
o'er the country."
*•' Happen yo' think as yo' would be as well off in th'
prison as yo' are out," said Ben.
" Nay, oi dunnot."
** Well, th' cage is a prison for th* bird, an* what
stone walls would be for thee th' bars of th* cage are
for th* bird."
" They conna feel th* same as us.**
" Conna they ? I'm noan so sure o* that, there's a
power o' things in th' world we know very little about,
happen we'll be wiser some day, but I'm sure an'
46 BEN OWEN
certain for my own part as everything that 1ms life
can feel."
" Oi dunnot clem my bird," said the lad sullenly.
" They dunnot clem folks in th' prison, they give
'em their vittles reg'lar ; but there's not many as likes
goin' there for all that. It isna' enough for th' bird
to ha' a bit o' seed to eat, an' a drop o' water to drink,
it wants its nest an' th' sunshine, it wants to watch th'
dew fall, an' see th' sunset, it wants to hear what th'
winds are whisperin' about to th' trees, and see th'
flowers grow. Ah ! there's a sight o' things a bird
must miss when he's shut up in a cage."
From that time Ben's decision was made.
The first two shillings he could save should be given
for a better cage for the captive lark. For this pur-
pose he saved his tiny hoard of pocket-money, and
went over to Eastfield, and inspected Sam'l Hornby's
assortment of cages.
Now he had only to wait until Saterday, when he
would receive another penny, then he would have the
sum required.
The time would soon be here now, only another day
before Saturday.
On the Friday evening he took down from its
hiding-place his little box, and opened it.
Alas for poor Ben !
What a bitter disappointment for the boy's tender,
loving heart ! The money was gone, the whole of it !
Poor disappointed Ben I
BEN OWEN. 47
He stood by the table gazing absently at the empty
box ; he climbed upon a chair, and searched among
the books, papers, and toys in the cupboard, all in
vain.
No stray pennies had found their way out of the
box, and hidden themselves elsew^here.
"Father has taken them," said Ben, "he might ha,
told me first."
He closed the cupboard door, and sat down on the
low rocking-chair on which his mother had sat and
nursed him when he was a little child. He thought
of his mother then, and a hard lump rose in his throat.
He laid his head upon the table, and remained per-
fectly still for a few minutes ; then he rose, and with
trembling hands took from the shelf his mother's
Bible.
" She said it were always a comfort to her an' it
has been to me. I'll read some of her favourite
verses."
He turned to the twenty-third Psalm,
" The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want."
" No, I shall not want," he exclaimed, " The Lord
will take care of me."
Then he read many of the precious promises written
in the New Testament. .
" There's one grander an* greater than any other, in
Revelations," he said : then, having found the verse
he sought, he read, " Him that overcometh will I make
a pillar in the temple of my God, and he shall go no
48 BEN OWEN.
more out, and I will write upon him the name of my
God, and the name of the city of my God, which is
New Jerusalem, which cometh down out of heaven
from my God, and I will write upon him my new
name."
Then he read the twenty-first verse of the same
chapter, " To him that overcometh will I grant to sit
with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and
am set down with my Father in His throne."
"To him that overcometh," repeated Ben, as he
closed the Book ; " that means there's a battle to fight,
a victory to win; Lord Jesus, give me grace and
strength to conquer, and oh, bless my father, for
Christ's sake."
John Bell made no remark about the money when
Ben took his supper to the Works that evening, but
the next day he put a penny on the table.
" That's for thee," he said, " an' oi'm real pleased, >
Ben, to see as tha' does na' squander thee money same
as some lads : oi put another penny to them as tha*
had saved, an' oi've put it in th' Savings Bank in thy
name."
" Thank yo'," replied Ben, " but I'd set my heart on
buyin' a bigger cage for th' lark. I can get one for
two shillin'."
" Th' bird's reet enough where it is," said his father
impatiently ; " tha' dost getten sich fancies, Ben, oi
never seed such a queer lad in my life."
No more pennies found their way into the little
money-box in the cupboard.
BEN OWEN. 49
Ben went to Mrs. Deane, and asked her if she could
kindly take care of his pocket-money for him.
" There's plenty in th' village as would do that an'
more for me if I axed 'em, but they might talk about
it," said the boy.
" I understand," said Mrs. Deane, " I will take care
of anything you bring me, Ben, but will not say a
word about it."
Not even to this kind friend did Ben tell the story
of his disappointment, he bore it patiently and uncom-
plainingly.
Only through the bright summer's days, when the
lark seemed to droop and pine in its tiny cage, Ben
would think of his two shillings in the Savings Bank,
and turning to the bird would say, " I ha' na' th*
power to set thee free, but tha' should ha' had a better
home than that, if I could but ha' spent my money as
I wished."
And Sam'l Hornby, in his shop at Eastfield, won-
dered what had become of the boy, who had seemed
so wishful to purchase the wicker cage.
CHAPTER VI.
THE STRANGERS.
THE bright summer days were over, the leaves
had changed their colours, and fallen from the
trees, and were blown hither and thither by
the cold autumnal winds.
The summer had been unusually hot, and it was
foretold that the coming winter would be very severe.
Prudent housewives as they heard this looked over
their stock of blankets, and winter clothing, and
bought as many warm garments as they could affordi
in order to be well prepared to meet the cold weather.
Anxious, careworn women, whose husbands spent
the greater part of their earnings at the public-house,
and who knew by past experience how much easier
it is to meet the home wants in the summer than in
the winter, sighed, as they thought of the cold days
and the long dark nights, towards which they were
hastening.
" Coals will be dear an' food will be dear, it's to be
BEN OWEN. 51
hoped we'll be able to keep out of th* Union," said
John Bell.
Ben had grown accustomed to his father's imaginary-
picture of their residence in "th' Union;" he had
cried " wolf " so often that Ben was not to be easily
frightened now.
He only wished that his father would buy him a
warmer suit, and allow him to have a small fire in the
evenings, for the nights were chilly, aud Ben himself
was far from well.
" If tha' art cold tha' con come to th' Works to me
an' Jess, it's warm enough there," said John Bell, in
answer to the boy's request.
But Ben did not care to be in the Works longer than
he was obliged to be, so he made no further complaint
about the cold.
When once December had fairly set in, his father
would have a fire lighted each morning, and kept in
the whole of the day ; a poor, miserable apology for a
fire certainly, still it would be better than none at all.
