Skip to main content

Full text of "Pearls and pebbles, or, Notes of an old naturalist"

See other formats 


Nunc  Cognosco  Ex  Parte 


TRENT® 

UNIVERSITY 


Thomas  J.  Bata  Library 


DONATED  BY 


THE  PETERBOROUGH 
PUBLIC  LIBRARY 


10M-P.P.I,td.. 5 1-1943 

PETERBOROUGH  PUBLIC  LIBRARY 
Due  on  Last  Dote  Stamped  Below 


JUL  -  -  1965 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Kahle/Austin  Foundation 


https://archive.0rg/details/pearlspebblesornOOOOtrai 


N 


‘  ♦ 


tl 


K 


Vi,.:*! 


,t 

n 


•  •  I 


1 


1 


'^sl 


{ 


9 


•t; 


> 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES; 

OR, 

NOTES  OF  AN  OLD  NATURALIST. 


BY 

CATHARINE  PARR  TRAILL, 


AUTHOR  OF  “Studies  of  Plant  Life,”  “Lost  in  the  Backwoods,”  “Afar 
IN  THE  Forest,”  Etc.,  Etc. 


WITH 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH, 


By  MARY  AGNES  FITZ 

Author  of  “A  Veteran 


BUILDINGS. 


TO 

WILLIAM  BRIGGS, 


C.  W.  COATES,  Montreal,  Que. 

1895 


S.  F.  HUESTIS,  Halifax,  N.S. 


Entered,  according-  to  the  Act  of  the  Parliament  of  Cacada,  in  the  year  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  ninety-four,  by  William  Brkws,  Toronto,  at  the 
Department  of  Agriculture,  at  Ottawa. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introductor5'  Note . i 

Biographical  Sketch . iii 

Preface . xxxv 

Pleasant  Days  of  My  Childhood  ........  37 

Sunset  and  Sunrise  on  Lake  Ontario ;  a  Reminiscence  .  .  .  .43 

Memories  of  a  May  Morning  .....  .  .  4!) 

Another  May  Morning . (JO 

More  About  My  Feathered  Friends  .......  76 

The  English  Sparrow :  a  Defence . 95 

Notes  from  My  Old  Diary . 101 

The  Spider . 114 

Prospecting,  and  What  I  Found  in  My  Digging  ....  121 

The  Robin  and  the  Mirror . 125 

In  the  Canadian  Woods . 128 

The  First  Death  in  the  Clearing . 150 

Alone  in  the  Forest . 160 

On  the  Island  of  Minnewawa . 17S 

The  Children  of  the  Forest . 170 

Thoughts  on  Vegetable  Instinct . 187 

Some  Curious  Plants  . . 195 

.Some  Varieties  of  Pollen  . . 202 

The  Cranberry  Marsh  ..........  207 

Our  Native  Grasses  .  .  .  . . 212 

Indian  Grass . 219 

Mosses  and  Lichens  . . 224 

The  Indian  Moss-bag . 232 

Something  Gathers  Up  the  Fragments . 235 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Portrait  of  Mrs.  Traill  ........  Frontispiece 

Gun  Hill,  Southwold  Beach . vii 

“  Reydon  Hall  ” . xvi 

“Westove,”  Residence  of  Mrs.  Traill .  56 

“ Polly  Cow’s  Island” . 182 


I 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


Mrs.  Traill’s  book  was  already  in  the  press  when 
I  was  requested  by  the  publisher  to  write  a  short 
biographical  sketch  of  the  author’s  life  as  an  intro¬ 
duction. 

Both  time  and  space  were  limited,  and  I  undertook 
the  task  with  much  anxiety,  knowing  that  with  such 
and  other  limitations  I  could  scarcely  expect  to  do  the 
subject  justice. 

I  have  endeavored  to  use  Mrs.  Traill’s  own  notes  and 
extracts  from  her  letters,  wherever  available,  hoping 
thus  to  draw  a  life-like  picture  rather  than  enumerate 
the  incidents  of  her  life  or  put  the  records  of  the  past 
into  “  cold  type.” 

I  have  dwelt  particularly  on  the  circumstances  of  Mrs. 
Traill’s  childhood  and  youth,  which  I  believe  went  far 
to  influence  her  later  life  and  direct  her  literary  labors, 
and  because  they  are  also  likely  to  be  of  greater  interest 
to  the  public  and  the  readers  of  her  books  than  a  mere 
detailed  record  of  her  life. 


11 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


When  asked  some  years  ago  by  the  editor  of  the 
Young  Canadian  to  write  a  sketch  of  Mrs.  Traill’s  life 
for  its  columns,  the  rider  to  the  request  was  added  that 
she  “wished  the  sketch  to  be  written  with  a  loving 
pen — one  that  would  depict  the  flowers  rather  than  the 
thorns  that  had  strewn  her  path,”  and  I  have  in  these 
few  lines  kept  that  kindly  wish  in  view. 

If  I  have  failed  to  satisfy  myself  or  others  with  my 
work,  it  has  not  been  from  lack  of  love  for  the  honored 
and  valued  authoress  of  “  Pearls  and  Pebbles.” 

May  we  keep  her  long  to  bless  us  with  her  loving 
smile  and  happy,  trustful  spirit,  and  enrich  our  literature 
still  further  with  the  products  of  her  graceful  pen. 

Mary  Agnes  FitzGibbon. 


Toronto,  December  4th,  1894. 


BIOCxRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


Although  the  family  from  which  Catharine  Parr  Strickland 
(Mrs.  Traill)  is  descended  was  one  of  considerable  note  and 
standing  in  the  northern  counties  of  England,  her  immediate 
ancestor  was  born  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in 
London. 

The  cause  of  the  migration  of  this  branch  of  the  Strickland 
house  was  the  unexpected  return  of  Catharine’s  great-grand¬ 
father’s  elder  and  long-lost  brother.  He  had  been  hidden  at 
the  Court  of  the  exiled  Stuarts,  at  St.  Germains,  and  returned, 
after  an  absence  of  upwards  of  twenty  years,  to  claim  the 
paternal  estate  of  Finsthwaite  Hall  and  its  dependencies.  He 
not  only  established  his  claim,  but,  with  an  ungenerous  hand, 
grasped  all  the  rents  and  revenues  accruing  to  the  property, 
and  his  nephew,  then  a  student  at  Winchester  College,  dis¬ 
daining  to  ask  any  favors  of  his  uncle,  left  the  now  reduced 
comforts  of  Light  Hall,  his  mother’s  jointure  house,  and  went 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  metropolis.  Being  successful  in 
the  quest,  he,  after  a  time,  married  Elizabeth  Cotterell,  of 
the  loyal  Staffordshire  family  of  that  name,  and  maternally 
descended  from  one  of  the  honest  Penderel  brothers,  who 
protected  Charles  II.  in  the  oak  at  Boscobel,  and  succeeded, 
through  their  intrepid  loyalty  to  the  house  of  Stuart,  in 
effecting  his  escape. 


IV 


BIOGRArHICAL  SKETCH. 


Of  this  marriage  there  were  eiglit  children  :  Thomas,  born 
in  1758;  Samuel,  in  1760,  and  two  sisters.  The  remaining 
four  fell  victims  to  the  small-pox,  at  that  date  an  almost 
inevitably  fatal  disease. 

Thomas,  who  was  Catharine’s  father,  early  obtained  einpioy- 
ment  with  the  ship-owners,  Messrs.  Hallet  &  Wells,  and 
through  them  became  master  and  sole  manager  of  the  Green¬ 
land  docks,  a  position  which  threw  him  in  the  way  of  meeting 
many  of  the  great  men  and  explorers  of  the  last  century.  He 
was  twice  married,  first  to  a  grand-niece  of  Sir  Isaac  Newtoii, 
and  through  her  he  came  into  possession  of  a  number  of  books 
and  other  treasures  formerly  belonging  to  that  celebrated 
scientist.  Mrs.  Strickland  died  wdthin  a  few  years  of  her 
marriage,  having  had  only  one  child,  a  daughter,  who  died  in 
infancy;  and  in  1793  Mr.  Strickland  married,  as  his  second 
wife,  Elizabeth  Homer,  who  was  destined  to  be  the  mother 
of  a  family  of  nine,  five  of  whom  have  made  a  name  in  the 
literary  annals  of  the  century.  Elizabeth  and  Agnes,  after¬ 
ward  joint  authoresses  of  “The  Lives  of  the  Queens  of  Eng¬ 
land,”  and  each  the  writer  of  other  historical  biographies, 
poetry  and  other  works ;  Sara  and  Jane,  the  latter  author  of 
“  Rome,  Regal  and  Republican,”  and  other  historical  works, 
were  born  in  London,  Kent.  There,  also,  on  January  9th, 
1802,  Catharine  Parr  was  born,  and  though  named  after  the 
last  queen  of  Henry  VIII.,  who  was  a  Strickland,  she  has 
always  spelt  her  first  name  with  a  “  C,”  and  was  eA^er  known 
in  the  home  circle  by  the  more  endearing  Avords  “  the  Katie. 

Mr.  Strickland’s  health  being  affected  by  too  close  applica¬ 
tion  to  business,  he  was  advised  to  retire  and  take  up  his 
residence  in  the  more  bracing  climate  of  the  eastern  counties. 

After  living  a  few  months  at  “  The  Laurels,”  in  Thorpe, 
near  Norwich,  he  rented  “StoAve  House,”  an  old  place  in  the 
valley  of  the  Waveney,  not  far  from  the  toAvn  of  Bungay. 

“The  first  and  happiest  days  of  my  life  Avere  spent  at  ‘Stowe 
House,’  in  that  loveliest  of  lovely  A^alleys  the  WaA’eney,”  she- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


V 


writes ;  and  truly  there  is  no  spot  in  all  England  that  can 
vie  with  it  in  pastoral  beauty. 

The  highroad  between  Norwich  and  London  passes  behind 
the  site  of  the  old  house,  separated  and  hidden  from  it  by  the 
high,  close-cropped  hedge  and  noble,  wide-spreading  oaks. 
The  house  (pulled  down  only  within  the  last  few  years)  stood 
on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and  below,  at  the  foot  of  the  old 
world  gardens  and  meadows,  the  lovely  river  winds  its  silvery 
way  to  the  sea.  The  green  hills,  the  projecting  headlands, 
the  tiny  hamlets  clustered  about  the  ivy-covered  church 
towers  of  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  century  architecture ;  the 
beauty  of  the  velvety  meadows  and  the  hawthorn  hedges; 
the  red-tiled  cottages  with  their  rose-clad  porches,  and  beyond, 
against  the  sky,  the  old  grey  towers  and  massive  walls  of  that 
grand  old  stronghold,  the  Castle  of  Bungay,  where  the  fierce 
Earl  Marshal  of  England  had  defied  the  might  and  menace 
of  the  “King  of  all  Cockaynie  and  all  his  braverie,”  altogether 
form  a  scene  it  would  be  difficult  to  equal  in  any  quarter  of 
the  globe. 

Among  other  rooms  in  “  Stowe  House,”  there  was  a  small 
brick-paved  parlor,  which  was  given  up  entirely  to  the  chil¬ 
dren.  Here  they  learned  their  lessons,  waited  in  their  Avhite 
dresses  for  the  footman  to  summon  them  to  the  dining-room 
for  dessert,  or  played  when  debarred  by  unpropitious  weather 
from  the  “little  lane,”  so  prettily  described  by  Mrs.  Traill  in 
“  Pleasant  Hays  of  my  Childhood.” 

Many  anecdotes  and  stories  have  been  told  me  by  the  elder 
sisters  of  the  hours  spent  within  the  oak-panelled  walls  and 
by  the  great  fire-place  of  the  brick  parlor,  of  the  pranks  and 
mischief  hatched  there  against  the  arbitrary  rule  of  a  trusted 
servant  who  hated  the  “  Lunnon  children”  in  proportion  as 
she  loved  the  Suffolk-born  daughters  of  the  house.  Here 
they  learned  and  acted  scenes  from  Shakespeare,  pored  over 
great  leather-bound  tomes  of  history,  such  as  a  folio  edition  of 
Rapin’s  “  History  of  England,”  with  Tyndall’s  notes,  and 
2 


VI 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


printed  in  last  century  type.  Here  Agnes  and  Elizabeth 
repeated  to  the  younger  children  Pope’s  “  Homer’.s  Iliad,” 
learned  out  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton’s  own  copy,  or  told  them 
stories  from  the  old  chronicles. 

Mr.  Strickland  was  a  disciple  of  Isaak  Walton  and  a  devoted 
follower  of  the  “gentle  craft,”  but  being  a  great  sufferer  from 
the  gout,  required  close  attendance.  Katie  generally  accom¬ 
panied  him  to  the  river,  and  though  Lockwood,  a  man-servant 
who  had  been  with  him  many  years,  was  always  at  hand, 
Katie  could  do  much  to  help  her  father,  and  became  very 
■expert  in  handling  his  fishing-tackle,  while  still  a  very  small 
child.  One  of  Mrs.  Traill’s  most  treaisured  possessions  now  is 
a  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  “  The  Compleat  Angler,”  which 
formerly  belonged  to  her  father. 

When  talking  of  her  childhood,  Sara  (Mrs.  Gwillym)  always 
spoke  of  “  the  Katie  ”  as  the  idolized  pet  of  the  household. 
■“  She  was  such  a  fair,  soft  blue-eyed  little  darling,  always  so 
smiling  and  hapjay,  that  we  all  adored  her.  She  never  cried 
like  other  children — indeed  we  used  to  say  that  Katie  never 
saw  a  sorrowful  day — for  if  anything  went  wrong  she  just 
shut  her  eyes  and  the  tears  fell  from  under  the  long  lashes 
nnd  rolled  down  her  cheeks  like  pearls  into  her  lap.  My 
father  idolized  her.  From  her  earliest  childhood  she  always 
sat  at  his  right  hand,  and  no  matter  how  irritable  or  cross  he 
might  be  with  the  others,  or  from  the  gout,  to  which  he  was 
a  martyr,  he  never  said  a  cross  word  to  ‘the  Katie.’” 

“Stowe  House”  was  only  a  rented  property,  and  when,  in 
1808,  “Reydon  Hall,”  near  Wangford,  fell  into  the  market,  Mr. 
Strickland  bought  it  and  I’emoved  his  family  to  the  new  home 
at  the  end  of  the  year. 

“Well  do  I  remember  the  move  to  Reydon  that  bitter 
Christmas  Eve,”  said  Mrs.  Traill,  when  speaking  of  it  on  last 
Thanksgiving  Day,  her  eyes  shining  as  bright  as  a  child’s  with 
the  recollection.  “  The  roads  were  deep  in  snow,  and  we  chil¬ 
dren  were  sent  over  in  an  open  tax-cart  with  the  servants  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


VU 


carpenters  It  was  so  cold  they  rolled  me  up  in  a  velvet 
pelisse  belonging  to  Eliza  to  keep  me  from  freezing,  but  I  was 
as  merry  as  a  cricket  all  the  way,  and  kept  them  laughing  over 
my  childish  sallies.  We  stopped  at  a  place  called  ‘  Deadmaii’s 
Orave’  to  have  some  straw  put  into  the  bottom  of  the  cart  to 
keep  us  warm.  No,  I  shall  never  forget  that  journey  to 
Reydon  through  the  snow.” 

A  tine  old  Elizabethan  majision,  of  which  the  title-deed 


GUN  HILL,  .SOUTHWOLD  BEACH. 

dates  back  to  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.,  “Reydon  Hall”  was  a 
hemi  ideal  re.sidence  for  the  bringing  up  of  a  family  of  such 
precious  gifts  as  the  Strickland  sisters.  It  stands  back  from 
the  road  behind  some  of  the  finest  oaks,  chestnuts  and  ashes 
in  the  county.  Built  of  dark  brick,  its  ivy-covered  wall,  its 
gabled  roof,  tall  chimneys,  stone-paved  kitchen,  secret  cham¬ 
bers  and  haunted  garrets  suited  both  their  imaginative  and 
fearless  natures.  A  magnificent  sycamore  in  the  centre  of 
the  lawn,  a  dell  at  the  end  of  “  the  j)lantation  (as  a  wide 


Vlll 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


open  semi-circular  belt  of  oaks  was  called),  and  the  beautiful 
Reydon  Wood  to  the  north,  on  the  Earl  of  Stradbroke’s 
property,  formed  a  grand  environment  for  the  development  of 
their  several  characteristics. 

Mr.  Strickland  educated  his  elder  daughters  himself,  and 
having  a  fine  library,  they  were  given  an  education  far  superior 
to  that  which  generally  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  daughters  of  that 
date.  He  had  purchased  a  house  in  Norwich,  and  always 
spent  some  months  of  the  year  in  that  beautiful  old  cathedral 
city,  and  as  the  attacks  of  gout  increased  in  frequency,  was 
obliged  to  reside  there  during  the  winter.  He  was  generally 
accompanied  by  one  or  two  of  his  daughters,  his  wife  dividing 
her  time  as  much  as  possible  between  the  two  houses.  During 
her  absence  from  Reydon,  the  care  and  education  of  the  youngen 
children  devolved  upon  their  eldest  sister  Elizabeth. 

That  the  literary  bent  showed  itself  early  will  be  seen  by 
the  following  account,  which  I  cannot  refrain  from  giving  as 
much  in  Mrs.  Traill’s  own  words  as  possible  : 

“  We  passed  our  days  in  the  lonely  old  house  in  sewing, 
walking  in  the  lanes,  sometimes  going  to  see  the  sick  and 
carr}^  food  or  little  comforts  to  the  cottagers ;  but  reading  was 
our  chief  resource.  We  ransacked  the  library  for  books,  we 
dipped  into  old  magazines  of  the  last  century,  such  as  Chris¬ 
topher  North  styles  ‘bottled  dulness  in  an  ancient  bin,’  and 
dull  enough  much  of  their  contents  proved.  We  tried  history, 
the  drama,  voyages  and  travels,  of  which  latter  there  was  a 
huge  folio.  We  even  tried  ‘  Locke  on  the  Human  Under¬ 
standing.’  We  wanted  to  be  very  learned  just  then,  but  as 
you  may  imagine,  we  made  small  progress  in  that  direction, 
and  less  in  the  wonderfully  embellished  old  tome,  ‘  Descartes’^ 
Philosophy.’  AVe  read  Sir  Francis  Knolles’  ‘History  of  the 
Turks,’  with  its  curious  wood-cuts  and  quaint  old-style  English. 
We  dipped  into  old  Anthony  Horneck’s  book  of  ‘Divine 
Morality,’  but  it  was  really  too  diy.  We  read  Ward’s  ‘His¬ 
tory  of  the  Reformation  in  Rhyme,’  a  book  that  had  beem 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


IX 


•condemned  to  be  burnt  by  the  common  hangman.  How  this 
copy  had  escaped  I  never  learned.  I  remember  how  it  began  : 

“  ‘  I  sing  the  deeds  of  good  King  Harry, 

And  Ned  his  son  and  daughter  Mary, 

And  of  a  short-lived  inter-reign 
Of  one  fair  queen  hight  Lady  Jane.’ 

“We  turned  to  the  Astroloyer’s  Magazine  and  so  frightened 
the  cook  and  housemaid  by  reading  aloud  its  horrible  tales  of 
witchcraft  and  apparitions  that  they  were  afraid  to  go  about 
after  dark  lest  they  should  meet  the  ghost  of  old  Martin,  an 
ec.-entric  old  bachelor  brother  of  a  late  proprietor  of  the  Hall, 
who  had  lived  the  last  twenty  year.s  of  his  life  secluded  in 
the  old  girret  which  still  bore  his  name  and  was  said  to  be 
haunted  by  his  unlaid  spirit.  This  garret  was  a  quaint  old 
place,  closeted  round  and  papered  with  almanacs  bearing 
flates  in  the  middle  of  the  past  century.  We  children  used 
to  puzzle  over  the  mystical  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  and  try  to 
comprehend  the  wonderful  and  mysterious  predictions  printed 
on  the  old  yellow  paper.  There  was,  too,  a  tiny  iron  grate 
with  thin  rusted  bars,  and  the  hooks  that  had  held  up  the 
hangings  of  the  forlorn  recluse’s  bed.  On  one  of  the  panes 
in  the  dormer  windows  there  was  a  rhjune  written  with  a 
diamoiifl  I’ing,  and  possibly  of  his  own  composition : 

“  ‘  In  a  cottage  we  will  liv^e. 

Happy,  though  of  low  estate. 

Every  liour  more  bliss  will  bring. 

We  in  goodness  shall  he  great. — M.  E.’ 

“We  knew  little  of  his  history  but  what  the  old  servants  told 
ns.  He  had  never  associated  with  the  family  when  alive.  His 
brother’s  wife  made  him  live  in  the  garret  because  she  disliked 
him,  and  he  seldom  went  abroad.  All  the  noises  made  by  rats 
or  the  wind  in  that  part  of  the  house  were  attributed  to 
the  wanderings  of  poor  Martin.  There  was  also  a  little  old 
woman  in  grey,  who  was  said  to  ‘walk’  and  to  play  such 


X 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


fantastic  tricks  as  were  sufficient  to  turn  white  the  hair  of 
those  she  visited  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night. 

“  Had  we  lived  in  the  days  of  ‘  spiritualism’  we  should  have 
been  firm  believers  in  its  mysteries.  The  old  Hall  with  its 
desolate  garrets,  darkened  windows,  worm-eaten  floors,  closed- 
up  staircase  and  secret  recesses  might  have  harbored  a  legion 
of  ghosts — and  as  for  rappings,  we  heard  plenty  of  them.  The 
maid-servants,  who  slept  on  the  upjier  floor,  where  stood  the 
huge  mangle  in  its  oaken  frame  (it  took  the  strong  arm  of  the 
gardener  to  turn  the  crank),  declared  that  it  worked  by  itself, 
the  great  linen  rollers  being  turned  without  hands  unless  it 
were  by  those  of  ghosts.  o  doubt  the  restless  little  woman  in 
grey  had  been  a  notable  housewife  in  her  time,  and  could  not 
remain  idle  even  after  being  in  her  grave  for  a  century  or  more. 