" What a bad cough tha' hast got, Ben," said old
Mrs. Wynnatt, as the boy was passing her door one
Saturday afternoon, " come in, lad, come in."
Ben went in, and took a seat near the large, bright
fire.
" It looks comfortable here," he said.
" It is comfortable," said Mrs. Wynnatt, " we ha' a
many mercies to be thankful for, Ben."
" That we ha'," said old James, from his seat in the
62 BEN OWEN.
chimney-corner ; " there's somebody knockin' at th
door," he added, turning to his wife.
" Nay, it were but th' wind," she replied.
" Th' wind dunnot gi' double knocks at doors i' thai
way," said the old man.
" Perhaps it's father looking for me," said Ben, and
he jumped up, and opened the door.
Two men stood outside, strangers to Ben, two mer
in warm overcoats, and round felt hats.
Old James caught sight of them.
" Come in," he said, " come in out of th' rain."
" Thank you," said one of the strangers as they
stepped inside the clean, warm kitchen, and wiped
their feet upon the mat.
" Could you tell me where we could get lodgings ? '
asked the other stranger.
"Lodgings," exclaimed old James, "what, in th
village?"
" Yes," replied the stranger with a smile, " is my
request a remarkable one ? "
" No one takes a house or lodgings in th' village
unles they're boun' to work here."
" We might be here a week or two," said the stranger
carelessly, " we have some business matters to attend
to in Manchester, and some friends we want to look
up, but we do not wish to stay in Manchester, we are
accustomed to the country."
" It's considered healthy here, is it not ? " inquired
the other «^rano:er.
BEN OWEIT. 58
" Healthy ! ay, yes, it's healthy enough," replied old
James.
" There's Mrs. Thorp's," said Mrs. Wynnatt, who was
busy thinking about the lodgings, " she has two rooms
she lets sometimes."
" We could manage with two rooms, though we
should prefer three," said the younger of the two men.
" Would you kindly tell us the way to Mrs. Thorp's,
and we will make inquiries about her rooms ? "
" I will show you th' house," said Ben, putting on
his cap.
" Ay, do, Ben, that's a good lad, an' then come back
an' h' a cup o' tea with us," said Mrs. Wynnatt.
" Thank yo', if father does na' mind, I will."
The strangers followed Ben down the lane, and into
the village street. It was a dull November day, a
damp day of mist and drizzling rain, and the children
seemed one and all to have decided to spend their
weekly holiday indoors.
Some of the fathers of the families had sauntered
into the public-houses, and some were, to use their
own expression, " cleanin' themselves," that is to say,
having a wash, and changing their working clothes for
their second-best suits, in which, after tea was over,
they would go out shopping with their wives, or go
and smoke a pipe and have a chat with a neighbour.
Some were nursing the baby, or giving Tommy or
Bobby " a ride to Banbury Cross," while the mothers
got the four o'clock tea ready, for they kept early
hours on Saturdays at Ashleiffh.
64 BEN OWEN.
So it happened that Ben and his two companions
made their way to Mrs. Thorp's cottage without at-
tracting much attention.
Joe Brown, the dirtiest and most neglected boy in
the village, saw them, and rushed home to tell his
mother that "Ben Owen were walkin' along o' some
stranger chaps."
Martha Brown, who had the most unruly children,
the most miserable home, and certainly the longest
tongue, in the parish, ran out into the middle of the
road, and was just in time to see the strangers' coat-
tails disappear into Mrs. Thorp's house.
" They've gone to Mrs. Thorp's," exclaimed Martha,
"happen they're relations o' hers; what were they
loike, Joe ? "
" Oi dunno'," replied Joe, moodily, " an' oi dunnot
care, nother ! "
Mrs. Thorp's husband was the gardener at "Ash-
leigh House," the residence of Mr. Ashford, the owner
of the Print Works.
Mr. Ashford intended to build a cottage for James
Thorp in a field behind his house, but until this was
done James was to live rent free in one of the houses
in the village street.
James' wife was " noan Lancashire," the Ashleigh
people were wont to say. She came from the south of
England, and was a quiet, retiring woman.
Ben Owen's mother had been her only intimate
friend in the place ; to every one else she was " Mrs.
Thorp," civil and obliging, but nothing more.
BEN OWEN. 65
She haa only two children, Jimmy, Ben's little friend,
and a little girl. Her family being so small, and her
husband away at his work all the day, she liked to let
two of her rooms when she could.
But "apartments" were not greatly in request at
Ashleigh ; sometimes a respectable workman would
occupy Mrs. Thorp's rooms while waiting to obtain a
suitable house, but for the greater part of the year
they were unoccupied.
This was the case now; and after hearing the
reasons the strangers gave for their stay in the village,
she showed them her parlour and spare bed-room,
made all the necessary arrangements about terms, and,
leaving them upstairs unpacking the carpet bags they
had with them, she went down to the kitchen, where
she had left Ben talkipg to Jimmy.
" They are going to stay for a week at least, Ben,"
said Mrs. Thorp ; "don't hurry away, stay and have
tea with us, my husband will be home directly. He
said only yesterday that he never got sight of you now."
Jimmy and his sister Susy added their entreaties to
their mother's invitation, but Ben thanked them, and
told them he had promised to go back to old James
Wynnatt's, if his father would allow him.
John Bell readily gave the desired permission, and
Ben walked quickly back to the old man's cottage.
The tea was ready on a small, round table, drawn close
to the fire. The bread was home-made, and so were
the currant-cakes, and the hot muffins.
Ben thought of tea-time at home, the stale, hard
56 BEX OWEN.
crusts with their thin scraping of butter, and the poor,
weak mixture which was supposed to be tea.
The boy often wondered how his father bore the
many privations of their daily life.
If he gave Ben only the plainest and the poorest
fare, the boy was just enough to acknowledge that he
did not purchase luxuries for himself.
To get and to save was the end and aim of the money-
lover's existence.
"An' so th* strangers have gone to Mrs. Thorp's,"
said old James, as he handed Ben his tea.
" Yes, they've taken th' rooms for a week at least,"
replied Ben; "they axed a sight o' questions as we
went there."
" Did they now ? "
" Yes, they axed if Mr. Ashf ord were at home now,
or away. They said some one had told 'em as th'
Print Works belonged to a Mr. Ashford, who were
away for a month or two at once sometimes, on account
of his health, an' they axed me my name, an' where I
lived, an' where my father worked ? "
"Did'st tha' hear their names ? "
" Grant ; they said they were cousins."