“To  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  dull  winter  daj's,  Susan  and 
I  formed  the  brilliant  notion  of  writing  a  novel  and  amusing 
ourselves  by  reading  aloud  at  night  what  had  been  written 
during  the  day.  But  where  should  we  find  paper  1  We  had 
no  pocket-money,  and  even  if  we  had  been  amply  supplied 
there  was  no  place  within  our  reach  where  we  could  pui’chase 
the  means  of  carrying  out  our  literary  ambitions.  Enthusiastic 
genius  is  not  easily  daunted,  and  fortune  favored  us.  In  the 
best  room  there  was  a  great  Indian  pajner-mache  chest  with 
massive  brass  hinges  and  locks.  It  had  contained  the  ward¬ 
robe  of  a  young  Indian  prince  who  had  been  sent  to  England 
with  an  embassy  to  the  Court  of  one  of  the  Georges.  This 
chest  was  large  enough  to  fill  the  space  between  the  two 
windows,  and  hold  the  large  rosewood  and  bamboo  cot  with 
its  hangings  of  stiff  cream-white  brocaded  silk  embroidered 
with  bunches  of  roses,  the  colors  still  brilliant  and  unfaded, 
alternating  with  strips  worked  in  gold  and  silver  thread.  The 
four  curtains  of  this  luxuriant  tented  cot  were  looped  with 
thick  green  ribbons.  There  were  ancient  damasks,  silks,  old 
court  dresses  that  had  belonged  to  some  grande  dame  of 
Queen  Anne’s  reign,  and  turbans  of  the  finest  India  muslin 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XI 


of  great  length  and  breadth,  yet  of  so  fine  a  texture  that  the 
■w  hole  'wddth  of  one  could  be  drawn  through  a  lady’s  finger¬ 
ring.  mother  had  also  made  the  old  chest  a  receptacle 

for  extra  stores  of  house-linen,  and  underneath  all  she  had 
deposited  man}'  reams  of  paper,  blotting-paper,  and  dozens  of 
ready-cut  quill  pens  which  had  been  sent  to  our  father  on  the 
death  of  his  brother,  who  had  been  a  clerk  in  the  Bank  of 
England.  Here  Avas  treasure  trove.  We  pounced  on  the 
paper  and  pens — their  being  cut  adding  much  to  their  value — 
and  from  some  cakes  of  Indian  ink  we  contriA'ed  to  manu¬ 
facture  respectable  writing  fluid.  Among  the  old  books  in 
the  library  there  was  a  fine  atlas  in  two  quarto  volumes,  full 
of  maps  and  abounding  in  the  most  interesting  geographical 
histories  of  the  European  countries,  legends,  the  truth  of 
Avhich  Ave  never  questioned,  and  flourishing  descriptions  that 
just  suited  our  romantic  ideas  of  places  we  had  never  seen  but 
had  no  difficulty  in  picturing  to  ourselves.  I  chose  the  period 
of  my  hero  William  Tell,  intending  to  write  an  interesting 
loAm  tale ;  but  I  soon  got  my  hero  and  heroine  into  an  inextri¬ 
cable  muddle,  so  fell  out  of  love  adventures  altogether,  and 
altering  my  plan  ended  by  writing  a  juvenile  tale,  Avhich  I 
brought  to  a  more  satisfactory  conclusion.  Every  day  we 
wrote  a  portion,  and  at  night  read  it  aloud  to  Sara.  She 
took  a  lively  interest  in  our  stories  and  gave  us  her  opinion 
and  advice,  of  which  we  took  adA-’antage  to  improve  them 
the  following  day.  Not  feeling  quite  sure  of  our  mother’s 
approval,  Ave  kept  our  manuscripts  carefully  concealed  after  her 
return,  but  Ave  were  in  even  greater  dread  of  our  eldest  sister, 
knowin"  that  she  would  lecture  us  on  the  waste  of  time. 

O 

“  One  morning  I  was  sitting  on  the  step  inside  our  dressing- 
room  door,  reading  the  last  pages  of  my  story  to  Sara,  when 
the  door  behind  me  opened  and  a  small  white  hand  was  quietly 
placed  on  mine  and  the  papers  extracted.  I  looked  at  Sara 
in  dismay.  Not  a  Avord  had  been  spoken,  but  I  knew  my 
mother’s  hand,  and  the  dread  of  Eliza’s  criticism  became  an 


Xll 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


instant  reality ;  and  her  ‘  I  think  you  had  been  better 
employed  in  improving  your  grammar  and  spelling  than  in 
scribbling  such  trash,’  sounded  cruelly  sarcastic  to  my  sensi¬ 
tive  ears.  I,  however,  begged  the  restoration  of  the  despised 
manuscript,  and  obtained  it  under  promise  to  curl  my  hair 
with  it. 

“  I  did  in  truth  tear  up  the  first  part,  but  a  lingering  affec¬ 
tion  for  that  portion  of  it  containing  the  story  of  the  ‘  Swiss 
Herd-boy  and  his  Alpine  Marmot,’  induced  me  to  preserve  it, 
and  I  have  the  rough  copy  of  that  story  now  in  my  possession.” 

Early  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year.  May  18th,  1818, 
Mr.  Strickland  died  at  Norwich.  The  sudden  tidings  of  the 
failure  of  a  firm  in  which  he  had  allowed  his  name  to  remain 
as  a  sleeping  partner  or  guarantor,  and  the  consequent  loss  of 
the  principal  part  of  his  private  income,  brought  on  an  aggra¬ 
vated  attack  of  the  gout,  which  terminated  fatally.  Katie 
had  spent  the  winter  with  him  and  her  sisters  Eliza  and  Agnes 
in  the  town  house.  Mrs.  Strickland  was  at  Reydon,  but  was 
to  return  the  following  day  to  prepare  for  the  usual  move  to 
the  old  Hall  for  the  summer. 

Mr.  Strickland’s  sudden  death  was  a  great  shock  to  his 
family,  and  Katie  grieved  much  for  him.  He  had  always 
been  indulgent  to  hei’,  and  his  loss  was  her  first  sorrow,  the 
first  cloud  on  her  young  life.  Here  I  may  quote  again  from 
her  own  notes : 

“We  had  often  heard  our  father  express  a  wish  to  be 
buried  in  some  quiet  ehurchyard  beyond  the  walls  of  the 
city,  in  the  event  of  his  death  taking  place  before  his  return 
to  Reydon,  and  in  accordance  with  that  wish  he  was  laid  to 
rest  at  Lakenham,  a  lovely  rural  spot  about  two  miles  from 
Norwich.  There  we  three  sisters,  true  mourners,  often 
resorted  during  the  summer  evenings  to  visit  the  dear  father’s 
resting-place,  and  bring  a  loving  tribute  of  fresh  flowers  to 
strew  upon  the  grave.” 

The  house  in  Norwich  was  retained,  and  as  the  two 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


Xlll 


brothers  were  attending  Dr.  A'alpy’s  school,  the  two  elder 
sisters  and  Katie  remained  thei'e.  Elizabeth,  having  been  her 
father’s  amanuensis  and  confidante,  had  much  to  do  in  con¬ 
nection  with  business  matters.  Agnes  was  not  strong,  and 
requiring  frequent  change  of  air,  was  much  away  visiting 
friends.  Katie  was  thus  left  verj^  much  to  herself. 

“  I  had  access  to  the  city  library,  so  that  I  had  no  lack 
of  reading  matter,  and  mj^  needle,  varied  by  a  daily  walk  to 
the  garden  below  the  city  wall,  occupied  a  good  deal  of  my 
time.  The  garden  was  shut  in  by  a  high  paling  and  was  quite 
private.  I  spent  many  hours  in  this  retreat  with  my  books, 
and  it  was  at  this  time  that  I  ventured  once  more  to  indulge 
the  scribbling  fever  which  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud  by 
adverse  criticism  the  preceding  year.  I  was  a  great  lover  of 
the  picturesque,  and  used  to  watch  with  intense  interest  the 
Highland  drovers  as  they  passed  to  the  great  Norwich  market. 
I  admired  their  blue  bonnets  and  the  shepherd’s  plaids  they 
wore  so  gracefully  across  breast  and  shoulder,  and  the  rough 
coats  of  the  collie  dogs  that  always  accompanied  them,  and 
often  listened  to  the  wild  notes  of  the  bagpipes.  Scotland 
was  the  dream  of  my  youth.  Its  history  and  poetry  had  taken 
a  strong  hold  on  my  fancy,  and  I  called  the  first  story  I  wrote 
at  this  time,  ‘  The  Blind  Highland  Pijier.’  The  next  was 
inspired  by  a  pretty  little  lad  with  an  earnest  face  and  bright 
golden  curls  peeping  from  under  a  ragged  cap.  He  carried  a 
wooden  yoke  on  his  shoulders,  from  which  were  suspended 
two  water-pails.  He  passed  the  window  so  often  to  and  fro 
that  I  grew  to  watch  for  him,  and  give  him  a  little  nod  and 
smile  to  cheer  his  labors  day  by  day.  I  never  knew  his 
history,  so  I  just  made  one  for  him  myself,  and  called  my 
«tory  after  him,  ‘The  Little  Water-Carrier.’  Thus  I  amu.sed 
myself  until  my  collection  comprised  some  half-dozen  tales. 
One  day  I  was  longer  than  usual  absent  at  the  city  wall 
garden  gathering  red  currants,  and  had  unwittingly  left  my 
manuscript  on  the  writing-table.  On  my  return,  to  my  con- 


XIV 


BIOGKAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


fusion  and  dismay,  1  found  it  had  been  remoA'ed.  1  could 
not  summon  courage  to  question  my  sister  about  it,  so  said 
nothing  of  my  loss.  A  few  days  passed,  and  I  began  to  fear 
it  had  been  burned,  but  on  the  next  visit  of  our  guardian, 
Mr.  Morgan,  on  business  connected  with  my  father’s  estate, 
he  said  to  my  eldest  sister,  ‘  Eliza,  I  did  not  know  that  you 
had  time  for  story- writing.’ 

“  My  .sister  looked  up  in  surprise  and  asked  him  what  lie 
meant.  Taking  my  lost  property  out  of  his  pocket  he  replied, 
‘  I  found  this  manuscript  open  on  the  table,  and,  looking  OA*er 
its  pages,  became  at  once  interested  and  surprised  at  your 
work.’ 

“Eliza  looked  inquiringly  at  me,  and  though  confused  and 
half  frightened,  I  was  obliged  to  claim  the  papers  as  mine. 

“  Our  kind  friend  then  added  as  he  rolled  up  the  manuscript 
and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket,  ‘  Well,  Katie,  I  am  going  to 
correct  this  for  you,’  and  I,  glad  to  escape  ivithout  a  rebuke 
for  waste  of  time  or  indulging  in  such  idle  fancies,  thought 
no  more  of  my  stories.  A  month  afterwards  Mr.  Morgan, 
with  a  smiling  face,  put  into  my  hands  five  golden  guineas, 
the  price  paid  for  my  story  by  Harris  the  Publisher,  in  St. 
Paul’s  Churchyard,  London.” 

Thus  was  Mrs.  Traill  the  first  of  the  Strickland  sisters  to 
enter  the  ranks  of  literature,  as  she  is  now  the  last  surAtivor 
of  that  talented  coterie.  The  unexpected  success  of  Katie’s 
first  A^enture  no  doubt  induced  her  sisters  to  send  their  MSS. 
to  the  publishers.  How  their  Avork  has  been  recognized  is 
matter  of  history. 

“  The  Blind  Highland  Piper,  and  Other  Tales  ”  AA’as  so  Avell 
received  by  the  public  that  Katie  Avas  employed  by  Harris  1 1 
wi’ite  another  for  his  House.  “Nursery  Tales”  proA^ed  a 
greater  success,  although  the  remuneration  she  received  Avas 
not  increased.  She  next  Avrote  for  the  Quaker  House  of 
Messrs.  Darton  .t  Harvey,  “Prejudice  Reproved,”  “The 
Young  Emigrants,”  “Sketches  from  Nature,”  “Sketch  Book 


BIOGRArHICAL  SKETCH. 


XV 


of  a  Young  Naturalist, ”  and  “The  Stepbrothers.”  This  firm 
paid  her  more  liberally  than  Harris,  and  it  was  with  the 
utmost  delight  and  pleasure  that  she  sent  the  proceeds  of  her 
pen  to  her  mother  at  Re3xlon,  grateful  that  she  was  aVde  to 
help  even  in  so  small  a  way  to  eke  out  the  now  reduced 
income  of  the  home. 

IMessrs.  Dean  &  IMundy  published  “  Little  Downy,  the 
Field-mouse,”  and  “  Keepsake  Guinea,  and  Other  Stories,”  in 
1822.  Many  other  short  stories  were  written  and  published 
in  the  various  Annuals  issued  between  that  j’ear  and  Katie’s 
marriage  in  1832.  “Little  Downy,  the  Field-mouse”  was 
the  most  popular,  and  is,  I  believe,  still  in  print.  None  of 
the  early  works  of  the  sisters  were  written  over  their  own 
names,  and  a  late  edition  of  this  stoiy  was  issued  by  the 
publishers  over  Susanna’s  (Mrs.  Moodie)  name,  and  though 
both  the  sisters  wrote  protesting  against  the  blunder  and 
requesting  a  correction,  no  notice  was  taken  of  their  letters. 

“  Little  Dowmy  was  a  real  mouse,”  said  Mrs.  Traill  recently, 
when  speaking  of  her  early  works,  “and  I  well  remember 
how  I  wrote  its  story.  I  used  to  sit  under  the  great  oak  tree 
near  wdiere  it  lived,  and  watch  the  pretty  creature’s  frisky, 
frolicing  ways,  and  write  about  it  on  my  slate.  AVhen  I 
had  b(jth  sides  covered  I  ran  into  the  house  and  transcribed 
what  I  had  w'ritten  in  an  old  copy-book,  then  ran  out  again 
to  watch  the  gentle  dear  and  write  some  more.” 

During  the  years  which  intervened  betw'een  the  death  of 
her  father  and  her  marriage,  nothing  of  veiy  great  moment 
occurred  in  Katie’s  life,  save  the  falling  in  of  a  small  legacy  as 
her  share  of  a  deceased  uncle’s  property.  She  made  occasional 
visits  to  London,  wdiere  she  staj^ed  wdth  a  cousin  of  her  father’s 
or  with  other  friends — visits  full  of  interest  from  the  people  she 
met,  the  glimpses  obtained  of  fa.shionable  life,  and  the  often 
amusing  adventures  which  ever  fall  to  the  lot  of  those  who 
go  about  the  world  with  their  eyes  open.  Katie’s  brilliant 
complexion,  soft  beauty  and  sunny  smile  won  her  the  love 


XVI 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


and  admiration  of  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact,  and 
she  was  always  a  welcome  guest  with  old  and  young  alike. 

The  means  at  Reydon  were  narrow,  and  in  those  days 
povei’ty  was  regarded  almost  as  a  crime,  so  they  lived  quietly 
in  the  old  Hall,  sufficient  society  for  each  other,  and  each 
pursuing  the  line  of  study  in  accordance  with  the  particular 
hent  of  her  individual  genius. 

Susanna  had  married  in  1831,  and  come  with  her  husband* 
to  live  at  Southwold,  and  it  was  at  their  house  that  Katie 
met  her  future  husband.  Mr.  Thomas  Traill  belonged  to  one 
of  the  oldest  families  in  Orkney.  He  was  also  a  friend  and 
brother  officer  of  Mr.  Moodie’s  in  the  21st  Royal  Scotch 
Fusiliers,  and  the  two  families  of  Moodie  and  Traill  had 
been  connected  by  marriage  in  more  than  one  generation. 
Educated  at  Baliol  College,  Oxford,  in  the  same  year  with 
Lockhart,  who  was  an  intimate  friend,  Mr.  Traill  could 
number  many  of  the  great  wiiters  and  men  of  the  day  among 
his  acquaintances,  and  knew  many  anecdotes  of  Scott,  Giffard, 
Jeffreys  and  Wilson.  He  had  married  first  an  Orkney  lady, 
and  her  health  requiring  a  warmer  climate,  he  had  lived 
abroad  for  several  years  and  enjoyed  the  opportunity  of 
meeting  some  of  the  great  men  of  literature  and  science  at 
the  courts  of  Paris  and  Berlin.  He  was  an  excellent  linguist 
and  a  well-read  man. 

At  the  time  of  his  ■  visit  to  Southwold  his  wife  had  been 
dead  some  years,  his  two  sons  were  in  Orkney  with  their 
mother’s  relatives,  and  he,  having  no  settled  plan  for  the 
future,  was  ready  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  the  question  of 
emigration  to  Canada,  the  new  country  at  that  time  being 
widely  advertised  and  lectured  upon,  and  in  which  free  grants 
of  land  were  being  offered  as  an  inducement  to  retired  and 
half-pay  officers  to  try  their  fortunes  in  the  New  World. 

*John  \V.  D.  Moodie  (youngest  son  of  Moodie  of  Me’setter,  Orkney), 
late  Lieut.  21st  Fusiliers,  and  author  of  “Ten  Years  in  South  Africa,” 
“  A  Soldier  and  Settler,”  etc. 


REYDON  HALL 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XVH 


Katie  met  him  at  her  sister’s  house,  and  it  was  not  very 
long  before  it  became  known  to  the  family  at  Reydon  that 
Mr.  Traill  meant  to  precede  the  Moodies  to  Canada — and 
that  he  was  not  to  go  alone. 

The  grief  of  the  sisters  was  great  at  the  idea  of  parting 
with  the  beloved  Katie.  At  first  they  refused  to  believe  so 
preposterous  a  tale,  but  “  the  Katie  ”  had  made  her  choice 
and  no  entreaties  could  prevail  upon  her  to  change  her  mind. 
They  were  married  on  May  13th,  1832,  in  the  parish  church 
at  Reydon,  by  the  vicar,  the  Reverend  H.  Birch.  It  was  a 
very  quiet  wedding,  and  a  sad  one,  for  the  shadow  of  the 
coming  parting  was  over  them  all. 

“  On  the  20th  of  May  I  bade  farewell  to  my  old  home  and 
the  beloved  mother  whom  I  was  never  again  to  see  on  earth, 
and,  accompanied  by  my  sisters  Agnes  and  J ane,  went  down 
to  the  beach,  from  whence  we  were  to  be  rowed  out  to  embai’k 
on  the  of  London,  one  of  the  first  two  steamers  which 

then  plied  between  the  metropolis  and  Leith. 

“  It  w'as  Sunday  and  a  lovely  bright  morning,  the  heavens 
cloudlessly  blue  and  the  sea  without  a  ripple  save  that  of  the 
incoming  tide ;  the  waves  running  in  in  curving  lines  along 
the  beach,  with  a  murmuring  music  all  their  own.  The  bells 
from  the  tower  of  the  grand  old  chui’ch  of  St.  Edmund 
were  chiming  their  summons  to  the  morning  service,  but 
they  seemed  to  me  to  be  repeating  the  sad  refrain — 

“  ‘  Farting  forever, 

Parting  forever, 

Never  again  to  meet ! 

Never,  0  never  !’ 

Yet  as  I  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  ship  and  watched  the 
boat  that  conveyed  my  sisters  back  to  the  shore  until  it  was 
a  mere  speck  upon  the  ocean,  I  little  dreamed  that  my  ej'es 
should  never  again  look  upon  those  dear  ones  and  England’s 
loved  shores.  Hope  was  ever  bright.  To  me  there  was  always 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


xviii 

a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud,  and  surely  it  is  a  gift  of  God 
that  it  has  ever  been  so,  that  in  the  darkest  hours  of  the 
sorrows,  privations  and  troubles  of  after  years  I  could  lq|^ 
up  and  say,  ‘  Thy  will  be  done.’  ” 

After  a  stay  of  two  or  three  days  in  Edinburgh,  the  Traills 
embarked  in  the  old  Pomona  packet  for  Kirkwall. 

Mrs.  Traill  was  received  by  her  husband’s  relations  and  by 
his  first  wife’s  sisters  and  father  with  the  utmost  kindness 
and  affection,  although  no  one  could  have  appeared  in  worse 
plight  to  captivate  unknown  relatives  than  she  did  that  morn¬ 
ing,  wet  from  the  sea  spi'ay,  weary  and  weak  from  the  effects  of 
the  stormy  passage.  One  of  these  sisters.  Miss  Fotheringham, 
is  still  living  in  London  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-one, 
and  I  have  sat  beside  the  beautiful  white-haired  old  lady  and 
listened  with  delight  to  her  description  of  the  arrival  of  the 
English  bride  their  brother-in-law  brought  so  unexpectedly 
to  their  lujuse  at  Kirkwall. 

“  We  were  not  altogether  pleased  at  the  tidings  of  his  mar¬ 
riage,  but  we  fell  in  love  with  his  second  wife  before  she  had 
been  a  day  in  the  house ;  and  truly  she  was  a  lovely,  bright 
sunny  creature  to  take  out  to  the  untracked  wilds  of  a  colony.” 

After  a  staj^  of  some  weeks  in  the  Islands,  they  returned 
to  kScotland  to  sail  from  the  Clyde  in  the  last  vessel  of  the 
season  bound  for  Quebec  and  Montreal. 

The  following  word-picture  of  the  parting  at  Kirkwall  is 
descriptive  of  the  tenacious  affection  felt  by  the  tenantry  and 
dependents  for  their  feudal  lairds,  who  hold  rank  and  titles 
peculiar  to  the  islands,  and  which  are  derived  from  their 
descent  from  the  Norse  Vikings  who  in  former  ages  so  often 
defied  the  power  of  the  Scottish  kings  : 

“  Assembled  on  the  Kirkwall  pier  we  found  about  twenty- 
five  of  the  Westove  tenantry.  They  had  come  down  to  take 
leave  of  their  old  master.  Among  them  was  auld  Jean  Scott, 
the  nurse  or  moome  of  my  husband.  He,  wishing  to  propitiate 
lier  in  my  favor,  had  provided  me  with  a  handful  of  coins  to 


BIOGHAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XIX 


give  her.  Though  her  hand  closed  over  the  silver,  she  con¬ 
tinued  to  regard  me  with  a  stern  and  forbidding  countenance, 
— I.  was  a  stranger  and  a  foreign  body,  not  one  of  their 
island  folk.  In  wild,  impassioned  tones  she  entreated  the 
master  to  staj"  in  his  ‘  ain  countrie  an’  amang  his  ain  people 
and  kin.’  Then  turning  to  me  she  said  angrily,  ‘  An’  it  is  ye 
that  are  talcin’  him  awa’  frae  us.  Ye  are  bonnie  eneuch,  an’ 
if  ye  wad  but  speak  the  word  he  maunna  deny  ye ;  but  ye 
wauna,  ye  wauna  dae  it,’  and  flinging  back  my  hand  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  at  her  master’s  feet,  sobbing  out, 
‘Ye  will  gae  awa,  an’  these  e’en  that  see  ye  the  noo  wull  see 
ye  nae  mair.’ 

“  My  husband  lifted  and  tried  to  soothe  her,  but  she  would 
tiot  be  comforted.  Ah,  J ean !  you  spoke  truly ;  the  master 
you  so  loved  and  honored  lies  in  the  little  church5"ard  on 
the  banks  of  the  Otonabee,  far  from  the  Lady  Kii’k  of  his 
Orkney  Island  home.” 

At  Inverness,  Mrs.  Traill  first  saw  a  Highland  regiment 
“all  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array,”  and  heard  the 
pipes  playing  the  grand  Highland  “  March  of  the  Camei’on 
Men.”  Her  enthusiasm,  as  well  as  her  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  Scottish  writers,  won  her  golden  opinions,  and  the 
English  bride  received  much  attention  from  the  Highland 
descendants  of  the  men  who  had  striven  to  the  death  for  the 
cause  of  the  Stuarts. 