" They're uncommonly loike one another, oi should
ha' took 'em for brothers," said Mrs. Wynnatt.
" I showed 'em th' church," said Ben, " an' told 'em
what time th' services began."
"That were reet, lad," said old James approvingly;
*' if they're God-fearing men they'll find their way to
His house to worship Him.'
CHAPTER VII.
MR. HENRY ASHFORD'S REFUSAL.
k\UNDAY was the happiest day in the week to
Ben: he always went twice to the Sunday-
school, and twice to church, and was one of the
most attentive listeners to Mr. Mervyn's faithful
sermons.
Mrs. Deane would often look across from her seat
by her son*s side, to the corner where the boy sat, and,
as she noticed the eagerness with which he listened to
the truths of the Gospel, she thought of- the hopes and
plans he had confided to her.
Ben had told her that he lonf^ed above evervthinor
else in the world to try to teach others about Jesus.
" If I conna be made learned enough to go abroad
an' teach th' heathen about th' Saviour, still I might
happen get learning enough to work in some o' th'
streets an* lanes o' th' cities. Some left their fisher-
men's nets, an' some th' plough, an' some their business,
to work for th' Great Master. I dunnot think He'd
58 BEN OWEN.
despise me because I'm but a poor lad," Ben had said
to her.
" No, my boy," was Mrs. Deane's reply, " the Saviour
would never despise your willing services ; if it be His
will that you should work for Him, a way will be
opened. Remember always that the Lord knows
best."
The boy's longings and desires for future usefulness,
did not so engross his mind as to cause him to neglect
the opportunities to work for Christ that day by day
presented themselves.
He was ever ready to show kindness to any one
whom he could in any way befriend ; he bore patiently
the taunts and jeers of his schoolfellows and work-
mates; and refrained from murmuring at the many
hardships of his lot in life.
The two strangers who had taken Mrs. Thorp's
apartments did not make their appearance at church
on the Sunday.
Ben saw them walking about the village in the
afternoon, and pointed them out to his father.
" Oi wonder who they con be," said John Bell ; " does
Mester Deane know owt about 'em, Ben ? "
" Mr. Deane ! " exclaimed the boy, " no, how should
he know anything ? "
" Nay, oi conna tell, lad, oi thowt happen he moight,
he's lookin' a deal better is Mester Deane since he
comed here."
" He is better," replied Ben, " he is stronger than he
was."
BEN OWEN. 69
This was really the case; Mr. Deane's health had
certainly improved, he said himself that he felt
stronger than he had done for years.
His work in the school was not so hard a task as it
had been at first, the children were not so rebellious.
Some of them felt perhaps that it was useless fighting
against a master who was quietly resolved to be
obeyed, but the majority of them had learned to love
Mr. Deane, and did not find it diflacult to obey him.
The first week in November passed away, and then
the second, and the two strangers still stayed on at
Mrs. Thorp's.
Sometimes they went away for a day or two, and
then returned.
They stopped Ben one morning on his way home to
breakfast, and asked him if he thought they could
obtain an order to see the Works before they left the
village.
" There's no orders given as I knows on," replied the
boy : " no one is allowed to go through th' Works
unless they're friends o' Mr. Ashford's.'*
" Is Mr, Ashf ord still away ? " asked the younger of
the two men.
"Yes, he's still away. Mr. Henry Ashf ord is at
home, he comes to th' Works every day."
" Mr. Henry Ashford is the son ? "
" Yes, th' eldest son. Mr. Lionel does na' live here,
he's in th' army."
" Then I think we must ask Mr. Henry Ashf ord's
60 BEN OWEN.
permission," and bidding Ben good morning the two
men went on their way.
That same morning a note was brought to Mr.
Henry Ashf ord as he sat at his desk ifi his father's office.
He read it carefully through, and smiled.
" No, no, Mr. Robert Grant," he said, " we cannot
tell what your business may be, and, therefore, certainly
cannot write out an order for you and your cousin to
view the Print Works. My father's word is law here,
and if we broke our rules for one we might break
them for twenty strangers." And, taking a sheet of
note-paper from his desk, Mr. Henry replied briefly,
" The Works are not allowed to be viewed by strangers ;
this is our rule." The answer was given to one of the
clerks, who carried it to the outer office, where the
elder of the two strangers was standing.
" This reply is from Mr. Henry Ashford himself I
presume ? " said Mr. Robert Grant.
" From Mr. Henry himself," replied the clerk.
" Thank you," said Mr. Grant, " my cousin and I
would like to have seen the Works before leaving the
neighbourhood, but it does not signify."
Mr. Robert Grant and his cousin spent the remainder
of the day away from the village, and when they re-
turned in the evening they told Mrs. Thorp they
thought they should remain a week or two longer if
convenient to her.
Mrs. Thorpe raised no objections ; they paid for
their rooms regularly, and did not keep late hours, or
disturb her in any way
BEN OWEN. 61
They were respectably dressed, and appeared to
have plenty of money.
" They don't belong to th' gentry, an' they don't
belong to th' workin' class," said John Bell, " but
they're civil-spoken men for all that ; if they'd axed
me oi could ha' telled them they'd noan get leave to
go o'er th' Works, th' master's more particular now nor
ever he were sin' he's getten th' new machinery in ;
besides, there's things in th' colour shop an dyehouse
it would na' do for every one to see ; there's trade
secrets here same as elsewhere ; there's nobbut one or
two as ha* worked there as knows all th' processes."
"Oi know as mich as onybody," said old James
Wynnatt, who was listening to Bell, " boy an' man,
I've worked there all my life."
" Ay, no doubt tha' knows as mich as onybody," re-
plied John Bell, " take care tha' dost na' tell thee wife ;
there's nowt con be kept quiet when once a woman
knows it."
" Dost think so," said old James ; " th* Good Book
tells me it were nor a woman as betrayed th' Lord an*
th' Saviour into th' hands of the chief priests and
captains for thirty pieces o' silver, an' it were a woman
as browt th' alabaster box o' ointment, an' poured it
on th' Saviour's head ; an' it were th' women as fol-
lowed Him from Galilee ministering unto Him ; an' it
were th' women as were at th' sepulchre early in th*
mornin'. Nay, nay, John Bell, they're noan so bad,
tha' dost na' need to think or speak lightly o' th*
women foaks."