“  I  was  far  from  quite  well  when  we  left  Inverness  by  the 
little  passenger  steamer  Highland  Chieftain,  yet  not  too  ill  to 
find  myself,  in  company  with  others  of  the  passengers,  climb¬ 
ing  the  steep  winding  path  which  led  from  the  waters  of  Loch 
Ness  to  the  Falls  of  Foyers  and  plucking  many  sweet  wild- 
flowers  by  the  way.  My  love  for  flowers  attracted  the  atten¬ 
tion  of  two  of  my  companions,  a  Mr.  Allen,  of  Leith,  and  a 
Mr.  Sterling,  of  Glasgow,  both  of  whom  1  found  were  horti¬ 
culturists  and  well  accpiainted  with  the  fura  of  the  country. 
We  entered  into  conversation,  and  they  added  much  to  the 


f 


XX 


BIOGUAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


pleasure  of  the  journey  by  pointing  out  to  me  the  interesting- 
objects  along  our  route.  At  Glen  Morrison,  a  fine  old  gentle¬ 
man  with  his  fishing-basket  and  tackle  was  rowed  out  to 
the  boat  by  two  barefooted  Highland  lassies,  stout  girls  who 
plied  the  oars  with  as  powerful  a  stroke  as  any  of  the  fisher 
lads  of  Cromarty.  I  must  have  eyed  the  fishing-basket  with 
a  longing  glance  (it  reminded  me  of  my  childhood  days  on  the 
bank  of  the  Waveney),  for  the  old  laird  noticed  me  and  we 
became  quite  friendly.  He  talked  of  salmon  fishing  and 
Highlaiid  lochs,  and  pointed  out  the  wild  opening  of  Lochiel’s 
Glen.  Then  we  spoke  of  the  Camerons  and  the  Macdonells, 
the  Stewarts  and  Glencoe,  the  Highland  chiefs  and  Highland 
feuds  and  emigration,  and  I  told  him  we  were  bound  for  the 
far  west.  Before  he  left  the  boat  at  a  point  leading  to 
Inverary,  he  held  m}^  hand  a  few  seconds  and  said  :  ‘  If  you 
should  ever  be  near  the  Highland  settlement  of  Glengarrjq 
and  need  help  or  shelter,  say  that  3^0  have  seen  the  Macdonell, 
and  every  door  will  be  opened  to  you,  every  Highland  hand 
held  out  in  token  of  friendship.’ 

“  That  night  we  spent  in  a  clean  little  public-house  within 
sight  of  the  giant  Ben  Hess,  the  hostess  of  which  talked 
much  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  whom  she  had  known  well.  The 
illness  I  had  felt  coming  on  when  in  Inverness  was  01113^ 
stayed,  and  it  now  overtook  me,  robbing  me  of  all  the 
pleasure  of  the  lovely  scenery  of  the  Clyde,  and  l^'  the  time 
we  reached  Greenock  I  was  completely  prostrated.  Skilful 
treatment  and  careful  nursing,  however,  enabled  me  to 
recover  sulficientl3r  to  be  carried  on  board  the  brig  Laurel,  in 
which  our  passage  had  been  taken  and  paid  for,  and  which  it 
would  have  been  a  serious  loss  to  forfeit.” 

Mrs.  Traill  speaks  of  this  brig  as  being  the  last  of  the 
season  sailing  from  that  port  to  Quebec.  They  sailed  on  the 
'Tth  of  July,  a  fact  and  date  which  bear  interesting  compari¬ 
son  with  the  carrying  trade  of  the  present  time  between  the- 
013’de  and  Canada. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XXI 


Tlie  passage  was  a  good  one,  unbroken  by  storms  or  fogs, 
and  although  A'ery  ill  during  the  first  part  of  the  voyage,  by 
the  time  the  Laurel  entered  the  Gulf  Mrs.  Traill  had  quite 
recovered  her  health.  The  trip  up  the  river  was  a  slow  one ; 
there  was  little  wind,  and  they  had  to  depend  largely  on  the 
tide  for  their  onward  progress,  tacking  constantly  to  take 
advantage  of  what  breeze  there  was,  and  casting  anchor 
when  the  tide  turned.  They  were  also  delayed  waiting  for  a 
pilot,  and  did  not  reach  Quebec  until  late  on  the  evening  of 
August  15th,  and  on  the  17th  cast  anchor  before  Montreal. 

The  Traills  went  to  the  Nelson  Hotel  until  they  could  have 
their  baggage  passed  through  the  Custom  house,  always  a 
tedious  business,  and  particularly  so  at  that  date.  The 
weather  was  intensel}^  hot.  Cholera  was  raging  in  the  city, 
and  before  the  two  days  of  delay  had  expired  Mrs.  Traill  was 
stricken  down  with  the  terrible  disease.  She  was  tenderly 
cared  for  by  a  woman  in  the  inn,  a  sister  of  the  proprietor^ 
to  whose  fearless  devotion,  as  well  as  to  the  skilful  treatment 
of  Dr.  Caldwell,  she  owed  her  recovery.  Worn  out  by  his 
untiring  efforts  among  the  cholera  patients,  this  devoted 
physician  fell  a  victim  to  the  disease  about  a  month  later. 

Although  narrowly  escaping  death,  the  recuperative  vitality 
which  has  ever  been  the  characteristic  feature  of  the  family, 
enabled  her  to  recover  quickly,  and  on  the  29th,  Mrs.  Traill 
was  sufficiently  restored  to  health  to  continue  her  journey  by 
.stage  to  Lachine,  and  thence  by  boat  and  stage  to  Prescott, 
where  they  took  their  passage  on  board  the  Great  Britain, 
then  the  largest  and  best  steamer  on  the  route. 

In  the  sketch,  “  Sunset  and  Sunrise  on  Lake  Ontario,”  Mrs. 
Ti’aill  gives  an  account  of  the  journey  from  Brockville  to 
Cobourg.  On  September  9th,  they  left  Cobourg  in  a  light 
waggon  for  the  shores  of  Rice  Lake,  there  to  take  the  steamer 
for  Petei-borough,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  place  Mrs. 
Traill’s  brother,  Avho  had  emigrated  to  Canada  some  years, 
before,  had  lately  settled. 


xxii  BIOGKAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

“  A  motley  group  of  emigrants  shared  the  only  available 
room  in  the  log-house  which  did  duty  as  tavern  on  the  shores 
of  Rice  Lake.  The  house  consisted  of  but  two  rooms,  the 
kitchen  and  one  other  apartment  or  public  room.  In  a  corner, 
on  a  buffalo  robe  spread  on  the  floor,  and  wrapped  in  my 
Scotch  plaid  cloak,  I  rested  my  weary  limbs.  The  broad 
rays  of  the  full  moon,  streaming  in  through  the  panes  of  the 
small  window,  revealed  our  companions  of  the  Cobourg  stage, 
talking,  smoking,  or  stretched  at  full  length  sleeping.  On  a 
rude  couch  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  lay  a  poor  sick 
woman,  tossing  and  turning  in  a  state  of  feverish  unrest, 
moaning  or  muttering  her  delirious  fancies,  unconscious  of  the 
surroundings. 

“Our  early  six  o’clock  breakfast  of  fried  pork,  potatoes,  and 
strong  tea  without  milk,  was  not  very  tempting,  and  it  was 
but  a  scant  portion  of  the  rude  meal  that  I  could  take. 
Leaving  the  crowded  table,  w^e  strolled  down  to  the  landing- 
place,  'where  a  large  party  of  Irish  emigrants  were  encamped. 
It  was  a  curious  scene.  What  studies  of  the  picturesque  for  a 
■painter  were  there  !  IMen  in  all  sorts  of  ragged  coats  and 
brimless  hats  and  huge  wrinkled  brogues ;  women  wdth  red 
handkerchiefs  tied  over  their  dishevelled  locks,  and  wearing 
jackets  that  had  once  done  duty  as  part  of  a  regimental  uni¬ 
form.  There  was  many  a  pretty  foot  coquettishly  peeping 
from  beneath  a  quilted  petticoat  to  be  hastily  hidden  by  the 
black-eyed  owner,  when  she  noticed  the  stranger’s  approach. 
A  smart  young  fellow,  hat  in  hand,  came  forward  to  know  if 
the  ‘jintleman’  would  like  to  see  an  Irish  jig  ora  ‘toe  the 
plank  ’ — a  feat  which  was  performed  by  two  men  dancing  a 
wild  sort  of  horn-pipe  with  a  wonderful  variety  of  turnings 
and  twistings,  capers  and  wrestlings,  as  ti’ials  of  skill  and 
strength,  on  a  board  or  door  laid  on  the  ground,  until  one 
was  forced  to  jdeld  and  lose  his  balance.  Of  course  a  reward 
was  expected,  though  not  asked,  and  a  cheer  given  for  the 
•^jintleman’  by  the  actors  and  spectators.  An  empty  flask 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XXlll 


then  made  its  rounds  for  the  whiske}'  that  was  not  in  it,  but 
hoped  for.  One  old  crone  noticed  my  husband’s  foreign  habit 
of  taking  snuff,  and  hobbling  up  to  him  presented  her  own 
snuff-box,  with  a  significant  tap  to  show  that  it  was  empty. 
It  was  a  tiny  receptacle  and  was  replenished  at  once,  to  her 
infinite  satisfaction.  Among  the  older  women  there  were 
many  .sad  and  anxious  faces,  while  the  younger  ones  were 
bright  and  evidently  hopeful  for  the  future.  Two  nice-look¬ 
ing  girls  interested  me,  thej^  were  so  neat  and  quiet  in  com¬ 
parison  with  the  others.  One  had  a  piece  of  very  beautiful 
work  in  her  hand,  which  she  hastily  concealed  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress.  ‘  It  is  only  a  bit  of  our  Irish  lace,’  sli^e  said,  in 
answer  to  my  inquiry,  ‘  and  it  is  not  nice,  it  is  not  clean  !  ’ 
Poor  thing,  how  could  she  keep  her  thread  and  pretty  woi’k 
clean  amid  such  surroundings  ? 

“  The  little  steamer  Pem-o-dash,  the  Indian  word  for 
‘fire-boat,’  which  was  to  convey  us  across  the  lake  and  up 
the  river  to  Peterborough,  had  no  cabin,  was  half-decked, 
and  carried  a  sail  in  addition  to  the  steam  propeller.  When 
she  stopped  to  take  in  a  supply  of  wood  at  a  clearing  about 
half  way,  I  seized  the  opportunity  to  land  and  gather  some 
of  the  splendid  cardinal  flowers  that  grew  along  the  shores. 
Here,  too,  I  plucked  as  sweet  a  rose  as  ever  graced  an  English 
garden.  There  was  also  a  bush  resembling  our  hawthorn, 
which  on  examination  I  found  to  be  the  Cockspur  hawthorn. 
It  had  fruit  as  large  as  cherries,  pulpy  and  of  a  pleasant 
flavor,  not  unlike  tamarind.  The  thorns  were  of  great  length 
and  strength.  Among  the  grasses  of  the  meadow  land  I 
found  spearmint,  and,  nearer  to  the  bank,  quantities  of 
peppermint.  Owing  to  the  rapids  and  the  shallowness  of  the 
river,  the  steamboat  was  unable  to  go  uji  the  whole  way  to 
Peterborough,  .so  a  large,  unwieldly-looking  scow  had  been 
engaged  to  meet  it  at  a  point  called  the  ‘  Yankee  Bonnet,’ 
so  named  from  a  fanciful  resemblance  the  topmost  branches 
of  a  tree  growing  on  the  bank  had  to  the  sort  of  cap  worn  by 


XXIV 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


the  Yankees.  The  steamer,  however,  ran  aground  some  four 
miles  below  the  rendezvous.  This  caused  a  considei’able 
delay  and  gave  rise  to  much  ill-humor  among  the  boatmen  at 
having  to  row  down  to  meet  the  steamer.  The  boat  was 
heavily  laden,  the  men  surly,  and  night  had  closed  in  before 
we  heard  the  sound  of  the  rapids  ahead.  The  moon  had  now 
risen,  and  the  stars  were  shining  brilliantly  over  the  water, 
which  gave  back  the  reflection  of  a  glorious  multitude  of 
heavenly  bodies.  A  sight  so  surpassingly  beautiful'  might 
have  stilled  the  most  turbulent  spirits,  and  I  leaned  back 
against  my  husband’s  supporting  arm  and  looked  from  sky 
to  star-lighted  river,  from  the  river,  up  to  the  sky,  with 
unspeakable  delight  and  admiration.  But  my  reverie  was 
rudely  broken  by  the  grounding  of  the  boat  against  the 
rocky  bank,  and  the  loud  protests  of  the  men  against  rowing 
another  stroke  or  attempting  the  rapids  that  night.  AVe 
were  two  miles  distant  from  the  town,  the  dark  forest  lav 
gloomy  and  dense  before  us,  and  I  was  weak  from  illness  and 
want  of  food.  To  pass  the  night  on  an  open  scow,  exposed 
to  the  heavy  dews  and  chill  air,  would  be  death.  It  was  ten 
o’clock,  and  the  outlook  was  not  encouraging.  How  were  we 
to  make  our  way  through  an  unknown  forest  to  the  town  1 
“  One  of  our  fellow-passengers,  whose  house  lay  on  the 
opposite  bank  of  the  river,  and  who  had  engaged  one  of  the 
boatmen  to  put  him  across,  yielded  to  Mr.  Traill’s  entreaties 
to  allow  us  to  accompany  him.  Remaining  only  long  enough 
at  this  settler’s  house  to  take  a  cup  of  tea,  we  procured  the 
services  of  a  little  Irish  lad  and  a  lantern  to  guide  us  throuerh 
the  remaining  bit  of  bush  which  still  separated  us  from  the 
town,  and  set  forth  on  our  travels  to  seek  a  shelter  for  the 
night.  Our  little  Irish  lad  was  very  full  of  sympathy  for  the 
‘  English  leddy  who  looked  so  tired.’  He  told  us  of  how  he 
had  lost  both  father  and  mother  from  cholera  at  Montreal, 
:ind  was  alone  in  the  world  without  anyone  to  care  for  him. 
Our  way  was  crossed  by  a  little  stream,  over  which  the  only 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XXV 


bridge  was  the  rough  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree.  The  heavy  dew 
had  made  it  wet  and  slippery,  and  in  crossing  my  head  turned 
dizzy  and  I  slipped,  wetting  my  feet,  thereby  adding  one 
more  to  mj^  other  discomforts.  Beyond  the  stream  the  forest 
opened  out  into  a  wide  grassy  plain,  and  the  lights  from  a 
few  scattered  houses  told  us  we  were  on  the  site  of  the  now 
populous  city  of  Peterborough. 

“  ‘  Now,  mistress,  and  yer  honor,’  said  our  little  guide, 

‘  here  is  the  Government  House,  an’  I  cannot  show  ye  any 
furder  bekase  I  don’t  know  any  of  the  town  be3^ant,  but  I’ll 
call  up  Mr.  Rosebeny,  an’  shure  he’ll  guide  j'e  to  the  hotel’ 

“  Mr.  Roseberry’s  man  obej^ed  the  summons,  and  appearing 
in  a  wonderful  deshabille,  directed  us  to  Mr.  McFadden’s 
hotel,  which,  if  not  shut  up,  would  afford  us  a  night’s 
lodging.  Huriying  down  the  steep  hill  we  found  the  house 
still  open,  but  only  to  learn  that  there  was  no  room,  every 
available  space  being  occupied  by  a  recent  influx  of  newly- 
arrived  emigrants.  This  seemed  the  crowning  misfortune  to 
a  disastrous  da}’.  We  inquired  how  far  we  were  from  Mr. 
Stewart’s — friends  to  whom  we  had  brought  letters  from 
Montreal — and  were  told  his  house  was  a  long  two  miles  oft’. 
We  then  asked  for  Mr.  Strickland’s,  only  to  receive  the  reply 
that  he  lived  a  day’s  journey  farther  on.  It  seemed  as  if 
there  would  be  no  alternative  but  a  lodging  under  the  stars, 
when  a  woman’s  kindly  hand  was  laid  on  my  arm,  and  I  was 
led  into  the  house  by  the  mistress  of  the  little  inn.  Mrs. 
McFadden  had  been  listening  to  our  inquiries,  and  the  names 
Stewart  and  Strickland  attracting  her  attention,  had  induced 
her  to  make  an  effort  on  our  behalf.  The  kind  woman  put 
me  in  a  chair  by  the  blazing  log  tire,  and  giving  directions  to 
a  stout  Irish  girl  to  bring  some  wai-m  water  and  attend  to 
my  wet  feet,  she  mixed  a  hot  drink  and  insisted  upon  my 
taking  it.  The  warmth  was  most  grateful,  and  while  I  was 
being  thus  cared  for  I  could  look  about  me. 

“Truly  the  scene  was  a  novel  one.  The  light  from  the 


XXVI 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


fii3  illumined  the  room,  .showing  every  available  space 
occupied  almost  to  the  very  verge  of  the  hearth.  Men, 
women  and  children  were  sleeping  on  improvised  beds, 
bundles  of  all  sizes  and  shapes  forming  pillows  for  their 
shaggy  heads.  Some  lay  on  the  long  dresser,  some  on  the 
bare  floor  beneath  it — all  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  weary. 

“As  soon  as  she  saw  I  was  warm  and  more  comfortable, 
my  hostess  showed  me  to  the  only  place  in  the  house  that 
they  had  to  give  us.  It  was  a  tiny  dormitory,  more  like  a 
bird-cage  than  anything  else.  The  walls  were  lathed,  but 
without  plaster,  and  both  air  and  light  were  freely  admitted. 
However,  it  had  a  clean  bed  in  it,  and  I  was  glad  to  lie  down 
and  watch  the  river  dancing  in  the  moonlight  and  listen  to 
the  rush  of  the  rapids  until  I  fell  asleep. 

“  The  following  morning  a  message  was  sent  to  my  brother 
to  let  him  know  of  our  arrival,  and  that  evening  he  ran  the 
rapids  in  his  canoe,  and  we  met  again  after  seven  long  j-ears 
of  separation.” 

Mrs.  Traill  remained  in  Peterborough  with  their  kind  friends, 
Mr.  Stewart  and  his  family,  while  her  husband  returned  with 
Mr.  Strickland  to  his  clearing  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Katche- 
wanook,  the  first  of  the  chain  of  lakes  of  which  the  Otonabee 
is  the  outlet.  Mr.  Strickland  had  taken  up  land  there  for  the 
many  advantages  the  locality  offered.  There  was  good  soil, 
fine  timber,  excellent  water-power,  rich  mineral  deposits,  and 
the  probability  or  remote  certainty  that  at  some  future  date 
the  lakes  would  be  connected  by  canals,  the  river  made  navi¬ 
gable  by  the  construction  of  locks,  and  a  water  highwav  be 
obtained  from  Lake  Huron  via  Lake  Simcoe  to  the  Bay  of 
Quinte  and  the  St.  Lawrence,  an  expectation  which  appears 
about  to  have  the  first  steps  taken  towards  its  accomplishment. 

Mr.  Traill  drew  his  Government  grant  of  land  in  the  neigh¬ 
borhood,  the  principal  portion  being  in  Verulam  township,  the 
smaller  in  Douro,  and  by  the  purchase  of  an  additional  grant 
secured  a  water  frontage.  Until  he  could  build  a  house  they 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  xxvii 

lived  with  Mr.  Strickland,  during  which  time  Mrs.  Traill 
became  initiated  into  the  ways  of  life  in  the  bush.  In  her 
“  Backwoods  of  Canada,”  there  i.s  a  very  pretty  description  of 
these  first  few  months  of  life  in  Canada,  and  of  her  acquaint¬ 
ance  with  the,  natural  history  surrounding  her  new  home. 

On  the  11th  of  December,  1833,  they  moved  into  the  new 
house,  winch  was  duly  named  “  Westove.”  Here  they  lived 
seven  happy  years,  for  though  they  bad  to  endure  all  the  hard¬ 
ships  and  trials  inseparable  from  the  early  settlement  of  the 
bush,  they  yet  were  busy  and  hopeful,  happy  in  the  society  of 
each  other  and  the  neighborhood  of  her  brother  and  his  family. 
Mr.  Moodie  had  also  moved  up  from  his  first  location  near 
Cobourg,  in  February,  1834,  and  bought  land  on  the  Douro 
side  of  the  lake,  about  a  mile  beyond  Mr.  Strickland’s 
homestead. 

The  erection  of  a  good  saw'-mill  and  a  bridge  over  the  river 
also  gave  them  readier  access  to  a  market  at  Peterborough 
and  to  their  friends,  and  tended  to  lessen  the  loneliness  of  the 
situation.  They  all  had  suffered  at  times  from  the  low  fever 
and  ague,  and  the  various  vicissitudes  of  farm-life,  but  were 
always  ready  to  help  each  other  or  their  less  fortunate 
neighbors. 

In  1835,  Mrs.  Traill  again  took  up  her  pen.  The  “Back- 
woods  of  Canada”  was  written,  and  in  1836  was  published  in 
London  by  Charles  Knight,  Ludgate  Street,  for  the  “Library 
of  Entertaining  Knowledge  ”  Series.  This  volume  contained 
much  valuable  information  for  intending  emigrants,  and  had 
a  wide  circulation.  Though  all  the  hardships  and  discomforts 
of  life  in  the  bush  were  told  with  graphic  fidelity,  they  were 
described  with  a  cheerful  and  optimistic  pen,  as  of  one  who 
had  a  far-seeing  eye  into  the  future  capabilities  of  the  country 
and  a  present  knowledge  of  its  boundless  resources  and  value, 
so  that  the  picture  of  the  rough  life  did  not  deter  many  from 
venturing  to  embark  their  all  in  the  effort  to  make  a  better 
home  for  themselves  and  their  children  in  the  Kew  World,  but 


XXVlll 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


rather  the  reverse.  The  author’s  cheerful,  happy  spirit  had 
robbed  the  backwoods  of  its  terrors. 

When  the  rebellion  of  18.37  broke  out,  Mr.  Traill — as  did 
every  other  half-pay  officer  in  the  clearing — hastened  to  offer 
his  services  to  the  Government. 

“  The  tidings  of  the  rising  was  brought  to  our  clearing  from 
Peterborough,”  writes  Mrs.  Traill,  “  the  messenger  arriving  at 
midnight  through  the  snow  to  call  all  loyal  men  to  the  defence 
of  their  country.  ISTo  time  was  lost  that  night,  and  before  dawn 
I  said  farewell  to  my  husband.  The  next  day  my  maid  left 
me — she  had  a  lover  and  must  go  and  keep  him  from  going  to 
the  wars — then  the  man-servant  had  to  follow  and  see  about 
his  people ;  so  there  I  was  alone  in  the  bush  with  three  small 
children,  the  eldest  scarcely  four  years  old.  Jamie  and  I  had 
to  roll  in  the  logs  for  the  fire.  He  was  the  cleverer  of  the  two, 
for  he  tied  a  rope  to  the  log,  and  with  his  baby  help  I  man¬ 
aged  to  keep  the  fires  going  until  a  neighbor  came  to  help  us.” 

Mr.  Traill,  however,  only  went  as  far  as  Cobourg,  for  by 
the  time  the  men  there  were  enrolled,  orders  countermanding 
their  march  came  from  Toronto,  and,  after  some  weeks  of 
vexatious  delay  and  uncertainty,  they  were  disbanded  and 
returned  to  their  homes.  Mr.  Moodie  had,  however,  gone 
direct  to  Toronto,  and,  being  commissioned  in  one  of  the  regi¬ 
ments  serving  on  the  Niagara  frontier,  his  return  was  delayed 
for  months.  During  this  long  winter  Mrs.  Traill  w'as  often 
with  her  sister,  and  Mr.  Moodie,  in  several  of  his  letters, 
speaks  most  gratefully  of  their  kindness  to  his  wife. 