CHAPTER VIIL
A PAINFUL DISCOVERY.
MOVEMBER was drawing to a close, and Ben's
cough grew worse each day.
Mrs. Deane sent him some medicine, and
gave him some flannel vests, and warm stockings.
And John Bell, miser though he was, took pity on
the boy so far as to allow a fire to be lighted and kept
in each evening.
One afternoon Mr. Deane asked Ben to go to his
house for a book he wanted.
The nearest way from the school was across a field
at the end of the playground.
A gate at the other side of the field opened into the
lane where the schoolmaster lived.
It was a quiet spot, only a few houses had been
built there.
There were fine tall trees on either side of the road,
and on summer evenings "Low Lane," as it was called,
was a favourite walk for the children and lovers from
the village.
BEN OWEN. 63
There were no children, and no lovers in the lane on
this November afternoon, but to his surprise, just as
he reached the gate, Ben saw his father, Mr. Robert
Grant, and his cousin, walking slowly along the lane.
The boy did not wish to speak to any of the party
just then, he wanted to hurry on to Mr. Deane's house,
so he drew back from the gate, and stood near the wall
that separated the field from the road.
On came the three men talking eagerly. Ben thought
at first they were quarrelling, and hoped that they
would not decide to return home the very way that he
had come, or look over the stone wall and discover
him standing there.
On they came, nearer and nearer. Now the boy
could tell from the tones of their voices that they were
not quarrelling as he had feared at first, but arguing,
or discussing some question very earnestly.
" Twenty pounds," he heard Mr. Robert Grant say,
" it's really too high a figure, my good man."
" Please yoursen," was John Bell's sullen reply, "it's
not my business."
" Don't speak so loud," isaid the younger of the two
Grants cautiously.
Ben drew a long breath and looked round.
Yes, they had gone now ; he waited a few moments,
then opened the gate and hastened away up the lane.
Mrs. Deane gave him the book he had been sent for.
" Did you come across the field ? " she asked
" Yes, ma'am," replied the bov.
64 BEN OWEN.
"Don'fc go back that way, then," said his kind
friend, " the grass is so wet."
So Ben returned by the lane. He saw nothing,
however, of his father or the two Grants, and John
Bell made no reference at tea-time to his afternoon's
walk, and Ben asked no questions.
Only as he sat alone by the fire, at night, he
wondered what business transactions his father could
possibly have with Mrs. Thorp's lodgers.
What was the money for ?
Had the two strangers got into debt, and borrowed,
or wished to borrow, money from John Bell, who in
return required the sum of twenty pounds as interest ?
No, that was too wild and silly a notion, and Ben
laughed at himself for having entertained it for a
moment.
Besides, how should they know, even supposing
them to be in pecuniary difficulties, that the night-
watchman at the Print Works had saved mone}^ ?
The next afternoon, when school was over, Jimmy
Thorp showed Ben a sixpence.
" It's moine, ' said the little fellow, " th' lodgers
gived it me, they've gone away to-day for good."
" Have they really ? " asked Ben.
" Yes, they shook hands with mother, an' said good-
bye quite perlite," said Jimmy, who was evidently
greatly impressed.
" Mother says she wishes oi'd learn to speak same as
they do," he continued, "she's goin' to give me a shillin*
when I don't say toime an' moine."
B^X OWEN. 65
" But time and mine instead," said Ben, who knew
Mrs. Thorp's dislike to the Lancashire dialect.
" Ben," said his father, as he started off to the Work«
that evening, " oi'll noan tak' th' dog to-neet.**
" Not take Jess ! " exclaimed Ben.
" Not tak' Jess," repeated Bell, " th* dog's moine, oi
con tak* it or leave it if oi choose.'*
" Of course," said Ben, wondering in his own mind
what new whim or caprice this could be.
Even Jess looked puzzled, but was very well pleased
to remain at home with Ben.
" He'd ha' thowt it queer or else oi would ha* told
him not to ha' browt my supper,** said Bell to himself
as he walked along.
The person referred to was Ben, and why on this
occasion his father should trouble about what he
thought, seeing that at other times he cared nothing
for his opinion. Bell only knew.
Ben had finished learning his lessons, and was
reading a book Mrs. Deane had lent him, when he
heard a knock at the door.
" Who's comin' now ? " he said.
He opened the door, and to his surprise saw his
little friend Jimmy, almost breathless from haste and
excitement, and with tears running down his rosy
cheeks.
" What is the matter ? " asked Ben.
" Oh, please, Ben,'* panted the child, " mother says
wilt tha' go to Leyton for th' doctor ? '*
£
66 BEN OWEN.
" The doctor ? Who is ill ?"
" Susy, she's. real bad, an* father's gone off to-day,
he will na' be back before th' momin' ; it could na' ha*
happened worse, mother says, th' lodgers gone an' all,
they'd ha' fetched the doctor."
" I'll fetch him," said Ben, getting ready at once ;
" who said he'd gone to Leyton ? "
" Th* housekeeper/* replied Jimmy, ** oi went to his
house an* she said he'd gone to Leyton Lodge to dine
an* spend th' evenin' ; them were her words ; they
dunnot ha* their dinner afore seven, tha' knows."
" No," said Ben, ** but th' doctor will na' be long
comin' when once I've seed him. Run back, Jimmy,
an' tell mother not to fret, we'll soon ha' Susy well
again, please God."
The nearest way to Leyton was past Mr. Deane's
house.
With Jess by his side Ben hurried on ; his cough
was very troublesome sometimes ; now and then he
was obliged to stop for a few moments, in order to get
his breath.
It was a rough, windy night, and it was bad walking
along the roads after the heavy rains.
" Th' doctor will ha* his trap an' drive me back wi'
him," said Ben ; " two miles will na* seem far when
one's ridin'."
Scarcely had the thought passed through the boy's
mind when he heard the sound of wheels.
" Happen some one else ha' sent for th' doctor," he
said, and stood still to see the conveyance pass.
BEN OWEN. 67
" I'll shout out if it's him, an' tell him about Susy,"
he thought.
But the conveyance did not pass the spot where the
boy stood, holding Jess tightly by the collar, for the
dog was apt to be rather too demonstrative sometimes
to strangers.
Instead of passing, the conveyance drew up at the
side of the road, and two men got down from it.