In  the  sketch,  “  The  First  Death  in  the  Clearing,”  Mrs. 
Traill  gives  an  instance  of  how  she  was  called  upon  to  go  to 
the  bedside  of  sorrow  or  sickness,  and  reading  between  the 
lines  one  caji  see  what  a  comfort  her  loving  sympathy  must 
have  been  to  the  bereaved  mother.  Jessie  is  still  alive  and 
often  visits  Mrs.  Traill,  bringing  her  kindly  offerings  of  fresh 
eggs  and  butter  from  the  farm.  Last  summer  when  Mrs. 
Traill  was  so  ill  that  few  thought  she  would  recover,  Jessie’s 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XXIX 


grief  was  great.  She  recalled  over  and  over  again  the  kind¬ 
ness  to  her  in  the  bush  in  those  early  days.  “  Ay,  an’  she 
was  sae  bonnie ;  sic  a  bonnie  leddy,  wi’  her  pink  cheeks  an’ 
her  blue  e’en,  an’  she  was  sae  lovin’  and  dear  ;  my,  but  I’ll 
greet  .sair  if  she  is  ta’en  away  !  ”  But  Jessie’s  prayers  for  the 
recoveiy  of  the  dear  old  friend  were  answered,  and  we  have 
her  with  us  still. 

In  1839,  Mr.  Traill  sold  the  farm  on  the  lake,  and  bought 
a  house  and  lot  in  what  was  lately  known  as  Ashburnham, 
now  a  part  of  Peterborough,  where  they  lived  until  1846, 
when  they  removed  to  Rice  Lake,  and  subsequently  pur¬ 
chased  “  Oaklands.” 

^leanwhile  IVIrs.  Traill  had  not  been  idle.  They  were  very 
poor,  as  all  settlers  of  Mr.  Traill’s  class  and  education  were 
in  those  ilays,  unfitted  for  the  rough  life  and  to  cope  with  the 
difficulties  which  the  work  entailed,  and  his  wife’s  pen  was 
frequently  the  means  of  keeping  the  wolf  from  the  door.  She 
wrote  man}"  short  stories  and  sketches  for  the  magazines  both 
in  England  and  the  States,  the  Anglo-American  being  one  of 
those  in  the  latter  country;  and,  in  18.50,  “Lady  Mary  and 
her  Xurse,”  more  familiar  to  present-day  readers  as  “  Afar 
in  the  Forest,”  was  published.  In  this  little  volume  there  is 
a  story  of  the  grey  squirrels,  that  used  to  be  the  delight  of  my 
early  childhood. 

The  Traills  had  removed  from  Ashburnham  to  “Wolf 
Tower,”  a  house  belonging  to  ^Ir.  Bridges,  which  attained 
some  celebrity  ;  from  there  they  went  to  live  in  a  small  log- 
house  on  a  rise  called  Mount  Ararat,  alwn’e  a  deep  ravine  on 
the  shores  of  Rice  Lake,  and  it  was  here,  among  the  actual 
surroundings,  s(j  well  depicted  on  its  pages,  that  Mrs.  Traill 
wrote  “  The  Canadian  Crusoes.”  It  was  pulJished  by  Messrs. 
Hall  lir  Vertue,  London,  and  later  the  copyright  of  both  it 
and  “Lady  Mary  and  lier  Nurse  ”  were  bought  by  Messi's. 
Nelson  it  Sons,  Edinburgh.  These  books  have  gone  through 
many  editions  and  been  issued  under  more  than  one  title. 


XXX 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


given  them  by  the  publisher,  but  the  authoress  has  not 
received  any  further  remuneration  than  the  <£50  paid  for 
the  copyright.  They  are  now  on  sale  in  every  bookshop  as 
“  Lost  in  the  Backwoods  ”  and  “  Afar  in  the  Forest.” 

After  the  purchase  and  removal  to  “  Oaklands,”  “  A  Guide 
for  the  Female  Emigrant  ”  was  written  and  published  in 
London.  Owing  to  some  mismanagement  of  her  editor  and 
the  publisher,  the  authoress  received  very  small  return  for 
this  useful  little  book. 

Mrs.  Traill’s  family  now  numbered  nine,  four  sons  and  five 
daughters  (of  whom  only  two  sons  and  two  daughters  suiwive), 
yet,  with  all  the  cares  and  anxiety,  as  well  as  the  necessary 
work  which  the  bringing  up  of  a  young  family  entailed,  added 
to  the  hard  labor  of  farm-life,  her  love  of  flowers  and  for 
natural  history  in  general  was  a  continual  source  of  pleasure 
and  eventually  of  profit.  She  lost  no  opportunity  of  studying 
the  botany  of  the  country,  and  was  ever  seeking  for  new 
specimens  to  add  to  her  herbarium  or  collection  of  dried 
flowers,  ferns  and  mosses,  and  making  notes  of  the  locality 
and  conditions  of  their  growth.  This  is  still  one  of  her  chief 
pleasures  and  occupations ;  she  has  the  gleanings  of  last  sum¬ 
mer  now  ready  to  put  down  during  the  coming  winter  months. 

On  the  26th  of  August,  1857,  owing  to  some  cause  or  acci¬ 
dent  never  ascertained,  the  crowning  misfortune  of  all  the 
losses  in  the  bush  happened.  The}'^  were  burnt  out  and  lost 
absolutely  everything — all  the  treasures  they  had  striven  so 
hard  to  save,  books,  manuscripts  and  other  valuables,  the 
family  barely  escaping  with  their  lives.  INIr.  Traill  felt  the 
loss  very  much,  especially  of  his  books.  He  never  quite 
recovered  the  shock  and  sorrow  of  seeing  his  family  thrown 
thus  homeless  on  the  Avorld.  Their  eldest  son  was  married ; 
the  youngest  was  only  a  child  of  ten  years.  Mr.  Strickland 
and  other  friends  Avere  most  kind,  helpful  and  sympathetic, 
but  the  loss  could  never  be  recovered. 

They  sta5^ed  for  some  time  with  Mrs.  Traill’s  brother,  Mr. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XXXI 


Strickland,  and  then  removed  to  a  house  placed  at  their 
service  by  their  friend  Mrs.  Stewart,  where  Mr.  Traill  died, 
after  a  short  but  severe  illness. 

Upon  her  husband’s  death,  Mr.  Strickland  urged  Mrs. 
Traill  to  return  to  the  old  neighborhood  of  their  first  settle¬ 
ment,  now  a  thriving  village,  and  her  daughter  INIary  obtain¬ 
ing  a  position  as  teacher  in  the  school  there,  they  returned  to 
live  once  more  on  the  banks  of  the  Otonabee.  Mrs.  Traill 
had  several  times  during  these  years  sent  home  small  collec¬ 
tions  of  pressed  ferns  and  mosses.  These  found  a  ready  sale- 
in  England.  One  of  these  collections  attracted  the  attention 
of  Lad}^  Charlotte  Greville,  who  succeeded  in  so  interesting 
Lord  Palmerston  in  Mrs.  Traill’s  literary  work  as  to  obtain 
for  her  a  gi’ant  of  £100  from  a  special  fund. 

'With  this  unexpected  and  welcome  present  Mrs.  Traill 
purchased  the  house  and  lot  where  she  now  lives,  and  which 
with  a  loving  thought  of  her  husband’s  old  home  in  the 
Orkneys  and  of  their  first  home  in  the  bush,  she  has  called 
“  Westove.” 

Lady  Charlotte  Greville  also  sent  her  a  large  package  of 
seeds  and  a  screw-press,  with  wdiich  she  could  press  her  ferns 
more  effectually. 

In  1869,  her  botanical  notes  were  utilized  in  supplying  the 
letter-press  for  her  niece,  Mrs.  FitzGibbon’s  “  Canadian  Wild 
Flowers,”  and  in  1884,  Mrs.  Traill  published  her  “  Studies  of 
Plant  Life  in  Canada,”  also  illustrated  by  her  niece,  now 
Mrs.  Chamberlin. 

While  the  latter  book  was  in  the  press,  Mrs.  Traill  paid  a 
visit  to  Ottawa  and  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  meeting  many 
who  had  been  interested  in  her  work,  of  renewing  old  friend¬ 
ships  and  making  the  personal  acquaintance  of  many  with 
whom  she  had  corresponded  on  kindred  subjects.  She  was 
also  greatly  indebted  to  Mr.  James  Fletcher,  of  the  Experi¬ 
mental  Farm,  for  his  kind  aid  in  reading  the  proofs  of  her 
book. 


XXXll 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


Mrs.  Traill  went  to  Government  House,  and  took  a  lively 
interest  in  the  gay  scenes  on  the  skating  rink  and  toboggan 
slides,  as  smiling  and  hapjij^  as  the  youngest  among  us,  and 
winnins;  admiration  and  affection  from  all  those  who  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her.  It  was  during  this  visit  to  Ottawa 
that  the  photograph  was  taken  from  which  the  engraving 
forming  the  frontispiece  to  the  present  volume  is  made.  Mrs. 
Traill  was  then  in  her  eighty-fourth  year. 

The  fac-simile  engraving  shown  on  the  page  facing  this 
portrait  of  Mrs.  Traill  is  taken  from  part  of  a  letter  written 
recently  to  a  friend  whom  she  values  highly.  It  is  interest¬ 
ing  not  only  as  a  specimen  of  the .  handwriting  of  one  of 
such  advanced  years,  but  also  as  indicating  the  unaffected 
piety  of  her  life. 

“Studies  of  Plant  Life”  is  now  a  rare  book,  chance  copies 
selling  for  three  times  the  original  2irice. 

Mr.s.  Traill  had  always  received  kindly  23resents  from  her 
sistei’s  in  England,  and  during  the  last  few  years  of  their  lives 
they  were  in  a  better  position  to  help  her  and  add  to  the 
comforts  of  her  home  surroundings.  The  coj^yright  of  the 
“  Queens  of  England,”  left  her  by  her  sister  Agnes,  although 
sold  for  half  its  value,  has  added  a  little  to  her  very  small 
income. 

In  1893,  hearing  of  the  likelihood  of  the  sale  of  the  little 
island  in  Stony  Lake,  wdiere  a  poor  Indian  girl  was  buried, 
INIrs.  Traill  wrote  to  the  Department  at  Ottawa  to  ask  that 
it  should  be  granted  her.  It  was  but  a  tinj'  island,  and  her 
anxiety  to  jireserve  the  Indian  girl’s  grave  from  desecra¬ 
tion  induced  her  to  take  this  stej).  Mr.  Sandford  Fleming 
kindly  interested  himself  in  her  behalf,  and  the  request  was 
granted. 

The  following  extract  from  her  old  friend’s  announcement 
is  so  gratifying  to  Mrs.  Traill  that  I  cannot  refrain  from 
quoting  it : 

“  I  have  the  pleasure  to  inform  you  that  by  the  same  post 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


XXXlll 


^’ou  will  receive  a  patent  for  ‘  Polly  Cow’s  Island,’  in  the 
river  Otonabee,  township  of  Douro. 

“  It  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  everyone  here,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest  official,  to  do  everjdhing  in  their  power 
to  do  you  honorable  service  and  gratify  your  every  wish — 
every  one  of  them  feeling  that  the  most  any  of  them  can  do 
is  but  the  smallest  acknowledgment  which  is  due  to  tmu  for 
your  life-long  devotion  to  Canada.” 

The  patent  is  beautifully  engrossed  by  hand  and  is  highly 
valued  by  the  owner. 

Another  honor  paid  Mrs.  Traill  was  the  compliment  of 
calling  a  remarkable  form  of  the  fern  Aspidi^im  marginale^ 
which  she  found  growing  near  the  village  of  Lakefield,  on  a 
vacant  town  lot  that  v'as  only  partially  cleared  from  the 
forest  trees,  Mrs.  Traill’s  Shield  Fern — A.  marginale  (Swz.) 
var :  Traill* — is  not  the  least  valued  bj^  her. 

There  have  been  many  events  in  Mrs.  Traill’s  life  not  men¬ 
tioned  in  this  brief  biographical  introduction  to  her  book, 
such  as  bereavements,  in  the  death  of  two  of  her  sons  and  her 
daughter  Mary — trials  patiently  borne  and  sorrows  suffered 
that  had  overwhelmed  her  but  for  her  trust  in  Providence 
and  her  unfailing  reliance  on  His  will.  I  have  passed  them 
by,  not  because  the}'  are  without  interest,  but  because  it 
would  be  turning  back  a  cloud  of  sorrow  to  dim  the  dear  old 
eyes  with  tears,  and  hide  for  awhile  the  silver  lining  that  has 
glorified  her  life. 

She  has  given  such  pretty  glimpses  of  her  home  by  the 
Otonabee,  in  the  sketches,  that  T  should  only  spoil  it  were  I  to 
attempt  to  describe  it  in  greater  detail.  Anyone  seeing  her 
now  in  the  pretty  sitting-i’oom,  Inisy  with  her  gay  patchwork, 
stitching  away  at  quilts  for  the  Indian  Missionary  Auxiliary 
basket,  or  putting  down  the  ferns  and  mosses  gathered  last 
summer  during  her  vi.sit  to  the  island  of  IMinnewawa,  and 
watching  the  light  in  her  blue  eyes,  the  smile  on  her  soft  old 
face,  unwrinkled  by  a  frown,  or  listening  to  her  clever  con- 


XXXIV 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


Yersation,  sparkling  with  well-told  anecdotes  and  incidents  of 
men  and  things  garnered  during  her  long  life  and  retained 
with  a  memory  that  is  phenomenal,  would  realize  that  the 
secret  of  her  peaceful  old  age,  her  unclouded  intellect,  and  the 
brightness  of  her  eye,  is  due  to  her  trust  in  Providence,  her 
contentment  with  her  lot,  and  a  firm  faith  in  the  future  where 
a  happy  reunion  with  the  loved  ones  awaits  her. 

The  following  lines,  written  on  her  mother’s  eightieth  birth¬ 
day  by  Mrs.  Traill’s  third  daughter,  Mary  (the  late  Mrs. 
Muchall),  though  faulty  in  metre,  are  so  descriptive  that  I 
cannot  end  my  brief  sketch  better  than  by  quoting  them  ; 

“  Eighty  to-day  is  our  mother, 

A  picture  so  peaceful  and  fair. 

The  lilies  of  fourscore  summers 
Asleep  in  her  silvered  hair. 

\ 

“  Eighty  to-day,  yet  the  love-light 

Shines  as  soft  in  her  sweet  blue  eyes. 

As  touched  with  a  ray  from  heaven 
Of  the  peace  that  never  dies. 

‘  ‘  The  happy  spirit  of  childhood, 

That  with  some  is  too  quickly  past, 

Caught  by  some  magic  enchantment. 

Is  flooding  her  life  to  the  last. 

“Eighty  to-day,  and  her  children, 

Near  or  far  in  a  distant  land. 

Are  strong  sons  and  happy  daughters, 

A  loved  and  a  loving  band. 

“  In  our  hearts  she’ll  live  forever  ; 

When  she  leaves  for  a  W'orld  more  fair. 

Her  smile  will  be  still  more  radiant 
As  she  welcomes  each  dear  one  there.” 


PREFACE. 


Although  I  lived  the  first  few  j^ears  of  my  childhood 
at  Stowe  House,  near  Bungay,  in  the  lovely  valley  of 
the  Waveney,  most  of  my  young  life  was  spent  at 
Beydon  Hall,  an  old  Elizabethan  mansion  in  the  eastern 
part  of  the  county  of  Suftblk,  and  within  easy  walk  of 
the  sea-coast  town  of  Southwold,  now  a  much  more 
frequented  seaside  resort  than  in  former  days. 

Business  or  pleasure  often  led  us  to  the  town,  and  the 
beach  was  a  great  attraction  and  source  of  pleasure  to 
my  sisters  and  myself.  We  loved  to  watch  the  advance 
and  recoil  of  the  waves,  tire  Ousy  fishermen  among  their 
nets  and  boats,  and  tlie  groups  of  happy  children  on 
the  sanas ;  but  there  was  a  greater  fascination  still  to 
us  in  the  search  for  treasures  left  by  the  flood-tide  or 
cast  upon  the  shore  by  the  ever  restless  waves. 

Sometimes  there  was  little  to  reward  the  seekers,  but 


XXXVl 


rREFACE. 


hope  was  ever  before  us,  and  the  finding  of  shining- 
stones — red,  yellow  and  white — bits  of  jet  or  amber,  a 
shell  or  lovely  seaweed,  to  be  dejiosited  in  bag  or  basket, 
Avould  send  us  home  jubilant  to  add  to  the  hoarded 
store  of  fossils  and  other  garnered  treasures,  or  to  show 
to  the  dear  mother,  who  would  turn  the  treasures  over 
and  say  with  ct  smile,  “  Let  me  see  what  precious  pearls 
my  Katie  has  found  among  her  many  peljbles  hardly 
worth  bringing  home.'’ 

Still  the  time  Avas  not  Aviiolly  wasted.  Health  and 
pleasure  had.  been  gained  with  my  pebbles,  and  had 
there  been  but  one  pearl  among  them,  the  simple  heart 
of  the  little  maiden  liad  been  well  content. 

So,  my  readers,  if  you  glean  but  one  bright  glad 
thought  rrom  the  pages  of  my  little  volume,  or  add  but 
one  pearl  to  your  store  of  knowledge  from  the  expe¬ 
rience  of  the  now  aged  naturalist,  she  will  not  think 
the  time  wasted  that  has  been  sj^ent  in  gathering  the 
pebbles  from  note-book  and  journals  written  during  the 
long  years  of  her  life  in  the  backwoods  of  Canada. 

“Westove,”  Lakefielp, 

September  20tli,  1894. 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


PLEASANT  DAYS  OF  MY 
CHILDHOOD. 


“  How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood^ 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view ! 

The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wildwood, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew.  ” 

There  is  something  almost  magical  in  the  word  May. 
It  brings  back  to  memory  pictures  of  all  things  sweet 
and  fair  that  charmed  us  in  our  youthful  days ;  it  recalls 
the  joys  of  infancy  when  we  filled  our  laps  with  flowers. 

We  hear  again  the  song  of  blackbird,  linnet  and 
robin,  and  the  far-away  call  of  that  mystery  of  child¬ 
hood,  the  cuckoo.  We  hear  the  murmur  of  the  summer 
wind  among  the  rustling  green  flags  beside  the  river ; 
we  scent  the  flowers  of  the  hawthorn,  an<l  the  violets- 


4 


:38 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


hidden  among  the  grass,  and  fill  our  hands  'with  blue¬ 
bells  and  cowslips. 

But  we  have  in  Canada  few  such  May  days  as 
Shakespeare,  Milton  and  Herrick  describe ;  here  too 
often  it  may  be  said  that  “  Winter,  lingering,  chills  the 
lap  of  May.” 

The  inborn  sense  of  the  beautiful  springs  to  life  in 
the  soul  of  the  babe  when  it  stretches  forth  an  eager 
hand  to  grasp  the  flowers  in  its  nurse’s  bosom.  It  is  the 
birth  of  a  new  and  pleasurable  emotion.  I  love  to  see 
an  innocent  child  playing  with  the  fresh  fair  flowers, 
meet  emblems  at  once  of  its  own  beauty  and  frailty  ; 
for  does  not  the  Word  say,  “  He  cometh  forth  like  a 
flower,  and  is  cut  down  ”  ? 

It  was  on  the  banks  of  that  most  beautiful  of  Suffolk 
rivers,  the  Waveney,  that  the  fii’st  happy  years  of  my 
ichildliood  were  passed.  My  father’s  family  came  from 
the  north  of  England,  where  among  the  mountain  dales 
and  fells  still  lingered  many  primitive  customs  and 
ancient  rural  sports.  Of  these  the  keeping  of  May 
Day — no  doubt  a  relic  of  some  ancient  pagan  rite,  but, 
the  origin  forgotten,  now  perfectly  harmless — was  one 
of  the  most  cherished.  My  father  still  clung  to  the  old 
observance  of  this  rural  holiday  of  his  ancestoi*s,  and 
May  Day  was  looked  forward  to  with  eager  anticipation 
by  my  sisters  and  myself. 

The  flowers — the  sweet  May  blossoms  of  the  liaAV- 
thorn  hedge  and  the  early  spring  flowers — must  be 


PLEASANT  DAYS  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 


39 


gathered  while  the  dew  wa.s  still  upon  them,  or  the  rites 
lost  half  their  virtue. 

We  were  always  up  before  the  sun,  and  so  eagerly 
did  we  watch  for  the  day  that  even  our  dreams  were 
haunted  by  the  anticipated  pleasure,  for  I  remember  my 
mother  telling  of  being  startled  in  the  night  by  seeing 
the  door  softly  open  and  a  small  white-robed  figure  glide 
up  to  the  bedside.  It  was  Sara,  her  eyes  wide  open, 
fixed  and  staring,  but  the  child  was  fast  asleep.  Two 
tiny  hands  held  up  the  full  folds  of  her  night-dress  as 
she  said,  “  Flowers,  more  flowers,  Lila.”  Even  in  her 
sleep  she  had  gathered  dream-flowers  for  the  May  Day 
garlands. 

I  was  the  youngest  but  one,  and  being  an  especial  pet 
in  the  household,  on  my  happy  head  was  conferred  the 
May  crown,  and  I  was  duly  greeted  as  Queen  of  May. 

Surely  no  queen  could  have  been  more  joyous  or 
pi’oud  of  her  honors  ;  my  crown  a  circlet  of  flowers,  my 
sceptre  a  flower- wreathed  wand  of  hazel,  and  my  throne 
a  mound  of  daisy-sprinkled  turf  in  the  meadow  by  the 
clear  flowing  river ;  my  loyal  subjects,  the  dearest  and 
most  loving  of  sisters. 

The  crown  so  coveted  was  worn  till  night,  and  then 
cast  aside  to  wither  in  the  dust.  Sic  transit  gloria 
mundi ! 

Within  a  short  distance  of  the  old  house  there  was  a 
narrow  bridle-path  which  we  called  the  “  little  lane.” 
It  was  shut  in  from  the  main  road,  with  which  it  ran 


40 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


parallel,  by  a  quick-set  hedge ;  on  the  other  side  were 
high  sloping  banks,  the  unfenced  boundary  of  upland 
pastures. 

On  the  grassy  slopes  grew  tall  oak  trees  and  a  tangled 
jungle  of  wild  bushes,  among  which  woodbine  and 
sweet  briar  entwined,  forming  luxuriant  bowers,  beneath 
which  all  sorts  of  flowers  grew  in  rich  profusion. 

On  the  other,  or  lower  side  of  the  lane,  a  little  tinkling 
rill,  that  a  child  might  step  across,  ran  down,  its  water 
clear  and  bright.  From  this  slendqr  streamlet  we  chil¬ 
dren  drank  the  most  delicious  draughts  from  Nature’s 
own  chalice,  the  hollow  of  our  hands,  or  sipped  its  pure 
waters,  like  the  fairies  we  read  of,  from  the  acorn  cups, 
that  strewed  the  grass. 

The  banks  of  the  stream  were  lined  with  sweet 
purple  violets,  primroses,  and  the  little  sun-bright 
celandine ;  and  later  on  there  was  good  store  of  wild 
strawberries,  which  we  gathered  and  strung  upon  a  stalk 
of  grass  to  carry  home  to  our  mother  as  a  peace-offering 
for  torn  frocks  and  soiled  pinafores,  or  leave  out-stayed. 