" I have paid your master for the trap, and here is a
shilling for yourself," said a voice which Ben recog-
nized instantly as Mr. Robert Grant's.
" Thark yo'. Sir," replied the driver, " it's a good
step to the village, oi'll drive yo' on wi' pleasure."
" No, thank you," said Mr. Kobert Grant, " we prefer
to walk after our long drive."
"There," Ben heard him say as the conveyance
drove back towards Leyton again, "I hope you are
satisfied, my dear brother ; our appointment with our
mutual friend is at half-past twelve, and here we are
at nine o'clock in these delightful lanes."
" Better too soon than too late," replied the younger
Grant, " if we were five minutes late. Bell "vvould think
we had turned faint-hearted. Let us walk back a few
yards and then turn into the Eastfield road."
Poor Ben ! There he stood, still holding Jess by
the collar, fearing he knew not what if the two men
should find him there and know that he had overheard
their words,— words spoken so rapidly and quietly Ben
wondered that he had overheard them.
68 BEN OWEN.
But the boy's sense of hearing was wonderfully
quick, and he had recognized Grant's voice at once.
It was too dark to see many yards ahead, so Ben
waited until he thought he had allowed the two men
sufficient time to get into the Eastfield road : then he
hastened on.
He reached Leytan Lodge and asked for Dr. Eliot.
When the doctor heard Ben's errand, he prepared to
return with him immediately.
A kind, good, and clever man was Dr. Eliot, respected
by all who knew him.
Seated by his side in the dog-cart, Ben thought
anxiously about the discovery he had made of the
return of the two Grants.
What was their business with his father ?
What appointment had they made with him or he
with them.
Only one answer to these questions presented itself
to the boy's agitated mind.
His father must have consented to admit them into
the Works on condition that they paid him a sum of
money.
His father must have been tempted, bribed, to com-
mit an act so base, so treacherous, that Ben's pale face
flushed crimson at the mere thought of it.
Should he be in time, could he do anything, to pre-
vent their accomplishing their purpose ?
" What a bad cough you have, Ben," said the doctor,
BEN OWEN. 69
"you ought not to be out these wet, cold nights; I
shall have you laid up next."
" I hope not, Sir," replied Ben, but he shivered as he
spoke, and Dr. Eliot bade him wrap his rug tightly
round him.
It was as much from nervous agitation as from cold
that the boy was trembling, but the doctor did not
know this.
" Get away home and to bed, my lad," he said, as
they stopped at Mrs. Thorp's door, " and keep out of
the night air until your cough is better/
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE WORKS.
WITH trembling hands Ben unlocked tlie
cottage door, and not waiting even to
strike a light, he groped his way to the
cupboard and took out his father's supper.
« Jess stood at the gate, prepared to follow him to the
Works and home again as faithfully as she had fol-
lowed him to and from Leyton.
"Nay, nay, Jess," said the boy, "tha' must bide
here," and he sent the orood doo: back into the cottao^e,
and locked the door.
Jess whined piteously, but Ben went on his way as
though he heard it not.
"I mun stop theie," he said to himself, "I mun stop
there, but how ? "
He rang a bell at a small side gate near the large
ones leading into the yard.
He heard his father open a door, and walk acK)S3
the yard.
BEN OWEN. 71
" Who's there ? " he asked.
" It's Ben, father," said the lad.
Bell unfastened a bolt on the small gate by which
he admitted himself, the large ones were not unlocked
before morning for the workpeople.
The small gate closed itself with a spring, and could
not be opened from the outside without a key.
Ben noticed his father did not stop to fasten the
bolt after admitting him, evidently he expected him
to return home very soon.
Lately Ben had always taken his father's supper to
the Works, and Bell found the boy's short visits a
pleasant relief to the monotony of his duties.
In his own hard, stern way, the watchman cared
more for Ben than he ever had done for any one else.
"Tha art late," he said, as they entered a little
room on the first floor where he sat to eat his supper,
" where hast tha' been ? "
"I'm very late, I know," replied Ben. "Jimmy
Thorp came to ask me to fetch th' doctor fro' Leyton
Lodge, little Susy were very ill an' James Thorp
away ; I went as fast as ever I could, an' th' doctor
drove me back, but I'm very late for all that."
" It's strikin' ten now," said Bell, with his mouth
full of bread and cheese, " tha' mun be off sharp.
How yon door bangs in on© o' th' rooms, oi mun stop
that."
Taking up his lantern the watchman slowlv climbed
the stairs.
72 BEN OWEN.
Ben was too much accustomed to his father's un-
ceremonious conduct to offer any renwnstrance at
being left alone in the dark. Besides, could anything
have served his purpose better ?
He had been wondering how he could contrive to
remain all night in the Works ; now an opportunity
had presented itself.
In a moment he rushed from the room and went as
quickly as he could down a long passage.
He had no difficulty in finding his way about in the
dark, he knew the Works so well.
There was a door at the end of the passage down
which he hastened, which opened in a room where
large baskets, or " skips " as they are called, were kept.
As quick as thought Ben slipped behind a row of the
skips, and crouched down on the floor.
** So Ben's gone," said John Bell, when he returned
to the little room, and his half -finished supper ; " well
it isna th' first toime as he's found his way out in th'
dark, an it were toime he were gone, oi'U fasten th'
bolt now," and taking his lantern in his hand, Bell
crossed the yard, and bolted the gate.
Ben heard his footsteps in the yard, and heard him
return and lock the door.
What should he do now ?
Go back to his father, and beg, implore, and entreat
him to allow no stranger's foot to cross the threshold
of the door ?
And what if his father laughed him to scorn ? Or,
ndiffnant at the accusation, refused to listen to him ?
BEN OWEN. 73
What if, after all, his father were innocent of all
this ; what if it were but some dreadful dream, some
vision of his disordered imagination ? Ben was no
coward, but he shrank from the thought of accusing
his father of acting in so mean and despicable a
manner.
Better that he should stay quietly where he was,
and when daylight drew near he would seek his
father, and tell him why he had remained in the
Works all night, to save him if he could from that
which was sinful.
He would tell him, too, how ill he felt, and ask his
permission to rest for a day or two.
Poor Ben, his whole frame trembled, and his brain
seemed to be in a perfect whirl.
" Lord help me," he said.
He tried to clothe his thoughts and longings in
other words, but words failed him.