This  charming  spot  was  our  Eden.  In  it  we  laid  out 
beds  and  planted  a  garden  for  ourselves.  Like  Canadian 
squatters,  we  took  to  ourselves  right  of  soil,  and  made  a 
free  settlement  sans  ceremonie.  The  garden  was  laid 
out  right  daintily.  The  beds  were  planted  with  double 
daisies  and  many  garden  bulbs  and  flowers  discarded  or 
begged  from  the  gardener’s  parterres.  A  hollow  in  the 
bank  was  fashioned  into  a  grotto,  which  we  lined  witlx 


PLEASANT  DAYS  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 


41 


moss  and  decorated  with  dry  striped  snail-shells  and 
bright  stones. 

Our  garden  tools  were  of  the  rudest— our  trowel  a 
rusty  iron  ladle,  our  spade  a  broken-bladed  carving- 
knife,  and  we  daily  watered  the  flowers  from  a  battered 
tin  tea-pot  and  a  leaky  japanned  mug.  But  in  spite  of 
these  unhandy  implements,  the  garden  throve  and 
blossomed  in  the  wilderness. 

There,  sheltered  from  sun  and  shower  among  the 
bowery  honeysuckles,  we  reclined  on  the  green  turf, 
happy  as  children  could  be,  ami  listened  to  the  oft- 
repeated  stories  and  old  ballads  that  were  recited  by  our 
two  elder  sisters.  How  we  delighted  in  those  tales  and 
quaint  old  rhymes,  and  how  little  we  dreamed  that  the 
time  would  come  when  the  sistei’s  who  regaled  us  with 
them  would  make  a  name  for  themselves  in  the  world  of 
letters.* 

Many  years  afterwards  I  visited  the  “  little  lane.”  A 
few  crocuses  and  snowdrops,  choked  by  long  grass  and 
weeds,  were  all  that  were  left  to  mark  the  spot  where 
once  a  garden  smiled.” 

I  stooped  and  as  of  old  drank  of  the  bright  little 
stream,  and  gathered  a  nosegay  of  the  sweet  violets  to 
carry  away  as  a  souvenir  of  m3"  childhood.  Often  in 
after  years  have  the  memories  of  those  May  ‘days  among 
the  cowslips  and  daisied  meads  of  the  Wavene}"  come 
back  to  my  weaided  soul  to  cheer  and  soothe  the  exile 
in  her  far  distant  forest  home. 


Elizabeth  and  Agues  Strickland. 


42 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


LAMENT  FOR  THE  MAY  QUEEN. 

Weep,  weep,  thou  virgin  Queen  of  May, 
Thy  ancient  reign  is  o’er ; 

Thy  vot’ries  now  are  lowly  laid. 

And  thou  art  Queen  no  more. 

Fling  down,  fling  down,  thy  flow’ry  crown. 
Thy  sceptre  cast  away, 

For  ne’er  again  on  vale  or  plain 
They’ll  hail  thee  Queen  of  May. 

No  maiden  now  with  glowing  brow 
Shall  rise  with  early  dawn, 

To  bind  her  hair  with  chaplets  fair 
Torn  from  the  blossomed  thorn. 

No  lark  shall  spring  on  dewy  wing 
Thy  matin  hymn  to  pour. 

No  cuckoo’s  voice  shall  shout  “  Rejoice  !” 
For  thou  art  Queen  no  more. 

Beneath  thy  flower-encircled  wand 
No  peasant  trains  advance  ; 

No  more  they  lead  with  sportive  tread 
The  merry,  merry  dance. 

The  violet  blooms  with  modest  grace 
Beneath  its  crest  of  leaves  ; 

The  primrose  shows  her  gentle  face. 

Her  wreaths  the  woodbine  weaves. 

The  cowslip  bends  her  golden  head. 

And  daisies  deck  the  lea  ; 

But  ah  !  no  more  in  grove  or  bower 
The  Queen  of  May  we’ll  see. 


SUNSET  AND  SUNRISE  ON  LAKE 
ONTARIO:  A  REMINISCENCE.* 


“  To  watch  the  dimmed  day  deepen  into  even, 

The  flush  of  sunset  melt  in  pallid  gold ; 

While  the  pale  planets  blossom  out  in  heaven ; 

To  feel  the  tender  silence  trance  and  hold 
The  night’s  great  heartbeats  ;  soul- washed,  nature-shriven,. 
To  feel  the  mantle  of  silence  fold  on  fold.” 

—  William  Wilfred  Ganvpbell. 


Our  steamer  had  been  lying  all  day  in  front  of  the 
town  of  Brockville.  It  was  a  gala  day  in  that  place.. 
There  had  been  a  successful  launch  of  a  newly-built 
schooner  to  excite  the  townsfolk  and  attract  strangers 
from  the  American  side  across  the  >St.  Lawrence. 

A  military  band  was  playing,  and  flags  flew  from  the 
steeples  of  the  churches — on  every  public  building, 
indeed,  was  seen  tbe  Union  Jack  in  friendly  unison  with' 
the  Stars  and  Stripes. 


*  A  page  from  my  old  diary,  August,  1832. 


44 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


The  bells  of  the  town  rang  cheerily  in  honor  of  a 
wedding  party,  who  later  came  on  board  our  vessel  on 
their  honeymoon  trip  to  Niagara.  Our  departure  was 
delayed  by  the  taking  in  of  freight  for  the  upper 
provincial  towns,  and  the  landing  of  such  as  had  been 
forwarded  to  Bi’ockville,  as  well  as  by  the  late  arrival 
of  a  number  of  extra  passengers,  so  that  it  was  well 
on  towards  evening  before  we  left  the  wharf  and 
entered  the  intricate  channels  of  the  Lake  of  the 
Thousand  Isles. 

The  day  had  been  excessively  hot,  and  grateful  was 
the  change  to  the  cool  refreshing  shades  of  the  wooded 
islands,  where  oak  and  ash  and  elm  mingled  their 
branches  with  those  of  the  dark  feathery  hemlock,  pine 
and  balsam  firs.  The  grey  cedars,  too,  delighted  the 
eye  which  had  become  wearied  with  the  glare  of  the 
sun  upon  the  glassy  surface  of  the  water. 

Our  progress  was  slow  and  steady,  for  in  those  early 
days  of  steam  navigation  much  caution  was  shown,  and 
truly  the  passenger  immigrants  on  board  were  in  no 
hurry,  for  the  “  wide  world  was  all  before  them,  where 
to  choose  their  place  of  rest.” 

Every  turn  of  the  paddle-wheels  brought  some  new 
and  lovely  spot  into  view.  Visions  of  pleasant  rustic 
homes  to  be  made  by  forest,  lake  and  river  rose  to  my 
mental  vision  as  our  vessel  threaded  her  way  among 
those  fairy  islands  ;  and  with  almost  childish  delight  I 
would  point  out  wild  rocky  headlands  bright  with 


SUNSET  AND  SUNRISE  ON  LAKE  ONTARIO. 


45 


golden  lichens  and  deep  green  velvet  mosses,  or  inland 
coves  half  hidden  by  drooping  ferns  and  native  willows 
or  red  with  the  changeful  crimson  of  the  glossy-leafed 
American  Creeper  (Ampelopsis  Virginica),  which  was 
already  wreathing  in  gorgeous  autumnal  colors  the 
silvery  bark  of  the  graceful  birches  and  elms. 

What  tufts  of  golden  rod  and  pale  bluebells,  what 
starry  asters  were  mirrored  in  the  calm  waters  !  What 
glorious  spikes  of  cardinal  lobelias  and  azure-fringed 
gentians  were  growing  wild  and  free  on  many  a  rugged 
spot  where  possibl}'  no  foot  of  man  had  ever  trodden  ! 

The  captain  said  it  would  be  midnight  ere  we 
reached  Kingston,  the  “  Limestone  City,”  and  dawn 
before  we  could  be  at  Cobourg,  where  our  voyage  was 
to  terminate.  Thence  our  way  would  lie  northward  to 
what  was  at  that  time  the  ultivia  TlivXe  of  civilization, 
R  forest  wilderness  beyond  the  infant  settlement  of  the 
new  village  of  Peterborough,*  then  but  -a  cluster  of 
log  houses  and  squatters’  shanties. 

Charmed  by  the  romantic  natural  beauties  of  the 
surrounding  scene,  no  dread  of  the  future  rose  up  to 
oppress  me.  Truly  distance  lent  its  enchantment  to 
cheer  and  animate  my  spirits. 

The  sun  set  that  evening  in  a  flood  of  rose  and  amber, 
coloring  the  waveless  surface  of  the  lake  with  a  radiance 
such  as  my  English  eyes  had  never  yet  looked  upon. 

How  lovely  it  was !  My  husband  smiled  at  my 


*  Now  a  city  of  no  mean  importance  in  Ontario. 


•iti 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


enthusiasm.  Had  he  ever  beheld  so  glorious  a  sunset 
before  ? 

“Yes,  many  a  time,  in  Italy  and  in  Switzerland; 
often  quite  as  beautiful.” 

I  wished  to  claim  all  the  loveliness  for  Canada,  the 
country  of  our  adoption  and  hencefoi’th  our  home. 

The  after-glow  of  rose  tints  faded  only  to  give  place 
to  the  tremiilous  rays  of  the  now  risen  moon,  giving  a 
yet  greater  charm  to  the  scenery,  deepening  the  shadows 
or  throwing  objects  into  stronger  relief.  Then,  later  on, 
as  star  after  star  came  out,  heaven  seemed  to  cast 
unnumbered  glories  at  our  feet  in  these  twinkling  points 
of  light  mirrored  in  the  lake.  Almost  unconsciously  the 
inspired  words  rose  to  my  lips,  “  The  heavens  declare 
the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament  showeth  His 
handiwork.” 

Wrapped  in  my  ample  Scotch  tartan  cloak,  I  lay 
with  head  pillowed  on  my  husband’s  folded  plaid,  too 
much  delighted  with  my  surroundings  to  leave  the  deck 
for  the  cabin  and  the  sleeping-berth  below. 

Sometimes  our  vessel  passed  so  near  the  rocks  that 
the  overhanging  boughs  of  tlie  trees  almost  swept  the 
sides  of  the  smoke-stack,  startling  from  their  night  roosts 
flocks  of  blackbirds  and  pigeons.  Flying  out  they 
circled  around  us,  then  settled  again  among  the  trees. 
The  distant  hooting  of  tlie  big  cat-owl  was  the  only 
sound  that  broke  the  monotonous  plash  of  the  paddle- 
wheels.  The  only  other  living  thing  that  I  noted  was 


SUNSET  AND  SUNRISE  ON  LAKE  ONTARIO. 


47 


the  motionless  figure  of  a  heron  standing  on  a  fallen 
cedar  overhanging  the  inai’gin  of  the  water.  When 
our  approach  disturbed  her  night-watch  for  prey,  she 
spread  her  grey  wings  and  noiselessly  flew  onward  to 
take  her  stand  once  more  on  some  other  prostrate  tree. 
There  was  a  sort  of  witch-like  weirdness  about  this 
lonely  watcher  of  the  waters,  such  that  I  could  not  help 
but  follow  her  silent,  mysterious  flight  and  observe  the 
shadow  of  her  wings  upon  the  lake. 

Fascinated  by  the  bird,  I  watched  her  until  weariness 
overtook  my  senses,  when  my  eyes  closed  and  I  slept  so 
soundly  that  it  was  not  till  the  clanging  bell  gave  notice 
to  the  passengers  that  we  were  nearing  the  site  of  the 
frontier  town  of  Cobourg  that  I  awoke. 

If  the  night  had  been  lovely,  so  also  was  the  dawn,  as 
the  sun  rose  in  robes  of  the  most  exquisite  colors.  The 
boat  was  now  bearing  in  nearer  to  the  shores  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  rolling  country,  all  clothed  with  forest 
green.  Hill  rising  above  hill  came  out  from  the  clouds 
of  morning  mist,  far  away  to  the  distant  northern  limits 
of  the  horizon,  till  mingling  with  the  grey  they  melted 
into  a  mere  cloud  line  to  the  eye. 

Around  us,  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  lake  shone  like  a  sea  of  gold,  the 
spray  from  the  paddle-wheels  catching  a  thousand  rain¬ 
bow  hues  as  it  fell.  Surpassingly  beautiful  were  the 
clouds  of  mist  as  they  broke  into  all  sorts  of  fanciful 
forms,  rising  higher  and  Iflgher,  anon  taking  the  appear- 


48 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


ance  of  islands,  above  which  the  dark  fringe  of  forest- 
clothed  shores  was  visible,  while  the  white  creamy 
vapors  below  made  mimic  lakes  and  streams. 

Then  in  a  moment  all  was  changed.  The  mirage  of 
the  shadowy  landscape  disappeared ;  a  breath  of  cool  air 
from  the  water  separated  the  mist  and  lifted  it  like 
a  gold-tinted  veil,  high  above  the  trees,  capes,  islands, 
bays  and  forest-crowned  headlands,  until  all  faded  away, 
leaving  but  a  dream  of  beauty  on  the  gazer’s  mind — a 
memory  to  be  recalled  in  after  years  when  musing  over 
past  scenes  of  a  life  where  lights  and  shadows  form  a 
mingled  pattern  of  trials  and  blessings. 


MEMORIES  OE  A  MAY  MORNINGA 


“  Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 

The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky  ; 

The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night. 

For  thou  must  die.” 

—  Herbert. 

Just  such  a  day  as  holy  George  Herbert  describes, 
above  is  this  SAveet  May  morning.  But  what  a  change 
since  yesterday  in  the  temperature  of  the  air !  Then 
chilling  north-east  winds,  grey  cloudy  sky,  cold  and 
cheerless ;  now,  bright  cloudless  blue  sky  and  soft  balmy 
airs. 

Yesterday  I  was  wrapped  in  a  thick  woollen  shawl 
over  my  shoulders,  and  a  warm  quilted  hood  on  my 
head.  To-day  my  morning  wrapper  of  printed  calico 
and  my  muslin  cap  are  all-sufficient  for  warmth ;  hood 
and  shawl  are  laid  aside. 

Our  spring  is  unusually  late  this  year;  the  leaves  are 

From  my  diary  of  1888. 


50 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


not  unfolded.  I  lie  upon  the  couch  on  the  veranda 
basking  in  the  delicious  warmth  of  the  sun’s  rays  as 
they  reach  me  throixgh  the  half-clothed  branches  of 
the  maple  and  beech  trees  in  the  grove  beyond  my 
garden.  I  recall  last  year  at  this  same  date  when  all 
the  trees  were  in  leaf  and  the  plum  and  apple  trees  in 
full  bloom.  We  are  three  weeks  later  this  year.  Well, 
it  is  folly  to  complain  of  the  vicissitudes  of  the  seasons ; 
let  us  take  the  blessings  as  thej^  come  to  us  and  be 
thankful — the  leaves  aud  buds  and  blossoms  are  all 
before  us.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  life  here  and  watch  the 
birds  as  they  flit  to  and  fro  so  gaily  among  the  trees 
and  garden  shrubs,  carolling  and  twittering  in  the 
unalloyed  gladness  of  their  nature  quite  heedless  of  my 
presence.  Let  me  see  who  of  my  old  acqxxaintances  are 
among  them.  Thei'e  are  the  neat  little  snow  sparrows 
{Jmico  hyemalis),  which  are  among  the  first  and  most 
constant  of  the  small  birds  to  visit  us,  coming  from  the 
cold  North-West  to  make  spring  and  summer  holiday  in 
our  more  genial  climate.  In  mild  winters  they  were 
wont  to  come  as  early  as  the  middle  of  March,  but  that 
was  in  the  early  days  of  the  colony,  when  the  thick 
forests  gave  warm  shelter  to  the  wild-birds ;  but  since 
the  trees  are  fast  disappearing,  the  snow  sparrows  and 
crossbills  (Loxia  curvirostra),  and  the  tom-tits  or 
black-caps,*  and  many  othei’s,  delay  their  coming  till 
April  or  even  May.  I  lused  to  call  the  pretty  snow 


*  Chickadee  of  the  Americans — Parus  atricapillus. 


MEMORIES  OF  A  MAY  MORNING. 


51 


sparro’svs  1113’  “  quaker  birds,”  when  first  I  saw  them  and 
did  not  know  their  name.  I  admired  their  ex(}nisitel\' 
neat  plumage  of  slate-gre}",  wliite  bi-east,  darker  head, 
fiesh-colored  bills  and  legs  and  feet,  witli  some  snow- 
wliite  feathers  at  the  tail,  and  the  edo-es  of  tlie  loim- 
shaft-feathers  of  their  wings  also  tipped  with  white. 
The}'  looked  so  tidy  and  delicate,  as  if  no  speck  or  spot 
could  sully  their  quakerly  neat  dress. 

These  birds  usually  appear  in  company  with  tlie  small 
brown  and  the  chestnut-crowned  sparrows,*  witli  which 
they  seem  to  be  on  the  most  friendly  terms,  mixing  with 
them  as  they  flit  about  the  garden  seeking  for  seeds 
among  the  diy  amaranths  and  other  weeds. 

The  snow-birds  and  their  friends,  the  chipping  spar¬ 
rows,  are  busy  now  in  the  bushes  in  the  grove  building 
their  nests.  In  this  they  have  no  time  to  lose,  as  the 
season  is  so  late. 

A  lively  burst  of  .song  greets  me  just  above  my  head, 
in  the  angle  of  the  beams  of  the  veranda.  How  well  I 
know  the  cheerful  notes !  It  is  the  dear  little  brown 
house  wren’s  song. 

Yes,  there  they  are,  the  bright  little  couple.  They 
look  down  shyly  at  me  from  their  coigne  of  vantage 
abov'e ;  and  then,  as  if  quite  sure  it  is  an  old  and  trusted 
friend,  they  burst  out  with  a  joyous  chorus  of  greeting, 
as  if  to  say; 

“  Here  we  are  again ;  glad  to  see  you  alive  and  well. 


Chipping  sparrow — Spizdla  socialis. 


52 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


old  lady.”  And  the  old  lady  looks  up,  and  nods  a  hearty 
welcome  to  the  tiny  brown  birds. 

It  is  now  more  than  twenty  years  since  a  pair  of 
these  little  wrens  came  and  took  possession  of  that 
corner  of  the  veranda,  just  where  the  angle  of  the 
rafters  meet  the  roof — a  dark,  snug  little  place.  There, 
year  after  year,  every  May,  a  pair  return  to  the  old  spot. 

It  can  hardly  be  the  same  old  couple,  or  even  their 
children  or  grandchildren,  that  are  such  constant  visitors, 
never  at  a  loss,  but  coming  at  once  to  the  old  corner, 
where,  after  a  few  days’  rest,  they  commence  to  build  a 
rudely-constructed  nest  of  birch  twigs ;  no  moss,  nor 
hair  nor  any  soft  mateidals  are  employed  for  the  cradles- 
of  the  tiny  little  brood. 

What  brings  these  tiny  birds  back  to  the  old  summer 
haunts  ?  Is  it  memory  ?  Or  is  it  that  unerring,  mys¬ 
terious  power  that  we  term  Instinct,  which,  acting- 
like  an  irresistible  impulse,  guides  them  the  right  way, 
straight  to  the  harbor  where  they  would  be  ? 

Is  it  this  that  draws  the  fledglings  of  last  year  back  to- 
the  nest  in  which  they  wei-e  reared,  to  re-enact  the  life 
and  habits  of  the  parent-birds  of  the  particular  species  of 
the  wren  family  to  which  they  especially  belong  ?  We- 
know  not. 

For  the  first  week  after  they  arrive  the  wrens  da 
nothing  but  flit  gaily  about,  making  high  holiday  with 
merry  songs  before  they  settle  down  to  work  in  good 
earnest. 


MEMORIES  OF  A  MAY  MORNING. 


53 


The  hrst  thing  they  do  is  to  clear  away  the  old  rubbish 
from  last  year’s  nest — a  regular  course  of  house-cleaning 
— before  the  foundation  of  the  new  nest  is  laid.  In  the 
work  of  building  both  labor.  They  are  not  selfish,  my 
dear  little  household  pets,  like  some  of  the  male  birds, 
which  leave  all  the  work  of  building  and  care  of  the 
nurslings  to  the  female,  while  they  take  their  ease,  eat¬ 
ing  and  singing  and  enjoying  themselves. 

The  wrens  arrive  just  before  the  first  hatch  of  the 
May-flies  issue  from  their  watery  prison.  It  is  with  the 
smaller  ephemera,  the  two-oared  flies,  that  they  feed 
their  young. 

Is  it  not  marvellous  the  instinct  which  impels  these 
little  birds  to  return  at  the  exact  time  of  the  year  to 
where  the  particular  kind  of  nourishment  required  for 
the  little  broods  can  only  be  obtained  ? 

0  wondrous  law,  given  by  their  Creator  to  each  one 
of  His  creatures,  in  accordance  with  His  will  and  their 
sevei'al  needs ! 

All  day  long,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  these  birds  are  on 
the  wing,  as  soon  as  tlie,  little  ones  are  hatched,  going 
and  coming  unweariedly,  with  a  love  for  tlieir  oflspring 
that  never  tires. 

Listen  to  the  song  of  greeting  they  give  to  the  nest¬ 
ling  as  they  drop  the  fly  into  the  open  beak,  having  first 
torn  off  its  stiff  gauzy  wings.  This  is  a  constant  habit, 
and  it  is  very  dexterously  done.  In  an  instant  the  birds 
are  again  on  the  wing,  to  supply  the  ceaseless  cravings 


54 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


of  the  greedy  little  ones,  who  seem  ever  to  be  crying 
out,  “  Give,  give,”  when  they  hear  the  approach  of  the 
father  or  mother. 

Last  summer  our  wrens  raised  three  successive  broods. 
I  do  not  think  the  number  exceeded  five  little  birds  each 
time.  This  year  the  time  will  not  admit  of  an  extra 
hatch. 

The  wrens  usually  linger  with  us  till  the  end  of 
August,  but  some  will  stay  into-  September  if  the 
weather  remains  warm.  Then  they  leave  us  to  winter 
in  a  milder  climate  westward  or  southward,  crossing  the 
St.  Lawrence  or  Niagara  rivers  guided  by  the  sanre 
power  that  led  them  hither. 

How  little,  after  all,  is  our  knowledge  of  the  ways  of 
these  wild  creatures  that  come  to  us,  we  only  guess  from 
whence.  They  steal  so  quietly  among  us.  One  day  they 
are  seen  building  their  temporary  nests  in  our  groves  and 
forests,  in  our  garden  bushes  and  orchards,  in  the  shade 
trees  of  our  busiest  streets,  under  the  eaves  of  our  houses 
and  even  of  our  churches  and  sacred  temples ;  a  few 
brief  weeks  or  months,  and  lo  !  they  disappear.  Silently 
they  came;  as  silently  they  depart.  Some,  indeed,  gather 
together  in  social  bands,  but  others  steal  away  unseen ; 
we  know  not  how  and  when  they  go  till  we  miss  them, 
to  see  them  no  more  again  till  the  spring  of  another 
year. 

While  I  am  pondering  over  these  mysteries,  a  pair 
of  gay  summer  yellow  birds  flash  past  me,  evidently 


MEMORIES  OF  A  MAY  MORNING. 


55 


tent  on  important  business.  The}^  are  probably  seeking 
a  convenient  bush  v^iere  .to  commence  the  building  of 
a  nest  for  the  reception  of  their  unknown  family. 

I  can  fancy  the  lively  discussion  that  is  being  cari-ied 
on  betv^een  the  little  pair,  where  to  make  choice  of  the 
best  and  safest  situation  for  the  nest. 

That  syringa  opposite  the  drawing-room  window  is 
sure  to  be  chosen.  Every  succeeding  season  it  has  had 
a  nest  built  among  its  network  of  small  branches,  leaves 
and  fragrant  blossoms.  It  is  the  favorite  resort  of  the 
little  3^ellow  birds.*  Some  call  these  birds  “  wild 
canaries,”  but  there  is  a  great  difference  between  the 
species,  the  true  vuld  canary  being  larger,  of  a  pale 
lemon  color,  and  the  head  marked  in  the  male  bird 
with  a  spot  of  black,  also  the  wing  feathers.  It  is  a  true 
finch,  feeding  on  seeds,  especially  those  of  the  thistle. 

But  I  am  interested  in  the  movements  of  my  little 
friends.  There  is  evidently  some  demur  about  the  fitness 
of  the  syringa  bush — they  seem  to  be  debating  between 
it  and  a  Tartarian  honeysuckle  near  the  wicket  gate 
— but  time  is  pressing  and  a  hasty  choice  must  be 
made.  ' 

Yes,  the  faithful  little  pair  have  chosen  the  old  syringa 
and  are  going  to  work  at  once. 

Good-speed  to  you,  my  wise  little  couple.  We  shall 
soon  see  the  result  of  your  work,  for  I  perceive  your 
plans  are  all  settled  now. 


'  Yellow  Warbler,  or  Summer  Bird — Dcndroica  cestiva. 


56 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Some  two  years  ago  a  great  event  happened  to  a  pair 
of  my  yellow  birds,  which  ended  in  a  serious  disappoint¬ 
ment.  One  warm  May  morning,  as  my  daughter  and  I 
sat  sewing  on  the  veranda,  a  little  passing  puff  of  wind 
blew  away  some  snips  of  the  white  material  that  wo 
had  been  busy  with  and  carried  them  among  the  grass 
just  below  the  syringa  bush,  where  the  foundation  of  a 
nest  had  just  been  laid  by  the  female  bird.  Her 
bright  eyes  quickly  caught  sight  of  the  scraps  of  muslin, 
and  down  she  came  from  her  perch  in  the  bush  and 
carried  off  the  prize  to  her  nest,  coming  back  and 
diligently  picking  up  all  the  bits  she  could  see.  Noticing 
that  she  was  so  well  pleased  with  this  new  building 
material,  we  added  some  more  scraps  and  some  tufts  of 
cotton  wool  to  the  supply.  Charmed  with  her  good 
fortune,  and  grown  bolder,  the  pretty  creature  ventured 
nearer  to  us  and  took  all  the  scraps  we  chose  to  scatter 
for  her  on  the  grass. 

The  work  of  building  went  on  so  rapidly  that  in  the 
course  of  two  hours  she  had  constructed  a  most  delicate 
and  dainty  looking  snow-white  nest,  and  the  pair  took 
possession  of  this  novel-looking  house  with  festal  song. 
But  ah  me !  their  joy  was  destined  to  be  of  but  short 
duration. 

“The  he.st  laid  schemes  o’  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley,” 

and  in  the  present  case  so  it  proved  with  our  pair  of 
little  architects. 


“  WESTOVE,  ’  KESIDENCE  OF  MRS.  TRAILL. 


MEMORIES  OF  A  MAY  MORNING. 


57 


A  heavy  thunder-shower  came  on  at  noon  of  the  next 
day.  I  leave  my  readers  to  imagine  the  result.  The 
fairy-like  palace,  like  all  castles  in  the  air,  had  collapsed, 
and,  “  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision,  left  but  a 
wreck  behind.”  However,  our  brave  little  birdie  cried, 
“  Never  say  die  !”  and  set  to  work  once  more,  made  wiser 
by  experience,  building  a  more  substantial  nest  in  a 
lilac  bush  close  by ;  but  with  a  feminine  weakness  for 
finery  she  paid  many  visits  to  the  frail  ruin,  selecting 
such  of  the  more  substantial  materials  among  the  rags 
as  she  found  likely  to  prove  useful  in  binding  the  walls 
of  the  new  nest  together,  but  not  sufficient  to  weaken 
the  more  suitable  articles  which  she  wisely  adopted  for 
her  work. 

The  new  nest  was  an  excellent  specimen  of  skill,  and 
the  bits  so  judiciously  woven  in  this  time  proved  highly 
ornamental.  I  fancied  the  little  builder  felt  proud  of 
her  work  when  it  was  finished,  and  we  gave  it  unquali¬ 
fied  praise. 

The  ruined  tenement  excited  the  admiration  of  a  cat¬ 
bird.*  She  also  had  a  taste  for  pretty  soft  bits  of  muslin 
and  gay  scraps  of  colored  prints ;  so  her  ladyship  set  to 
work  very  diligently  to  repair  tlie  now  dilapidated  nest 
with  the  addition  of  dried  fibrous  roots,  and  grass,  moss 
and  all  sorts  of  trash,  which,  with  the  rags,  were  soon 
wrought  up  into  a  substantial  nest  which  formed  the 
receptacle  for  fiv’e  bluish-green  eggs.  But  misfortune 


Galeoscoptes  carolincnns  (Linn.). 


58 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


seemed  to  dint;  to  the  coveted  nest,  tor  an  accident, 
wliich  might  have  ended  fatally  to  the  cat- bird,  befell 
her  one  day.  When  about  to  leave  the  nest  her  legs 
became  entangled  in  some  loose  strings  which  she  had 
woven  among  the  other  materials,  and,  unable  to  free 
herself,  she  fell  down  head  foremost  into  the  midst  of  a 
rosebush,  very  stout  and  spiny,  out  of  which  she  could 
not  extricate  herself,  but  lay  fluttering  and  uttering  the 
most  doleful  cries,  more  like  the  yells  of  an  enraged  cat 
than  a  bird. 

The  unusual  outcry  brought  me  to  the  rescue,  and  at 
my  near  ajoproach  she  ceased  her  cries,  and  I  truly 
believe  the  poor  captive  looked  to  me  for  help.  I  quickly 
perceived  the  cause  of  her  disquiet,  and  with  my  scissors 
soon  set  her  free.  With  a  joyful  cry  she  flew  away,  and, 
what  seemed  to  me  a  remarkable  proof  of  sagacity  in 
the  bird,  she  forsook  the  nest,  never  again  venturing 
back  to  it,  though  it  contained  the  five  blue  eggs.  She 
evidently  felt  it  better  to  forsake  them  unhatched  than 
run  any  risk  of  danger  to  herself  or  her  little  brood. 
This,  at  any  rate,  was  my  own  conclusion  on  the  subject, 
though  it  may  not  have  been  that  of  the  cat-bird. 

While  sitting  on  the  eggs,  and  while  the  young  ones 
are  yet  unfledged  and  helpless,  the  mother-bird  becomes 
bold  and  excitable.  If  anyone  approaches  too  near  to 
her  nursery,  she  flies  round  the  nest  with  outspread 
wings  uttering  strange  angry  cries,  as  if  resenting  the 
impertinent  attempt  to  pry  into  her  family  aflairs,  and 


MEMORIES  OF  A  MAY  MORNING.  5&' 

should  the  intruder  venture  closer  she  would  no  doubt 
punish  him  with  strokes  of  her  bill  and  wings. 

The  cat-bird  belongs  to  the  same  family  as  the 
southern  mocking-bird,*  and  by  many  persons  has- 
been  known  by  the  name  of  “  False  Mocking-bird.” 

It  is  a  common  idea  that  the  note  of  the  cat-bird  ia 
most  discordant,  like  the  mewing  of  an  angry  cat ;  but 
this  is,  I  think,  a  mistake.  The  true  song  of  the  cat¬ 
bird  is  rich,  full  and  melodious,  more  like  that  of  the 
English  thrush  -f*  In  point  of  fact,  this  bird  is  the  best- 
songster  among  the  summer  visitants  in  Canada. 

I  have  fully  satisfied  myself  that  the  harsh,  wild 
squalling  cry  attributed  to  the  parent  birds  is  that  of 
the  young  birds  when  the  mother  has  forsaken  them,, 
leaving  them  to  shift  for  themselves,  and,  like  weaned 
children,  the  call  is  for  food  and  companionship.  This 
is  my  own  observation  from  watching  the  birds. 


Mimus  polyglottos. 


■\Turdus  melodious. 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


“  The  birds  around  me  hopped  and  played ; 
Their  thoughts  I  cannot  measure  ; 

But  the  least  motion  which  they  made 
It  seemed  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

“  The  budding  twigs  spread  out  their  fan 
To  catch  the  breezy  air ; 

And  I  must  think,  do  all  I  can, 

That  there  was  pleasure  thei’e.” 

—  Wordsworth. 


This  morning.  May  20th,  I  saw  the  first  humming¬ 
bird  of  the  season,  later  than  usual. 

A  lovely  living  gem  is  the  Ruby -throated  Humming¬ 
bird,*  with  its  brilliant  ruby,  green  and  gold  colors  flash- 

*  Ruby -throated  Humming-bird — Trochilus  colubris  (Linn.).  Hub. — 
Eastern  North  America  to  the  Plains,  north  to  the  fur  countries,  and 
south,  in  winter,  to  Cuba  and  Veragua.  Ifest,  a  beautiful  specimen  of 
bird  architecture,  usually  placed  on  the  horizontal  branch  of  a  tree  in  the 
orchard,  composed  of  grey  lichens,  lined  with  the  softest  plant-down. 
Efjgs,  two,  imre  white,  blushed  with  pink  while  fresh. — McIlwraith, 
“Birds  of  Ontario.” 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


61 


ing  in  the  sunlight.  The  rapidity  of  its  flight  is  greater 
than  that  of  any  other  bird.  A  dart  and  it  is  gone  ;  we 
scarce  can  follow  it  with  the  eye.  Sometimes  it  will  fly 
in  through  an  open  window,  hover  a  moment  over  the 
flowers,  cut  or  in  pots,  which  have  attracted  it,  then 
dart  away  again  into  the  sunshine.  It  is  so  delicate 
that  the  least  rough  handling  kills  the  lovely  creatui'e. 

We  are  so  late  this  year,  the  honeyed  bells  of  the 
scarlet  rock  columbine  are  not  yet  open.  A  few  more 
sunny  days  and  they  will  be  out,  and  then  the  humming¬ 
bird  will  have  a  feast.  Meanwhile  he  is  not  starving, 
but  is  busied  with  the  blossoms  of  the  sugar-maples  in 
the  grove  outside  my  garden. 

What  a  sight  those  maples  present  just  now !  The 
leaves  are  only  beginning  to  burst  from  their  brown 
winter  sheathing,  but  the  tassels  of  pale  yellow  flowers 
hang  pendent  from  every  spray,  dancing  in  the  light 
warm  air ;  every  breath  sets  the  delicate  thready  stalks 
in  motion,  and  the  sunbeams  brighten  the  flowers  to 
gold  against  the  blue  of  the  May-day  sky. 

Truly  the  trees  are  a  sight  to  gladden  the  eye  and  to 
lift  up  the  rejoicing  lieart  from  earth  to  the  throne  of 
the  glorious  God  who  has  given  such  beauty  to  His 
creatures  to  enjoy. 

“  Father  of  earth  and  heaven,  all,  all  are  Thine! 

The  boundles.s  trihe.s  in  ocean,  air  and  plain  ; 

And  nothing  live.s,  and  move.s,  and  breatlies  in  vain ; 

Thou  art  their  soul — the  impulse  is  divine  I — 


62 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Nature  lifts  loud  to  Thee  her  happy  voice, 

And  calls  her  caverns  to  resound  Thy  praise  ; 

Thy  name  is  heard  amid  her  pathless  ways, 

And  e’en  her  senseless  things  in  Thee  rejoice. 

0  God !  what  homage  shall  he  pour  to  Thee, 

Whom  Thou  hast  stamped  with  immortality !  ” 

— Jane  Roscoe. 

This  is  a  sweet,  quiet  spot.  The  river,  the  bright, 
rapid  Otonabee — the  Indian  word  for  “  flashing  water 
running  fast  ” — lies  at  the  foot  of  the  gras.sy  slope  and 
open  grove  of  forest  trees  which  divide  iny  garden  from 
its  shores.  From  the  opposite  bank  the  village  cottages, 
church  spires  and  busy  factory  cast  their  shadows  on 
the  stream. 

There  is  a  murmur  of  wheels  and  rushing  rapids 
from  belpw  the  mill-dam,  blended  and  softened  to  one 
harmonious  monotone,  ever  singing  the  same  tuneless 
song  which  soothes  and  never  wearies  on  the  ear. 

'Tis  pleasant  to  rest  here  in  the  sunshine  and  take  in 
the  quiet  surroundings  of  the  spot.  I  had  nearly  fallen 
asleep  this  warm  morning,  when  I  was  roused  by  the 
joyous  carolling  of  the  wrens  on  the  lattice  of  the 
veranda. 

The  mother-bird  is  sitting,  and  her  faithful  mate 
comes  to  cheer  his  little  wife  with  gay  songs.  He  does 
not  seem  to  heed  me ;  he  knows  by  experience  that  I 
am  an  old  friend. 

I  have  often  thought  that  before  sin  marred  the 
harmony  of  Nature  the  birds  and  animals  wei’e  not 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


63 


afraid  of  man,  bnt  rejoiced  in  his  presence :  that  Adam 
understood  their  language,  and  the_y  knew  his  will, 
obeying  the  voice  of  their  master.  Now,  all  is  changed. 
The  timid  and  defenceless  flee  from  man,  as  from  an 
enemy.  His  presence  awakens  hatred  and  fear  in  the 
wild  denizens  of  the  forest,  while  the  roar  of  the  lion 
and  the  howl  of  the  wolf  inspire  his  dread.  It  was  not 
so  once,  and  there  is  a  promise  that  the  old  harmony 
shall  be  restored,  when  “  the  earth  shall  be  full  of  the 
knowledge  of  the  Lord,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea.” 

Three  summers  ago  a  Black-billed  Cuckoo*  visited 
my  garden  and  made  her  shallow  nest  of  dried  roots  and 
hay  on  the  flat  branch  of  a  white  spruce,  not  more  than 
six  feet  from  the  ground,  so  that  she  .vas  easily  seen  as 
she  sat  within  it. 

I  was  attracted  in  passing  the  tree  by  the  glitter  of 
her  large  lustrous  black  eyes,  and,  on  approaching 
nearer,  by  her  soft  rounded  head,  the  snowy  whiteness 
of  her  breast  and  her  delicate  fawn-brown  back  and 
wings.  The  silkiness  of  the  plumage  contrasted  finely 
with  the  dark  horny  bill  and  full  black  eyes. 

The  shallow  saucer-shaped  nest  was  not  large  enough 
to  contain  the  long  tail,  and  it  hung  out  beyond  the 
edge. 

*  Black-billed  Cuckoo — Cocciizus  erythrophthaZmus  (Wils.).  Hub. — 
Eastern  North  America,  from  Labrador  and  Manitoba  south  to  the  West 
Indies  and  the  valley  of  the  Amazon  ;  west  to  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Accidental  in  the  British  Islands  and  Italy.  Nest,  loosely  constructed  of 
twigs,  grass,  strips  of  bark,  leaves,  etc.,  and  placed  in  a  bush.  Eggs,  two  to 
live,  light  greenish-blue. — McIlwkaith,  “  Birds  of  Ontario.” 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


I  had  never  been  so  near  to  the  cuckoo  before,  and  was 
struck  by  the  beauty  of  the  bird  and  her  wise  ways. 

On  a  movement  of  my  head  in  order  to  get  a  closer 
peep  at  the  pretty  creature,  she  became  alarmed  and 
silently  dropped  off  the  nest  backwards,  slyly  slipping 
out  of  sight  among  the  grass  and  herbage  below  the 
tree ;  then,  noiselessly  gliding  away,  she  reappeared  on 
a  tree  beyond  the  garden  and  uttered  a  succession  of 
loud  angry  cries,  each  a  distinct  syllable — “  Kow  !  kow  I 
kow  !  kow  !  ’’—repeating  them  many  times,  as  if  to  say 
in  threatening  tones,  “  How  dare  you  look  into  my  nest, 
you  big,  disagreeable  creature  !  ” 

That  was  what  she  meant ;  so,  knowing  I  was  an 
impertinent  intruder,  I  retired  to  a  little  distance  to 
allow  her  to  return  to  her  four  beautiful  pale  blue  eggs, 
pocketing  the  affront  for  the  time,  but  often  returning 
to  take  a  furtive  peep  at  Mistress  Cuckoo  and  hear  her 
scolding  cry  of  “  Kow  !  kow  !  ” 

I  had  hoped  to  make  myself  acquainted  with  the  little 
brood,  but  unluckily  the  nest  was  discovered  by  some 
boys  of  bird-nesting  propensities,  or  it  may  have  been  by 
a  cat.  In  fact  I  had  my  suspicions  that  one  or  other  of 
our  own  tom-cats  may  have  been  the  culprit  that  robbed 
the  poor  cuckoo  of  her  eggs  or  newly  hatched  birds. 

1'he  common  name  “  Rain  Crow  ”  was  given  the  Black¬ 
billed  Cuckoo  on  account  of  her  loud,  oft -repeated  note 
being  heard  before  rain. 

There  is  another  bird  belongiiig  to  the  Cuckoo  family 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


65 


that  is  common  to  North  America  and  western  or 
soutliern  Ontario,  but  is  not  often  seen  to  the  north 
and  east.  This  is  the  Yellow-billed  Cuckoo  {Goccyzus 
Aniericanus),  a  bird  of  quiet  and  retiring  habits,  seen 
generally  in  orchards  and  in  groves  on  the  banks  of 
rivers. 

May  21st. — Another  lovely  day.  The  air  is  full  of 
sweet  sounds  and  lovely  sights.  The  young  leaves  are 
bursting  on  every  spray  of  bush  and  tree. 

Many  of  our  wild-flowers  that  did  not  come  forth  in 
their  usual  season,  April,  are  now  pushing  out  their 
blossoms  as  if  in  haste  to  meet  the  tardy  warmth  which 
has  been  so  long  withheld  from  the  earth  this  year.  I 
am  glad  to  see  them.  Better  late  than  never. 

In  the  woods,  under  last  year’s  sheltering  bed  of 
fallen  leaves,  they  have  bloomed  because  protected  from, 
the  chilling  winds ;  but  here  in  the  open  borders  of  my 
garden  they  are  late,  very  late.  But  why  quarrel  with 
the  delay,  since  I  now  see  the  milk-white  stars  of  the 
Blood-root,  so  large  and  fine,  gleaming  brightly  in  the 
gay  sunshine  this  May  morning. 

These  beautiful  flowers  improve  under  cultivation, 
and  are  double  the  size  of  those  in  the  grove  close  by. 

The  flowers  of  the  sweet  Liver-leaf  {Hepatica  triloba 
and  Hepatica  rotundijiora)  are  all  out,  a  crowd  of  lovely 
starry  blossoms  of  many  hues — pink,  blue,  pale  lilac  and 
pure  white.  Delicate  in  scent,  too,  they  are.  The  new 
spring  leaves  are  unfolding,  clothed  with  shining  silk 


66 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


and  shaded  with  a  purplish  cloud  in  the  centre.  They 
are  already  hiding  the  old  withered  and  persistently 
clinging  foliage  of  last  year,  throwing  it  oft'  as  a  worn- 
out  garment. 

Here,  late  also,  is  the  Spring  Beauty  {Claytonia  Vir- 
ginica),  a  frail  and  delicate  flower.  Its  pink  and  white 
tinted  and  striped  petals  hardly  look  as  if  they  could 
bear  the  cold  breath  of  early  April,  but  it  is  really 
hardy,  and  is  not  generally  afraid  of  frost.  This  is, 
however,  an  exceptional  season,  or  should  have  seen 
the  graceful  Dog-tooth  Violet  {Liliuni  erithronium) 
showing  its  yellow  drooping  bells  ere  this  date. 

There  is  a  large  bed  of  these  flowers  just  outside  iny 
garden,  but  they  will  not  condescend  to  enter  within 
cultivated  ground,  though  I  have  often  tried  to  coax  the 
obstinate  beauties  to  take  root  with  me.  They  love 
their  free-born  liberty,  and  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  me  and  civilized  life.  They  cling  to  the  leaf -mould, 
and  the  shade  of  the  maples  and  beeches,  and  need  the 
warm  coverlet  of  scarlet  and  orange  leaves  the  autumn 
winds  spread  over  them ;  and  perhaps — rwho  shall  deny 
it  ? — they  may  miss  the  companionship  of  grasses  and 
ferns  and  mosses,  or  some  native  wild-flower  that 
mingles  its  roots  and  foliage  among  their  own  richly 
spotted  leaves. 

The  name  “  Dog-tooth  Violet,”  by  which  this  fair  lily 
is  known,  is  surely  a  great  misnomer.  It  has  no  affinity 
with  the  violet.  The  first  part  of  the  name  has  been 


AXOTHEH  MAY  MOllXIXG. 


G7 

dex'ived  from  tlie  white  pointed  bnlb,  which  in  color  and 
shape  is  like  the  sharp  canine  tooth  of  a  dog.  “  Dog¬ 
tooth  Lily  ”  we  might  tolerate  as  more  coi’rect  or  appro¬ 
priate. 

The  wood  ferns  ai’e  all  xini'ollino:  their  fronds.  The 
slender,  delicate  Maiden-hair  we  call  the  “Fairy  Fern” 
will  soon  be  fluttering  its  tender  leaflets  like  the  young 
birds  in  the  wood  set  free  of  the  parent  nest. 

Just  now  a  flash  of  glorious  color  darted  past  me,  and 
I  recognized  at  a  glance  the  gorgeous  plumage  of  the 
Baltimore  Oriole — gold,  scarlet-orange  and  purply  black 
in  varied  contrasts.  Beautiful  is  it  beyond  compare  with 
any  of  our  summer  visitors,  and  among  our  native  birds 
it  has  no  peer. 

The  Baltimore  is  indeed  “a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy 
forever.”  Once  seen  it  is  never  forgotten.  How  eagerly 
the  eye  follows  its  swift  flight !  But  it  is  shy,  and  while 
we  long  for  a  second  sight  it  is  gone.  It  will  not  tarry 
to  indulge  us ;  it  knows  not  the  delight  its  presence 
gives  us,  and  is  hastening  to  join  its  mate.  She,  in  her 
sober,  modest  dress  of  olive  and  brown,  is  no  doubt  as 
attractive  in  his  eyes  as  he  is  to  her  in  all  his  gay 
plumes  of  scarlet  and  gold. 

The  Indians,  in  their  expressive  language,  call  the 
Baltimore  Oriole  “Fire  Bird,”  while  the  more  prosaic 
settlers  call  it  “  Hang  Bird,”  from  its  pendent  nest,  a 
name  more  fitting  to  its  habits,  but  less  poetical  and 
descriptive  of  the  bird  itself  than  the  Indian  name. 