" Lord help me," he murmured again.
The large clock struck eleven, and soon afterwards
Ben heard his father coming down the passage that
led to the room where he was.
He crouched down behind the skips, and remained
still and quiet on the tloor. He heard his father's
heavy footstep as he crossed the room, and, fearful
lest his cough should come on, and betray his hiding-
place, he took from his pocket a lozenge he had had
given him, and as quietly as possible put it in his
mouth. In doing this, however, his arm rubbed against
one of the skips, making a slight noise.
74 BEN OWEX.
" Rats," said John Bell, " oi mun ax for some more
poison for *em/'
With his lantern in one hand, and his watchman's
staflf in the other, he walked through the room and
out of the other door.
Then the thought entered Ben's mind, what if his
father should leek the doors at the end of the passages
leading to the long-room where he was hiding !
He groped his way to the nearest door, the one by
which his father had entered, and went cautiously
along the passage.
No, there was no door locked there. Ben could, if
he wished, return to the little room in which Bell took
his supper.
A fit of conghing came on, long and violent, and
Ben crept back to the long-room and skips again.
The watchman away up in the rooms where the
silent machinery stood never heard the sound.
He only heard the splash of the rain against the
windows, and the wind rising and moaning around
the building.
The clock struck twelve, and Ben, who was listening
to every sound, heard his father descend the stairs, and
unlock the door by which he went in and out.
" He's goin* to th* engine-house now," said Ben, for
his father had told him the times at which he went to
attend to the fires.
Then Ben left the long-room, and th© skips, and
went nearer to the door, and listened
BEN OWEN. 7o
The clock struck the quarter, and his father had not
returned.
Then the half -hour, and Ben heard the gate opened
and closed again, and footsteps coming ^quietly and
cautiously towards the doon
Could Ben reach the door first, and bolt and bar
them out ?
The thought came too late, for as the boy rushed
onwards he heard the three men quietly enter, and
the door fastened once more.
But a moment's reflection showed him that had he
carried out his purpose Bell would still have found his
way in ; for he had all the keys with him, and, rather
than have been baffled and thwarted in his purpose at
the very outset, he would have smashed one of the
lower windows, and obtained admittance in that way.
" Has't browt money ? " Ben heard his father ask,
as the three men entered the little room.
" Seeing is believing,*^ said Robert Grant, taking out
his pocket-book.
" Four fivers," said Bell ; " now to work, oi'll see yo'
dunnot leave wi'out settlin' up wi* me."
" We'll do nothing shabby, depend upon it," said the
other Grant (Willj his brother called him); " we might
have to ask a favour again some time."
" Come on, then,'* said Bell, " let's waste no more
toime, yo' mun be clear out o' here in two hours.
What is to be first, th' new machines ? "
" Yes, we may as well have a look at those," said
<
76 BEN OWEN.
Mr. Robert Grant, taking in his hand the lantern Bell
had lighted for him ; my brother will not want one,"
he added, " he has his note-book to attend to."
The three men went up the stairs, the two with the
lanterns walking first, Will Grant with his pencil and
note-book in his hand the last.
Ben's mind was fully made up now.
"Lord help me," he prayed again.
Then, only waiting until he heard his father close
the door of the room he and the two men had entered,
he went quietly up the stairs. He opened the door
and stood face to face with the three men. The two
Grants looked at each other but said not a word ; but
the watchman put down his lantern, and seized the
trembling boy in his strong grasp.
Thd broad-shouldered man, with his heavy brow,
and dark, angry eyes, was not a pleasant sight to look
upon just then.
"Art tha' alone ?" cried Bell.
" Ay, alone," said Ben, faintly.
" Dost tha' know why they're here ? '* asked the
father, pointing towards the two men.
" I know all," said Ben. " Father," he gasped,
*' they have bribed you, tempted you, but it is not too
late, you have not touched their money, only let 'em
go their way. an' I'll not breathe to any one."
" Tha' wilt breathe no word as it is," exclaimed Bell,
almost mad with passion, " swear tha' wilt na' say one
word o' what tha' hast seen an' heard, or oi'll put it
out o' thee power to speak ; th' dead tell no tales."
BEN CWEN. 77
"Nay, nay, gently," interposed Mr. Robert Grant,
" tell the boy he shall have a good prasent out of the
money you receive if he promises to hold his tongue.
We are doing no harm here, my boy," he added.
Ben heard not a word he said, he felt his strength
failing him fast, his face was as white as death, and
his eyes sought his father's face.
His brain was dizzy ; he seemed to hear his father's
threat repeated again and again, and he found himself
wondering how he would kill him ! With one blow 1
Or would he throw him into the deep pond — " the
lodge," as it was called^at the other side of the
• Works?
There would be a hue and cry made for him, and if
his body were found there the people would only con-
clude that he had fallen in by accident ; others had met
with death in the treacherous lodge, and why not Ben ?
" Lord help me," he said again.
John Bell relaxed his hold of the boy, and stood
watching him, no sign of pity or forbearance on his
stern, hard face ; all the man's evil passions were
roused within him.
" Swear 1 " he exclaimed,
Ben bowed his head a moment, and his pale lips
moved as if in prayer.
Then he looked up, and Bell saw the unutterable
horror expressed in the boy's white face, but he saw
no yielding fear.
" Wilt tha' swear ? " he said asrain.
7b BEN OWEN.
** I conna swear,** said Ben ; " it's only reet as th*
master should know as there's traitors here ; if I live
I'll tell him, unless yo' will bid 'em go. "
Not pausing to listen to the remonstrances of the
two Grants, mad with anger, blinded with passion,
John Bell raised his hand and struck at the boy.
Ben saw his hand raised, and moved aside to ward
off the blow if possible, but his strength was almost
gone; he reeled and fell backwards on the floor,
hitting his head as he did so against an iron wheel.
" Come," whispered Will Grant, hoarsely. " Come
E-obert, the lad may be dead."
Self-preservation was a very powerful instinct in
Robert Grant's mind, and without pausing even to
look at Ben, he took up his lantern and walked
towards the door.
John Bell followed the two men down the stairs,
and out into the cold night air ; mechanically he
unlocked the door, and unfastened the gate.
Both the men spoke to him, but he never noticed or
answered their remarks, or raised any objections to
their sudden departure.