68 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Tlie  nest  of  the  Oriole  is  a  curious  piece  of  workman¬ 
ship,  composed  of  all  sorts  of  thready  materials,  picked 
up  in  all  kinds  of  odd  places,  even  in  busy  streets  where 
no  one  would  suppose  so  shy  a  bird  would  ever  venture 
to  appear. 

I  have  in  my  possession  a  wonderful  specimen  of  an 
oriole’s  nest,  taken  from  the  branch  of  an  acacia  tree  in 

A 

front  of  a  dry  goods  store  in  a  busy,  populous  town. 
The  nest  is  made  of  a  mass  of  strings,  pack  thread,, 
whip  cord,  cotton  warp  and  woollen  yaim.  All  these 
materials  are  most  skilfully  woven  together  in  a  regular 
network,  and  form  a  large  soft  elastic  purse-shaped 
bag  with  a  round  opening  in  one  side.  The  nest  was 
suspended  from  the  end  of  the  bough  by  strings  care¬ 
fully  fastened  to  it,  and  dangling  from  this  curious 
hanging  cradle  is  a  long  piece  of  string,  to  which  is. 
attached  a  large  somewhat  rusted  packing  needle, 
threaded,  as  if  it  had  been  used  by  the  ingenious  little 
worker  in  the  manufacture  of  the  bag,  and  there  left. 
All  the  materials  had  been  gathered  up  from  the  sweep¬ 
ings  of  the  store,  collected  bit  by  bit,  but  at  what  time 
is  a  question  unanswered. 

So  splendid  a  bird  as  the  Baltimore  Oriole  picking  up 
rags  and  odds  and  ends  in  a  public  thoroughfare  one 
would  think  could  hardly  have  escaped  the  eyes  of  men 
and  boys,  if  done  in  noon-day ;  but  thei'e  is  a  hidden 
wisdom  posse.ssed  by  God’s  little  ones,  and  it  strikes  me 
that  the  work  was  done,  and  well  done,  too,  in  the  early 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


69 

hours  of  the  dawn.  Before  the  earliest  laborer  was 
astir,  going  forth  to  his  work,  this  little  builder  was 
busy  at  hers. 

The  Baltimore  is  not  the  only  bird  that  might  be 
called  a  weaver.  There  are  many  foreign  birds  remark¬ 
able  for  their  ingenuity  in  such  work.  The  little  Taylor 
Bird,  which  sews  two  leaves  together  as  with  a  needle 
and  thread,  is  one  of  these  wonderful  bird  architects. 

Here  at  my  door  is  another  of  my  little  friends,  the 
Chestnut-crowned  Sparrow,  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken  in  the  preceding  chapter.  This  familiar,  social 
little  bird  is  one  of  the  earliest  to  make  its  appearance 
about  our  homes  and  gardens,  and  is  always  welcome. 
It  is  as  friendly  in  its  ways  as  the  dear  robin  used  to  be 
in  the  Old  Country,  and  we  reward  it  by  treating  it  to 
crumbs  from  the  table  and  any  dainty  little  scraps  that 
are  at  hand. 

It  is  the  very  smallest  of  our  birds — the  smallest,  I 
think,  of  all  the  many  species  of  the  Sparrow  family — 
and  is  so  harmless  and  useful  that  it  has  many  friends. 
A  gentle,  kindly  little  creature,  it  hops  confidingly  about 
our  pathways  and  on  the  verandas,  evidently  in  full 
confidence  of  being  welcome  at  all  times. 

The  name  “  Chipping  Sparrow,”  which  is  often  applied 
to  it,  arises  from  its  weak  note,  “  Chip,  chip.”  Sometimes 
it  raises  a  cheerful  little  attempt  at  a  song,  but  the  effort 
does  not  amount  to  much. 

The  reddish  spot  on  its  head  is  an  unmistakable  mark 
6 


70 


PEARLS  AXD  PEBBLES. 


of  the  species.  Its  familiar,  friendly  habits  distinguish 
this  innocent  little  bird  from  any  of  the  rest  of  the  many 
sparrows  that  visit  us  during  the  breeding  season,  and 
we  hail  its  arrival  as  among  the  earliest  harbingers  of 
sj)ring. 

“  They  tell  us  that  winter,  cold  winter,  is  pa.st. 

And  spring,  lovely  spring,  is  arriving  at  last.” 

This  tiny  visitor  comes  before  the  swallow  ventures  to 
try  her  arrowy  wings  in  the  capricious  air  of  our  April 
weather.  In  bright  sunny  March  days,  while  the  snow 
is  yet  on  the  ground,  its  pleasant  little  note  is  heard, 
and  it  is  often  seen  in  company  with  the  j  uncos,  with 
which  it  associates  in  a  friendly  manner,  the  flocks 
mingling  together  in  common,  picking  up  seeds  that  lie 
scattered  on  the  surface  of  the  snow. 

They  are  of  wide  distribution,  being  found  all  through 
eastern  North  America,  beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains 
westward,  and  even  as  far  northerly  as  the  Great  Slave 
Lake.  Its  nest  is  simply  constructed  of  fine  dried 
grass,  a  few  root  fibres,  cow’s  hair,  and  maybe  a  feather 
or  two,  built  in  some  low  bush  near  the  ground.  The 
eggs  are  a  pale  bluish  green,  three  or  four  in  number. 

Another  welcome  friend  is  the  Canadian  Robin,*  as 
he  is  commonly  called ;  but  he  is  only  an  immigrant.  A 
few  venture  to  winter  with  us,  hidden,  as  we  suppose, 
under  the  covert  of  the  thick  forest,  but  they  are  seldom 
seen. 


*The  American  Robin— Aferitto  Migratoria  (Linn.). 


AXf)THER  MAY  MOKXING. 


71 


Though  he  bears  the  familiar  name  of  roljin,  he  is  not 
a  real  representative  of  the  “  household  bird  with  the 
red  stomacher,”  as  one  of  our  old  divines  calls  the 
English  redbreast,  yet  the  name  serves  to  recall  to  the 
Canadian  immigrant,  in  his  far-ofi‘  wilderness,  the 
homely  little  bird  that  so  fearlessly  entered  open  door 
or  window  as  a  familiar  guest,  loved  and  cherished  by 
man,  woman  and  child  alike.  The  little  bird  that  hops 
about  their  path  and  carols  gaily  at  their  side  when 
all  the  other  songsters  ai-e  silent  or  have  left  for  fairer 
climes  and  fruitful  fields,  holds  a  warm  place  in  every 
heart. 

The  redbreast  is  held  sacred ;  even  the  village  boy, 
when  out  bird-nesting  in  grove  or  field,  would  not  touch 
the  nest  of  the  sitting  bird  nor  hurt  the  tiny  fledglings. 
How  often,  as  a  child,  have  I  heard  the  Suffolk  distich 
from  the  lips  of  the  country  peasant  boy : 

“  The  robin  and  the  chitty  wren 
Are  God  Almighty’s  cock  and  hen  ” — 

a  rude  rhyme,  but  spoken  with  reverence  by  the  simple 
lad,  and  good  in  its  teaching  for  the  harmless  bird’s 
safety. 

The  American  Robin  is  not  a  true  thrush,  but  is  a 
near  relative  to  those  sweet  songsters,  the  Merle  and  the 
Mavis.  He  is  one  of  the  first  of  our  early  visitants. 
Before  the  snows  of  midwinter  have  quite  melted,  he 
comes  across  the  St.  Lawrence  at  different  points,  and 
spreads  through  the  country  on  the  lookout  for  a  favor- 


72 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


able  settlement  where  he  and  his  future  spouse  and 
family  may  make  themselves  a  comfortable  home  for 
the  long  summer  days  to  come. 

The  male  birds  come  before  the  females,  and  in  small 
parties,  I  think,  as  it  is  usual  to  see  four  or  more  of 
them  near  each  other  in  the  fields  and  gardens.  It  speaks 
well  for  the  domestic  harmony  of  their  lives,  this  look¬ 
ing  out  for  the  future  comfort  of  their  partners,  and  a 
good  example  for  our  young  men  to  follow  before  taking 
to  themselves  wives.  Commend  me  to  the  wisdom  of 
Mister  Robin. 

Tliere  is  great  rejoicing  when  the  bevy  of  young 
females  come  over  the  border-land,  followed  by,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  a  good  deal  of  fighting  before  matrimonial 
arrangements  are  completed. 

I  rather  think  that  our  male  robins  help  to  construct 
the  large  unsightly  nest,  or  at  any  i-ate  assist  in  bring¬ 
ing  the  materials — sticks,  roots,  dried  grass-stalks,  straw 
and  other  such  coarse  matter.  The  walls  inside  are 
plastered  with  clay,  not  very  neatly — in  fact,  it  is  about 
as  fine  as  a  chopper’s  shanty,  rough  and  ready,  but  serves 
its  purpose  as  a  nursery  pro  tern,  for  the  young  birds. 

If  we  examine  the  nests  of  some  of  the  smaller  birds— 
the  finches,  for  instance — and  notice  the  beauty  of  struc¬ 
ture,  the  smoothness  of  finish,  the  symmetry  of  form, 
the  softness  and  delicacy  of  the  interioi- — no  roughness 
nor  hardness  in  the  material,  all  loose  threads  tucked  in 
so  neatly — and  tlien  think  of  the  tools  the  little  builders- 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


73 


have  had  to  work  with,  well  may  we  be  filled  with 
admiration  and  astonishment. 

Take  the  nest  of  the  goldfinch,  ami  then  see  what  the 
little  creature  has  at  her  command.  Only  a  tiny  awl¬ 
like  bill,  which  must  answer  for  knife  or  scissors  to  cut 
and  clip  her  building  material ;  the  claws  on  two  tiny 
feet,  for  though  we  do  not  know  how  she  uses  them,  a 
great  deal  of  the  work  must  fall  to  their  share ;  a  soft 
rounded  breast  with  which  to  mould  and  shape  and 
smooth  the  cup-like  structure  till  it  acquires  the  exact 
circumference  and  size  needed  for  the  accommodation 
of  five  little  eggs,  and  later  on  five  little  birds  that  are 
to  be  fed  and  cared  for  until  such  time  as  the  parents 
judge  they  may  be  safely  left  to  shift  for  themselves. 

This  nest  is  as  perfect  as  if  the  most  skilful  hands 
and  the  most  delicate  fingers  had  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  it  and  the  most  critical  artistic  eyes  had 
overlooked  the  building — if,  indeed,  any  human  skill 
could  construct  it,  even  with  all  the  appliances  of 
modern  knowledge. 

In  most  instances  it  is  tlie  female  bird  who  takes  upon 
herself  the  labor  of  building  the  nest.  This  is  a  labor 
of  love,  and  the  bird  puts  forth  all  the  energies  of  her 
nature  and  all  the  skill  with  which  she  is  inspired,  to 
accomplish  her  work  well. 

Having  the  stereotyped  pattern  ready,  she  seeks  a 
suitable  place  and  lays  the  foundation  as  any  builder 
would  do.  She  gathers  material  bit  by  bit,  the  strongest 


74 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


and  most  substantial  first.  She  selects  or  rejects  this 
or  that,  according  to  her  plan  and  the  order  to  be  ob¬ 
served — -wool  that  the  thorns  and  bushes  have  caught 
from  the  sheep  and  lambs ;  hair  that  cow  or  horse  has 
let  fall ;  grey  lichens  picked  from  a  wall,  and  tender 
green  moss  from  a  fallen  tree.  Taking  here  a  bit  and 
there  a  morsel,  to  give  strength  or  elasticity,  needful 
warmth  or  softness,  she  weaves  all  together  according- 
to  the  family  pattern.  Birds  are  very  conservative,  and 
deviate  very  little  from  the  ancestral  form  or  type  of 
architecture. 

Ah,  hei’e  is  one  of  Nature’s  mysteries !  Who  taught 
the  little  bird  builder  and  upholsterer  to  use  the  same 
materials,  to  shape  her  nest  (possibly  the  very  first  one) 
to  the  exact  size  and  pattern,  to  line  it  inside  just  like 
the  one  her  mother  and  all  the  Goldfinch  family  had 
made  centuries  before  she  came  into  the  world  ?  So  like 
is  it  that  no  country  lad  seeing  it  would  ever  mistake  it 
for  that  of  a  robin  or  a  blackbird  or  a  yellow-hammer, 
bearing,  as  it  does,  in  its  construction,  the  unmistakable 
trade-mark  of  this  particular  little  architect. 

Are  not  these  things,  simple  as  they  may  appear, 
worthy  of  our  attention  ?  May  they  not  lead  us  from 
the  nest  of  the  little  bird  and  her  ways  to  the  throne 
of  the  great  All-wise  God,  who  has  implanted  in  His 
smallest  creatures  a  wisdom  that  baffles  the  reason  of 
the  wisest  of  men  to  understand  and  explain  ?  Truly 

“  There  are  teachings  in  ocean,  earth  and  air; 

The  heavens  the  glory  of  God  declare.” 


ANOTHER  MAY  MORNING. 


75 


Did  not  our  Lord,  in  whom  the  fulness  of  wisdom 
dwelt,  point  out  to  His  disciples  lessons  to  be  learned 
from  the  flowers  of  the  held  and  the  birds  of  the  air  ?' 
We  learn  from  them  perfect  obedience  to  His  will  and 
dependence  on  His  care;  unselflsh  devotion,  from  their 
care  for  their  oflspring ;  perseverance,  forethought  and 
industry,  from  their  eflbrts  in  obtaining  food  for  the- 
sustenance  of  their  helpless  family ;  unity  of  purpose,, 
from  the  gregarious  birds  who  move  in  flocks  actuated 
by  one  will  in  their  flight  to  distant  climes ;  order,  dis¬ 
cipline,  and  obedience  to  their  leader,  as  in  a  well-drilled 
army  on  the  march.  Watch  the  movements  of  a  flock 
of  wild-fowl  on  the  wing  to  some  far-away  breeding 
ground :  there  is  discipline  and  prompt  obedience,  an 
evident  plan  and  controlling  power.  We  hear  not  the 
word  of  command,  we  know  not  the  signals  given,  but 
we  can  see  there  is  a  ruling  power  regulating  every 
change  in  the  host,  and  that  there  are  no  rebels  in  the 
army. 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED 
FRIENDS. 


“  Now  out  of  woodland  copse  and  cover, 

Dies  the  summer  as  died  the  spring, 

And  days  of  delight  for  lover  and  lover. 

And  buds  that  blossom  and  birds  that  sing ; 

And  southward  over  our  inland  seas 

Have  vanished  the  humming-bird  and  the  bees ; 

Fleet  on  the  blast  the  dead-  leaves  hover ; 

Loud  in  the  forest  the  axe-strokes  ring.” 

— C.  P.  Mulvaney. 


THE  PINE  GROSBEAK. 

Among  the  few  species  of  birds  that  linger  in  our  cold 
climate  in  the  shelter  of  the  pine  forests  and  cedar 
swamps,  is  the  Pine  Grosbeak  (Penicola  Enucleator). 

Like  the  Crossbill  (Cxirvirostra)  he  is  a  brave,  hardy- 
fellow,  and  of  a  sociable  nature.  He  is  usually  met 
with  in  parties  of  from  five  or  six  to  eight ;  probably 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


77 


it  is  the  ^mterfaniilias  who  leads  the  flock,  the  spring  or 
summer  hatcli. 

In  our  winter  gardens,  and  in  groves  where  there  are 
evergreens,  balsam-firs,  spruce  and  cedars,  the  pine 
gi’osbeaks  may  be  seen  busily  searching  for  seeds  and 
insects,  scattering  showers  from  the  dry  cones  they  tear 
asunder,  it  may  be,  for  the  seeds  or  for  the  hidden  larvae 
of  the  pine-destroying  Bupresiians  with  which  many 
species  of  the  cone-bearing  trees  are  infested.  The  larch 
and  spruce  are  destroyed  by  the  larvae  of  the  Saw-fly, 
and  the  spruce  particularly  by  the  Bud- moth. 

The  grosbeak  is  a  handsome  bird  when  in  full 
plumage.  The  rich  cinnamon-brown,  varying  in  shade, 
of  the  females  and  young  birds,  though  fine,  is  not  com¬ 
parable  to  the  dark  crimson,  shaded  to  black,  of  the 
older  male  birds.  In  size  the  full-grown  birds  are  as 
large,  or  nearly  as  large,  as  an  English  blackbird  or 
thrush. 

The  thick  bill  marks  the  family  of  the  grosbeaks,  of 
which  the  English  bullfinch  also  is  one.  This  fonn  of 
the  bill  is  very  well  suited  to  the  food  of  the  bird, 
consisting  as  it  does  of  hard  nutty  berries,  juniper  and 
red  cedar,  and  the  seeds  of  the  cone-bearing  trees.  This 
seems  to  be  more  especially  his  winter  bill-of-fare,  for  in 
the  autumn  the  berries  of  the  mountain  ash  are  pagerly 
•sought  and  evidently  enjoyed. 


78 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER. 

The  Scarlet  Tanager  (Piranga  Erythromdas)  is 
another  brilliant  bird.  The  Indians  and  the  old  settlers 
in  Canada  call  it  the  “  War  Bird,”  because,  they  say,  it 
was  not  seen  on  this  side  of  Lake  Ontario,  nor  on  the 
St.  Lawrence,  till  after  the  close  of  the  war  between 
Gi’eat  Britain  and  the  United  States,  in  1812-14,  not 
until  peace  was  established. 

The  country,  however,  was  but  sparsely  inhabited 
before  that  date,  and  it  is  probable  there  were  not  many 
among  the  settlers  who  would  take  much  note  of,  or  any 
particular  interest  in,  the  coming  and  going  of  the  birds. 
Though  much  reliance  cannot  be  placed  on  such  tradi¬ 
tions,  yet  one  often  chances  to  glean  interesting  facts 
from  them.  The  old  settlers  in  the  bush  and  the 
Indians  were  my  only  sources  of  information  about  the 
birds  when  I  first  came  to  the  Colony.  The  natural 
history  of  the  Dominion  had  not  then  attracted  the 
attention  of  writers  to  any  extent. 

To  see  this  now  rare  bird,  the  Scarlet  Tanager,  one 
must  go  back  into  the  lonely  forest  settlements,  as  he 
does  not  affect  the  vicinity  of  towns  and  villages,  but 
loves  the  seclusion  of  the  quiet  woods,  far  from  the 
noisy  haunts  of  men.  In  the  silent  depths  of  the  forest 
his  nest  is  secure  from  the  acquisitive  boy  and  the 
prowling  cat. 

During  my  first  year’s  residence  in  the  Douro  back- 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIEXDS. 


79 


woods,  I  vised  to  watch  eagerly  for  tlie  appearance  of 
these  beautiful  scarlet  birds.  The  black  feathers  of  the 
wings  and  tail  form  a  line  contrast  to  the  bright  plumage 
of  the  neck  and  back.  As  the  VYOods  are  cleared  away 
we  lose  many  of  our  summer  visitors  from  the  other 
sivle  of  the  lakes. 

The  tanager’s  nest  is  made  of  strips  of  bass  and  fine 
rootlets  woven  together  and  fastened  securely  to  a 
branch  where  no  rude  winds  can  shake  it.  There  they 
hatch  their  little  broods,  and,  as  soon  as  the  young  birds 
are  fitted  for  the  change,  quietly  depart,  their  dazzling 
robes  being  no  more  seen  glancing  among  the  dark 
shades  of  the  forest.  So  peacefully  do  our  “  war  birds 
come  and  go. 

One  day,  some  years  ago,  I  met  an  Indian  with  a 
dead  bird  in  his  hand,  which  by  its  thick  short  bill  I 
recognized  as  one  of  the  grosbeak  family,  but  unlike 
any  of  those  birds  I  had  before  seen,  the  pale  whitish 
plumage  of  its  breast  being  dashed  with  crimson  spots, 
just  as  if  its  throat  had  been  cut  and  the  drops  of  blood 
had  fallen  in  an  irregular  shower  on  the  breast. 

I  asked  Indian  Peter  the  name  of  the  bird.  With  the 
customary  prologue  of  “  Ugh !  ”  a  guttural  sort  of 
expression,  he  replied,  “  Indian  call  bird  ‘  cut-throat  ’ ; 
see  him  brea.st!”  thus  calling  my  attention  to  the  singular 
red  marks  I  had  noticed,  and  at  the  same  time  showing 
me  that  they  were  not  blood-stains  caused  in  the  killing 
of  the  bird.  He  was  taking  it  to  a  young  gentleman 


80 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


who  wanted  it  as  a  specimen,  and  who  was  a  clever 
taxidermist. 

I  could  gain  no  further  information  from  Peter,  nor 
have  I  ever  seen  another  specimen  of  the  bird  with  this 
descriptive  name.  I  have,  however,  since  found  in  a 
lately  published  work,  “  The  Birds  of  Ontario,”  by 
Thomas  Mcllwi'aith,  already  quoted,  that  the  dress  of 
the  female  grosbeak  is  a  pale  whitish-grey,  and  it 
strikes  me  that  this  may  have  been  a  hen-bird  but 
partially  colored,  or  a  male  bird  not  in  full  dress. 

While  speaking  of  my  Indian  friend  Peter  I  recall  a 
little  scene  which  took  place  in  the  post-office  at  Gore’s 
Landing,  at  that  time  a  general  rendezvous  for  both 
busy  folk  and  idlers.  As  is  usual  in  country  places,  the 
office  was  also  a  store,  and  was  kept  bj^  the  gentleman 
before  alluded  to  as  a  collector  of  birds,  etc.  The  Indian 
hunters  were  his  best  customers,  trading  their  furs  and 
game  for  tobacco,  groceries  and  other  necessaries. 

Peter  was  a  picturesque  figure  as  he  marched  into  the 
store,  gun  in  hand,  and  clad  in  his  blanket-coat  and  red 
sash,  especially  as  drawn  through  this  red  sash  hung  a 
beautiful  Hawk-owl.* 

Everyone  exclaimed,  “  What  a  beauty !  ”  but  Peter, 
taking  it  from  his  sash,  flung  it  on  the  counter  with  a 
word  that  did  not  sound  at  all  nice. 

“  Why,  Peter  !  ”  said  Major  St.  Q - ,  “  what’s  the 

matter  ?  ” 


’American  Ilawk  ovvl— Snrnm  Ulula. 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


81 


“  Ugh !  Shoot  no  more  hawk-owl,  nor  eagle ;  no 
more  again.  He  like  to  kill  me  !  ” 

Then,  becoming  a  little  less  excited,  he  gave  the 
history  of  his  trouble  in  tolerably  good  English,  for 
Peter  was  Indian  only  on  the  mother’s  side. 

“  I  went  out  shoot  something  in  woods  for  dinner. 
No  partridge,  no  squirrel,  no  hare.  See  mister  hawk- 
owl  on  branch  in  cedar-swamp — shoot  him.  Guess 
William  Brown  here  give  me  something  good  for  hawk- 
owl.  Stuff,  you  know.  Pick  him  up,  draw  him  through 
sash,  carry  him  so.  By  and  by  hawk-owl,  him  not 
dead,  him  get  alive  again — stick  him  beak  and  claws  in 
my  back.  By  Jove,  I  sing  out !  Couldn’t  get  beak  out 
of  my  back-bone.  I  keep  yell  loud,  till  brother  John  he 
come.  Hawk  he  hold  on.  No  get  him  let  go.  John  he 
say,  ‘  Cut  him’s  head  off,’  and  it  hard  work  then  to  get 
him  beak  out  of  my  back.  I  swear,  I  never  shoot 
hawk-owl,  no,  nor  eagle,  no  more.” 