He bolted the gate, and locked the door again,
climbed the stairs, and entered the room, where lay
on the floor, white and still, the boy who had chosen
rather to suffer death than to commit sin.
CHAPTER X.
NEW year's eve.
T first John Bell believed that Ben was dead ;
he thought that the shock and fright had
killed him. But as he bent down over the
quiet form, he heard him breathing, very faintly, very
feebly, it is true, but still life had not left him.
Bell took off his coat, and made a pillow of it for
the boy's head.
As he did so, he saw how in falling he had given
his head a severe blow.
There was a deep cut above the left eye, a broad
gash made by a sharp point projecting from the wheel
against which Ben had knocked himself.
Bell shuddered as he tied his handkerchief over the
wound.
Then he got some water, and bathed the boy's face
and hands.
Still there was no sign of any return to conscious-
ness, and all Bell's fears came back again.
80 BEN OWEN.
" Oi mun get him to th' cottage an* to bed," he said
at last.
There was a man who lived near the Works who
could undertake the watchman's duties, if he would.
To his house Bell hastened, and succeeded in arous-
ing him at once.
" Wilt tha' go to th' Works for me/' he said. " Ben
is ill, an' oi mun go whom."
" Ben ill ! Ah, oi'll go," replied the man ; " leave
th' keys here."
Back to the Works Bell went with rapid steps. He
wrapped his coat round the still unconscious boy.
Even then, unnerved and excited as he was, the
man's habitual caution did not forsake him.
He stooped down, and by the light of his lantern
looked carefully on the floor where the boy had fallen.
No, there were no tell-tale marks there, and Bell
breathed more freely again.
He carried the boy in his arms to the cottage where
Martin, who had promised to be his substitute, lived.
He put the keys on the step and knocked at the
door.
"Th' keys are on th' step," he shouted, and was gone
before Martin, who was slow in speech and slow at
work, could reply.
The cottage was soon reached, the key taken from
Ben's pocket, and the door unlocked.
Jess made a piteous moan as Bell placed the boy on
the old-fashioned chintz-covered sofa that stood in the
front room.
BEN OWEN. 81
Then Bell went for the doctor ; he told him Ben
had had a fall and hurt his head.
" Poor lad," said Dr. Eliot, " he is not in a state of
health to stand any severe shock. I'll come at once,
Bell ; I was just going to bed ; I only left Mrs. Thorp's
half-an-hour ago."
Bell watched by the poor lad's side until daybreak
and then went to Mr. Deane.
•' They're two chaps as 'ave come into some property,
an' they've some reason or other fur wantin' to know
all th' ins an' outs o' calico-printin' ; they were nettled
at Mr. Henry's refusin' to let 'em go o'er th' Works,
an' they made a. bet wi' some o' their friends i'
Manchester as they would go i' spite o' him ; oi've
heard Ben read how Judas sold his Master fur thirty
pieces o' silver ; oi sold moine fur four bank-notes !
Yo' con tell on me, Mr. Deane ; but as yo' are a mon
an' a Christian, wait while Ben is better, oi should go
mad if oi were took from him just now."
"I shall not betray your confidence," said Mr.
Deane ; " rest assured you shall remain with Ben."
'* And your mother, w^ill she come an' see him ? He
thinks a sight on her."
"Yes, she will come ; I had better tell her how Ben
got the blow."
" Ay, tell her, tell her, hoo's not one to chatter,'*
replied Bell, forgetting in his anxiety for Ben his
distrust of a woman's power to keep a secret.
It was a nasty blow the doctor said, when he came
F
^2 BEN OWEN.
the second time to see the boy, but there was not much
fear but that he would recover from its ejects ; only,
and the doctor looked very grave now, the boy seemed
to be so very weak, only the night before he had been
pained to hear what a bad cough he had.
" If it's nobbut weakness hinders him getting better,
there's a sight o' things money can buy to mak' foaks
strong," exclaimed Bell ; " see here, doctor, Ben con
ha' onything as ud do him good, oi've money saved an'
oi'll spend it all to get him well."
The first week in December passed, then the second,
and still Ben lay in a state of unconsciousness. Now
and then he seemed to rally, and Bell's hopes rose
high, only to die away again as the boy relapsed into
unconsciousness.
There was no delirium ; he never called for his dead
mother, or imagined she was with him, or spoke of the
past ; he simply lay on his little bed, " slippin' away
fro' life," old Mrs. Wynnatt said.
The third week came, and then Ben slowly returned
to consciousness again. He opened his eyes one
afternoon, and saw his father standing at the foot of
the bed intently watching him.
" Father," he said. " how is Susy T*
"Susy!" repeated Bell; "who is Susy?"
" Mrs. Thorp's little girl, I fetched th' doctor, yo*
know," gasped Ben.
" Oh ! Susy Thorp, she ails nothin', it were a fit, she
were cuttin* a tooth, th' doctor soon had her round
BEN OWEN. 83
again. Ben," continued Bell, going nearer to the boy,
" Ben, dost tha' moind now all as 'appened, them two
scamps as bribed me, an* how tha' earned, an' oi threat-
ened oi'd kill thee an' oi hit out at thee an' tha' fell
an' knocked thysen ?"
" I knocked mysen, did I ?" said the boy, wonder-
ingly. " Ay, I know all th' rest."
" Con yo' ever forgive me, Ben ?"
** Forgive yo'?"
And the boy looked up into the man's worn, haggard
face ; he took his hand and pressed it to his lips. "It s
all reet between thee an' me, father, say no more
about that."
For several days after Ben seemed really better, but
the doctor only shook his head when Bell declared the
lad would soon be well again. The patient himself
appeared to think that he was slowly but surely
recovering.
" When I'm better," he said, on Christmas Day to
Mrs. Deane, who was sitting beside him, "father is
goin' to church with me."
The doctor was in the room, and heard the remark.
As he shook hands with Mrs. Deane, he said, " Try if
you can gently tell the poor boy that there is little or
no hope of his recovery. Should he grow suddenly
worse he may be alarmed.'*
"Ben," said the old lady, quietly, when they were
alone together, " would you grieve very much if you
knew you would never be better here on earth again?"
84 BEN OWEN. •
The boy looked earnestly at her. " There's father,"
he said ; " all I want to do for him, and th' work I
want to do for th' dear Lord ? "
'' The Lord will take care of your father, Ben, and
of the work too, He will send forth other labourers if
it please Him to call you home to Himself."
" I'm young to die," said the boy ; " an' oh ! if I'd
had health an' strength I'd ha' loved to work for
Christ ; but if it's His will for me to go, then I'll noan
murmur."
He seemed better all that week, but the next week
he grew worse again, weaker and weaker day by day.
John Bell told Mr. Ashford of the boy's critical
state, and that the second doctor called in only con-
firmed Dr. Eliot's opinion that the boy might pass
away any moment.
" He has no stamina, no constitution to fall back
upon," said the medical men."
" And you want to be released from your duties in
order to be at home with him," said Mr. Ashford
kindly; "stay with him by all means, I will find a
sabstitute for your work."
All that medical skill could suggest was done for
Ben, but no human means could save the boy's young
life.
The last day of the old year came, and still. Ben
lingered.
" I thought I should see th' old year out, ' he said.
*• Father, I mun be th' first to w4sh yo' a happy New
BEN OWEN. S5
Year; I'll wish it yo' now, lest I should be asleep
when it comes."
■ "There'll be no happy years for me, Ben, if tha
goes," sobbed Bell.
" There'll be 'peace;' said the boy. " Th' peace th'
world conna give nor take away. Father, mind, yo'
prorilised me yo' would seek it."
" Oi will, lad, oi will," replied Bell.
" What shall I read to you, Ben ? " asked Mrs. Deane
that evening.
"Read in the Revelation," said Ben, "about him
that overcometh."
" Th' reward's too great for me, Lord," they heard
him whisper as his friend closed the book ; a crown,
an' a seat on th' throne, an' a new name ! I've done
nothin' for Thee, Lord!"
Then he opened his eyes, and looked round the
room.
Mr. Deane and his mother, John Bell, and old Mrs.
Wyuatt, were all there. " How good you've all been,"
said Ben ; " do I hear th' bells ringin' ? "
No, the bells were not ringing, they told him.
" Is this dyin' ? " he asked. " Fm noan feart"
There was another pause; then he said, "Mother,
are yo' callin' me ? I'm comin' now, mother 1 "
Then all was still and silent for a time.
Then the church bells rang out, welcoming the new
year.
But the boy in the little cottage heard them not.
86
BEN OWEN.
He had gone to the city where time is not counted
by weeks and months and years.
"For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as
yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in tha
night."
CHAPTER XL
AT LIBERTY.
JOHN BELL kept faithfully the promises he had
made to Ben. He attended the services of the
church, and read the Bible daily; he prayed
earnestly, and yet failed for a time to find the peace
of which Ben had spoken.
He was sitting alone in the cottage one afternoon,
thinking of the boy who had found this peace, and
who had been " faithful even unto death."
He thought of the lad's patience, his gentleness and
forbearance, and he thought of his own coldness and
harshness.
The man's wrong-doing had been great, but his
repentance was true and sincere. "Oi'd gi' all th*
money oi ha* in th* bank, an' all oi ha* invested, oi'd
gi' it gladly, freely, only to ha' Ben here again," he
exclaimed.
Then he thought of the home the boy had Qone to.
88 L BEN OWEN.
the bright and happy home the Saviour had prepared
for him.
" He said he were ' noan feart ' to go, that were
because he loved th' Saviour," said Bell. " Why did
he love Him so ? "
He took up Ben's little Bible, and turned to the
story of the Cross. He read it over and over again.
" Oi see it now," he said at last. " Christ died for
us because He loved us, an' all he axes us to do is to
love Him an' try to do His will."
The next day he found his way to Mr. Deane.
" Oi comed to tell yo' oi believe in Him," he said.
" Believe in whom ? " asked Mr. Deane.
'* Him as died on th' cross for th' sins of th' whole
world, for my sins ; oi believe He's forgiven me, though
oi can never forgive 'laysen"
The next day he went to the parsonage and asked
for "th' parson."
" What can I do for you, my friend ? " asked Mr.
Mervyn, kindly.
" Thank yo', Sir," replied Bell, " yo' 'ave done what
yo' could for me. There's a bit o' money here," he
added, placing a small canvas bag on the table, " an'
yo' can gi' it to th' poor, or to th' missioners, or what
yo' think best. Him as is gone would ha' been a
missioner if he'd lived ; he wor one while he did live ;
he missioned to me same as no one else in th' world
ever did. Oi could ha' made his life a deal brighter,
Sir, if oi had na' loved my money so; but I conna
BEN OWEN. 89
undo th* past. Yo' shall ha' some more money fro me
another day, Sir;" and before Mr. Mervyn could
express his happiness at the change in the man's
feelings, or his thanks for the unexpected gift of ten
pounds, he had gone.
The spring came with all its promises of new life
and beauty. ,
One bright, warm afternoon, John Bell closed his
cottage door, and went, as he often did, into the quiet
churchyard.
In his hand he held a wicker cage containing the
lark.
He had remembered Ben's wish, and had bought a
larger cage for the bird.
He walked slowly through the churchyard until he
came to the boy's grave.
What a quiet, peaceful spot it was !
The bright sunlight passed in and out through the
boughs of the trees, and a bird on a hawthorn tree
sang clearly and sweetly, but yet softly, as though it
feared to disturb the sleeper's rest.
" Ben, little Ben," said the tall, strong man, as he
knelt beside the grave where pink and white daisies
and sweet-scented violets grew, " Ben, oi've found th*
peace th' telled me on, an it were all thy doing, Ben."
And the strong man's tears fell fast.
Then, rising, he opened the door of the wicker cage.
" Him as is gone," he said to the lark, " loved for all
things livia' to be free an' happy, he could na' abide to
90 BEN OWEN.
keep birds and sich loike caged up, he grieved to see
thee f rettin' in thy cage, but oi could na' turn thee out
in th' cold winter. But it's spring toime now, an' tha*
con build thysen a nest," he added, as he took the lark
tenderly out of the cage.
The bird fluttered gently over the surface of the
ground, then paused as if to rest.
" It's lame or hurt it's wing," exclaimed Bell.
But it was not lamed or hurt, it was only overjoyed
to find itself free once more.
It rose again, higher, higher it soared this time.
Then it came back again, but only for a moment.
It flew suddenly from the ground ; higher, higher it
rose, and soared up to, and beyond, the trees, to where
the white clouds drifted over the sunny sky ; and, as
it rose higher, and yet higher, it filled the air with
sons:.
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