Poor  Peter,  I  do  not  think  he  quite  approved  at  first 
of  the  peals  of  laughter  with  which  his  story  was 
received.  It  certainly  was  very  droll  and  greatly 
diverted  his  unsympathetic  auditors. 

However,  Peter  was  comforted  by  a  small  gift  and  a 
plug  of  tobacco  from  the  Major. 

THE  BLUEBIRD. 

As  the  redbreast  is  to  the  British  Isles,  so  is  the  blue¬ 
bird  to  the  Americans.  It  is  often  spoken  of  as. 


82 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


“  Wilson’s  Bluebird,”  because  of  that  ornithologist’s  par¬ 
tiality  for  it,  and  it  is  ever  cherished  and  protected  from 
wanton  injury.  It  is,  however,  less  frequently  seen 
now  in  the  inland  settlements  north  of  the  great  lakes 
than  in  former  years. 

Its  song  is  soft  and  varied,  and  its  lovely  cerulean 
blue  color  delights  and  charms  the  eye  as  it  flits  among 
the  trees  in  our  groves  and  gardens. 

Its  nest  is  placed  low  with  us  and  is  not  very  care¬ 
fully  concealed — so  kindly  is  this  sweet  hir’d  treated  in 
its  American  home  that  it  is  unsuspicious  of  danger 
Avhen  paying  its  summer  visits  to  us. 

Mr.  Mcllwraith  says  that  the  immigrant  English 
sparrows  are  to  blame  for  the  increasing  rarity  of  the 
bluebirds’  visits  to  their  old  haunts,  and  closes  his 
charming  book  with  a  quotation  from  Wilson’s  lines  in 
praise  of  his  favorite  bird. 

THE  CANADA  JAY.* 

If  an  Indian  hound  intrudes  into  the  house,  his 
master  dismisses  him  with  the  words,  “  Wis-ka-geen'' 
which  mean,  “  Get  out,  lazy  fellow,”  and  the  Indian 
name  for  that  bold,  troublesome  bird,  the  Canada  Jay, 
the  pest  of  the  lumberer’s  camp  in  the  North-West,  is 
very  similar,  “  Wis-ka-Tjayi.”  This  the  Hudson  Bay 

*The  Canada  Jay— Pev'woreus  Canadensis.  Indian  name,  “  TVis-ka- 
Tjan  " — “AVhiskey  Jack.” 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


83 


folks  have  turned  into  the  more  familiar  sound  of 
■“Whiskey  John  ”  or  “  Whiskey  Jack.” 

This  daring  bird  comes  of  a  doubtful  race,  not  very 
distantly  related  to  the  jays,  crows,  magpies  and  some 
other  noisy  and  not  altogether  reputable  characters,  and 
is  himself  a  sort  of  freebooter,  not  famed  for  his  strict 
regard  for  the  rights  of  meum  and  tuum.  In  the  words 
of  an  old  Hudson  Bay  trapper,  he  is  “  a  nateral-born 
thief.” 

He  is,  indeed,  a  free-and-easy  sort  of  fellow.  When 
not  stealing  he  is  as  full  of  idle  mischief  as  a  school¬ 
boy,  nor  has  he  any  beauty  of  appearance  to  make  up 
for  his  bad  qualities. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  these,  to  me,  strange  birds 
commenced  at  the  house  of  my  hospitable  friends,  the 
Stewarts,  of  Auburn,  where  I  was  always  a  welcome 
guest. 

On  one  occasion  my  husband  and  I  were  detained 
there  for  two  days  by  a  very  heavy  snow-storm  and 
subsequent  high  winds  and  deep  drifts. 

After  breakfast  Mr.  Stewart  opened  a  window  which 
faced  the  river  below  the  house,  the  rapid  Otonabee,  at 
that  time  bounded  on  the  opposite  shore  by  a  dense 
forest. 

Immediately  on  a  signal  whistle  being  given,  a  pair  of 
“whiskey  jacks  ”  flew  across  the  river  to  the  open 
window.  Mr.  Stewart  had  previously  placed  a  small 
board,  with  one  end  resting  on  the  window  sill  and  the 


84 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


other  supported  by  the  edge  of  the  table,  from  which 
the  breakfast  dishes  had  not  yet  been  removed.  The 
board  thus  formed  a  bridge  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
bold  pair.  Up  they  marched,  and,  like  the  little  foxes, 

“  Very  soon  they  were  both  at  work, 

Waiting  neither  for  knife  nor  fork.” 

Potatoes,  crumbs  of  bread  and  scraps  of  meat  vanished 
quickly  ;  bones  were  dexterously  picked,  nothing  seemed 
to  come  amiss,  and  as  soon  as  the  feast  was  over  away 
flew  the  “  whiskey  jacks,”  back  to  the  shelter  of  the- 
woods  to  preen  their  feathers  as  they  sat  on  the  grey 
branch  of  an  old  oak  tree  that  stretched  its  leafless  arms 
over  the  cold  but  still  unfrozen  waters  of  the  river. 

“  These  birds  are  as  full  of  frolic  as  little  children,” 
said  our  host ;  “  by  and  by  they  will  be  over  again  in 
the  back -yard  picking  up  any  bits  they  see  and  take  a 
fancy  to,  chasing  any  article  that  may  be  blowing  about 
in  the  wind  and  playing  with  it  as  any  puppies  would 
do.” 

While  the  birds  had  been  enjoying  their  breakfast 
on  the  table,  I  had  been  taking  notice  of  their  plumage. 
It  was  of  a  dusky  slate-grey,  loosely  set  and  hairy,  the 
neck  and  head  a  shade  darker,  with  a  dirty  yellowish 
white  ring  around  the  neck  ;  there  was  some  white,  too, 
on  the  under  part  of  the  breast  and  tail.  The  latter  was 
long  and  kept  in  constant  motion,  the  bii'd,  as  he 
walked,  flirting  it  up  and  down  with  a  would-be  careless 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


85 


air,  which,  together  with  the  quick  glancing,  mischievous 
expression  of  the  eye,  gave  a  peculiar  character  to  his 
countenance,  and  marked  him  as  a  bold,  daring,  yet  sly, 
unscrupulous  fellow,  caring  for  nobody  but  his  own 
audacious  self. 

I  was  so  much  amused  by  the  sauciness  of  the  pair  of 
North- Westers,  visitors  from  the  far-off  fur  country  of 
the  Hudson  Bay  territories,  or  the  northei-n  parts  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  that  I  said  to  our  host,  “  I  wish  these 
droll  birds  would  pay  our  clearing  a  visit. 

Mr.  Stewart  laughed,  and  said,  “I’ll  send  them  up. 
Look  out  for  them.” 

And,  strange  to  say,  the  day  after  our  return  home,  as 
if  the  cunning  fellows  had  heard  and  understood  what 
had  passed,  there  they  were  hopping  about  at  the  back 
door,  wagging  their  tails  and  picking  among  the  newly 
swept  snow  and  debris  in  their  usual  free  and  easy  style. 

Of  course  every  attention  was  paid  to  our  visitors  in 
giving  them  food.  They  made  many  tidps  to  the  stable 
and  barnyard,  and  having  fully  satisfied  their  curiosity 
and  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  establishment,  they 
came  to  the  garden  and  there  amused  themselves  with  a 
piece  of  rag  they  had  discovered  somewhere  about  the 
premises,  of  which  they  made  a  fine  plaything.  They 
tore  it  into  shreds,  and  carrying  them  to  the  garden 
fence,  hung  them  on  the  pickets,  turning  and  twisting 
them,  tossing  them  to  and  fro,  eyeing  them  from  every 
point  of  view,  with  head  on  one  side  and  their  bright 
7 


86 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


eyes  twinkling  as  if  with  the  very  spirit  of  fun  and 
mischief. 

If  the  “  whiskey  jacks  ”  did  not  enjoy  their  play,  my 
little  boy  did.  He  laughed  and  clapped  his  hands  with 
^lee  as  he  stood  on  a  chair  by  the  window  and  watched 
their  pranks. 

Whether  our  visitors  preferred  the  abundant  and 
varied  fare  they  were  accustomed  to  receive  daily  at  the 
hospitable  table  at  Auburn,  or  whether  they  were  only 
•on  a  visit,  is  a  question  we  never  solved,  but  they 
•certainly  disappeared  early  the  following  morning  and 
returned  to  us  no  more. 

Pos.sibly  our  cat  Nora  had  kept  too  watchful  an  eye 
on  their  movements,  or  the  great  dog  Nero  had  alarmed 
them,  or  it  may  be  they  preferred  their  favorite  perch 
on  the  old  oak  tree  by  the  river. 

The  fur  trappers  of  the  North-West  regard  these  jays 
as  a  great  nuisance,  as  when  pressed  by  hunger  they 
•damage  the  furs  that  are  suspended  in  their  tents  or 
wigwams,  as  well  as  devour  the  jerked  meat  hung  up 
to  dry. 

So  bold  are  these  feathered  plunderers  that  it  is  in 
vain  the  men  hurl  all  sorts  of  missiles  at  them ;  if 
driven  off  for  one  minute,  back  they  come  the  next  and 
pounce  upon  the  meat  as  audaciously  as  ever. 

“  Nor  is  their  flesh  worth  eating;  it  is  mean  stuff,  and 
not  worth  powder  and  shot,”  said  my  informant,  who 
evidently  lield  the  game  in  no  small  contempt. 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


87 


THE  RED-WINGED  BLACKBIRD.* 

These  bii’ds  are  abundant  in  Canada,  especially  haunt¬ 
ing  the  shores  of  the  lakes  and  rivers,  though  they  are 
not  water  birds.  They  live  chiefly  on  wild  rice  and  the 
seeds  of  aquatic  plants  and  insects,  but  are  very  trouble¬ 
some  to  the  farmer,  as  they  make  great  havoc  of  his 
grain  fields. 

At  night  they  roost  on  the  trees  and  among  the  bushes 
at  the  borders  of  marshy  places.  About  sundown  they 
gather  in  great  flocks  and  retire  to  their  leafy  lodgings, 
filling  the  air  with  the  noise  of  their  wings,  chattering 
and  calling  to  each  other. 

They  have  their  sentinels  in  the  day-time  to  warn  the 
flock  of  approaching  danger.  These  utter  a  note  which 
sounds  like  the  words  “  Geek  !  geek  !  ”  often  repeated. 
There  is  also  another  note  uttered  slowly  like  the  twang 
of  the  string  of  a  harp. 

I  used  to  listen  for  this  vibrant  note  and  try  to  dis¬ 
cover  its  meaning.  No  doubt  it  was  a  signal  to  its 
comrades,  as  the  flock  would  rise  on  the  wing  at  once 
upon  hearing  it. 

The  feathers  on  tlie  upper  part  of  tlie  wing  of  this 
bird  give  it  the  name  of  Red-wing.  Tlie  gay  slioulder- 
knot,  like  a  soldier’s  epaulette,  brightens  and  relieves 
the  dead  black  of  the  plumage.  When  on  the  wing 
this  bright  spot  is  seen  better,  the  light  catching  it  as 


*  Agelaius  Phaniceua  (Linn.). 


88 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


the  birds  wheel  about,  and  giving  a  flash  of  color  scarcely 
visible  when  they  are  at  rest. 

Nearly  allied  to  our  red-shouldered  blackbird  is  the 
yellow-headed  blackbird,  a  large  handsome  fellow  with 
the  whole  head  and  upper  portion  of  the  breast  and 
neck  of  a  bright  yellow. 

This  flne  species  is  not  common  with  us,  but  is  some¬ 
times  met  with  in  Ontario.  He  is  the  Xanthocephalus 
of  Bonaparte,  and  belongs  rather  to  the  Western  States 
of  America ;  eastward  he  is  only ,  an  occasional  visitor^ 


THE  FISH-HAWK.* 

“  The  osprey  sails  above  the  Sound  ; 

The  geese  are  gone,  the  gulls  are  flying  ; 

The  herring  shoals  swarm  thick  around, 

The  nets  are  launched,  the  boats  are  plying. 

Yo  ho  !  my  hearts  !  let’s  seek  the  deep. 

Raise  liigh  the  song  and  cheerily  wish  her. 

Still  as  the  bending  net  we  sweep, 

‘  God  bless  the  flsh-hawk  and  the  fisher.’  ” 

—  Wilson. 

A  bold  fisher  and  a  successful  one  is  the  Osprey 
second  only  in  his  power  of  wing  and  keenness  of  vision 
to  the  rapacious  Bald-headed  Eagle,  his  great  rival,  who, 
with  lordly  arrogance,  acting  on  the  ungenerous  spirit  of 
might  overcoming  right,  often  robs  him  of  his  lawful 
prey. 

However,  as  both  these  bii'ds  are  thieves  and  tyrants,. 


The  American  Osprey— Pandioa  Haliaetus  Carolinensis. 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


89 


we  need  not  waste  sj’inpathy  upon  the  Fi.sli-hawk,  espe¬ 
cially  as  he  in  turn  has  none  tor  the  poor  defenceless 
water-fowl.  He  pounces  upon  them  while  they  are 
harmlessly  disporting  themselves  on  the  pools  of  water 
just  opened  out  between  the  masses  of  floating  ice  in  the 
lake  this  warm  April  day.  Happy  creatures !  They  are 
heedless  of  the  watchful  eye  of  their  enemy  hovering 
above  them,  ready  to  descend  with  hooked  beak  and 
sharp  talons  upon  the  fairest  and  plumpest  of  the  flock. 

Silly  birds !  Why  don’t  they  look  up  instead  of 
enjoying  their  bath,  or  standing  in  groups  on  the  edge 
of  the  ice,  preening  their  feathers  and  indulging  in  idle 
gossip  with  their  neighbors,  or  preparing  themselves 
for  a  fresh  plunge  in  the  water,  a  luxury  so  long 
denied  them  by  the  rigors  of  winter  ? 

There!  What  a  wild  commotion  ensues  when  at  last 
they  become  awai’e  of  the  pi’oximity  of  their  enemy,  as 
he  makes  a  sudden  descent  and  bears  off  a  duck  or  a 
young  goose  in  his  terrible  talons !  How  they  rise  en 
masse  on  clamorous  wing,  and  wheel  and  fly  from  his 
dread  presence  ! 

Possibly  he  might  have  preferred  a  bass  or  a  perch,  or 
a  big  sucker,  had  such  a  prize  been  more  available,  but 
“  all  is  fish  or  fowl  that  comes  to  his  net,”  and  a  delicate 
duck  or  gosling  is  not  to  be  despised ;  so  he  is  content 
with  what  he  has  taken,  and  flies  off  to  some  quieter 
spot,  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  noisy  cx'ew  he  has 
outraged,  to  take  his  meal  in  thankfulness.  The  water- 


90 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


fowl,  meanwliile,  pop  down  once  more  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  lake,  and  are  soon  flirting  and  splashing  the 
sparkling  water  over  back  and  wings  as  if  no  enemy 
had  ever  disturbed  them  or  robbed  them  of  one  of  their 
number. 

THE  BELTED  KINGFISHER.* 

'I'his  bird  vi.sits  Ontario  in  April  or  May,  and  may  be 
seen  on  the  banks  of  all  the  lonely  lakes  and  rivers.  It 
has  not  the  brilliant  plumage  of  the  European  bird,  and 
is  by  no  means  as  graceful  in  form.  Its  note  is  a  very 
unpleasant  one,  a  loud  quick  rattling  cry  uttered  as  it 
skims  along  the  borders  of  lake  or  stream,  a  solitary 
object  seeking  its  sustenance  from  the  waters,  or,  it 
may  be,  procuring  food  for  its  young  brood  or  the 
mother  bird  on  the  nest. 

The  dusky  white  ring  about  the  neck  is  a  marked 
feature  in  the  bii’d.  The  bluish  grey  of  the  feathers  is 
barred  with  black  on  the  wings  and  tail;  hence  its  name, 
“  Belted  Kingfisher.”  It  builds  no  nest,  but  the  female 
bird  deposits  her  eggs  in  the  enlarged  end  of  a  tunnel 
dug  in  a  sand-bank. 

It  stays  late  with  us  and  does  not  seem  to  feel  the 
cold.  It  is  only  when  the  frost  has  driven  the  fish  to 
seek  shelter  in  the  deeper  waters,  and  the  belted  bird 
can  no  longer  obtain  the  requisite  food,  that  he  flies 
south. 


Ccryle  Alcyon  (Linn.). 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


91 


KING  BIRD.* 

The  habits  of  the  King  Bird  are  highly  amusing  to- 
■watch.  He  is  about  the  size  of  a  blackbird,  of  dusky 
plumage,  but  with  a  white  border  to  his  tail  and  some- 
white  in  the  edges  of  the  wing  feathers.  His  note  is. 
very  harsh  and  grating,  and  his  favorite  position  the  top- 
of  any  upright  stick  or  bare  pole,  from  which  point  of 
vantage  he  can  survey  the  “  limit  ”  he  has  chosen  to- 
reign  over.  Here  he  sits  turning  his  head  until  the- 
bright  glancing  eye  lights  on  some  unwary  insect,  when 
he  darts  off  and  rarely  misses  his  aim.  His  prey  secured, 
he  returns  to  his  perch  and  awaits  another  chance. 

Both  names  given  him  are  descriptive,  the  latter 
apparently  with  good  cause,  if  one  may  judge  by  the- 
enmity  shown  him  by  all  the  smaller  birds.  They  show 
this  dislike  by  uniting  together  and  making  common 
cause  against  the  enemy,  attacking  him,  not  in  fair  fight 
with  beak  and  claws,  but  by  keeping  a  certain  distance 
above  him  and  darting  down  and  striking  him  on  the 
head,  then  rising  again  swiftly  to  be  ready  to  deal  a. 
second  blow.  The  bewildered  bird,  unable  to  defend 
himself,  can  only  flee  from  his  tormentors  and  hide  away 
among  the  thickest  evergreens,  fairly  beaten  out  of  the 
field. 

Union  is  power ;  by  it  the  weak  confound  the  strong. 
Many  an  instance  have*I  seen  of  a  similar  kind,  many 

•  Tyrant  Flycatcher— Tj/rannws. 


92 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


a  big  crow  being  forced  to  flee  before  the  attacks  of  small 
birds.  Even  the  hendiawk  or  harrier  has  been  driven 
away  by  the  united  attacks  of  apparently  insignificant 
but  determined  parties  of  two,  three  or  four  brave  little 
creatures,  whose  plan  was  simply  to  keep  above  the  head 
of  their  enemy,  and  out  of  his  reach  after  striking  their 
blows. 

The  swallow  and  martin  are  renowned  for  these  feats 
of  bravery.  They  are  always  victors,  and  might  be 
crowned  as  champions  of  the  helpless  little  song-birds 
who  so  often  fall  victims  to  the  crow,  the  king  bird  and 
the  hawk. 


THE  BOHEMIAN  WAX-WING. 

Another  noisy  crew  are  those  pretty,  wild  pilferers  of 
the  garden  and  orchards,  the  cedar  birds,  or  cherry 
birds,  names  common  to  the  smaller  species  of  Am- 
'pelidcB,  or  Wax- wings. 

The  larger,  handsomer  and  more  remarkable  of  the 
family  is  known  as  the  Bohemian  Wax- wing,  or  Ami^elis 
garrulus,  and  he  is  indeed  a  noisy,  chattering  fellow. 
These  are  not  so  common  as  the  smaller  cedar  birds,  but 
they  occasionally  visit  us  in  large  parties,  and  doubtless 
receive  scant  welcome  from  the  market  gardener,  who 
does  not  approve  of  their  brigandish  assaults  on  his 
ripening  cherries  and  other  fruits.  We,  however,  are 
more  tolerant,  and  overlook  their  predatory  habits  in 
our  amusement  at  their  wild  merry  ways. 


MORE  ABOUT  MY  FEATHERED  FRIENDS. 


93 


This  morning  there  is  a  flock  of  some  dozen  individuals 
in  my  garden.  They  are  full  of  frolic  and  fun,  and  if 
one  may  judge  by  the  noise  they  are  making  as  they 
fly  hither  and  thither  from  bougli  to  bough  and  tree  to 
ti’ee,  they  are  having  a  gay  time  chattering  and  whis¬ 
pering  to  one  another,  and  one  might  almost  say,  laugh¬ 
ing,  like  a  party  of  light-hearted  children  at  play. 

One  wonders  what  it  is  all  about.  I  really  think  it 
must  be  a  wedding  party,  and  a  joyous  one,  too — a 
match  of  which  both  families  approve.  See  how  impor¬ 
tant  some  of  the  older  birds  look,- setting  up  their  soft- 
crested  heads  and  pufling  out  their  breasts.  As  they 
dart  past  me  I  catch  sight  of  the  bright  scarlet  orna¬ 
ments,  like  bits  of  red  sealing-wax,  on  the  wing  feathers. 
These  jewels  are  the  distinguishing  marks  of  the  full- 
grown  male  bird,  and  no  doubt  but  the  little  feathered 
dandy  is  as  proud  of  these  bits  of  finery  as  any  girl  is 
of  her  brooches  and  bangles. 

The  Bohemian  Wax- wing"  is  of  foreign  extraction.  He 
is  a  little  aristocrat,  somewhat  exclusive,  and  vain  of  the 
family  of  which  he  is  the  head.  He  does  not  mix  him¬ 
self  up  with  the  common  folk,  but  keeps  religiously  to 
himself,  for  you  never  find  him  and  his  party  with  the 
smaller  species,  the  cedar  birds,  native  to  the  country. 

The  Bohemian  is  a  great  traveller,  and  seems  to  spend 
his  time  in  visiting  strange  lands.  He  is  found  in  many 
countries,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  locate  his  home.  He  and 
his  family  do  not  settle  down  soberly,  as  some  other 


94 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


birds  do,  but  go  where  they  please,  stay  awhile  and  then 
disappear,  and  you  do  hot  meet  with  them  again  for 
several  seasons. 

Besides  the  gay  ornaments  of  the  wing,  the  tail 
feathers  are  finely  fringed  with  golden  yellow,  which  is 
seen  most  distinctly  when  the  bird  is  on  the  wing. 

The  berries  of  the  mountain  ash  and  the  choke-cherry 
(and,  in  winter,  the  fruit  of  the  red  cedar  and  juniper), 
form  the  food  of  these  birds,  with  what  ripe  fruit  the 
garden  afibrds  them ;  but  if  they  eat  the  fruit  they  also 
destroy  swarms  of  destructive  insects. 

The  cedar  bird  is  accused  of  destroying  the  buds  of 
the  apple  trees,  but  in  all  probability  this  is  a  mistake. 
It  may  be  only  the  hidden  larvae  of  the  codlin  moth,  the 
curculio,  the  beetle,  or  fly,  that  is  doing  the  real  injury, 
depositing  its  eggs  in  the  bud ;  and  the  cedar  bird  in 
seeking  it  as  his  prey  is  doing  much  good  service  in  the 
orchard. 

Man  in  his  greed  is  often  very  short-sighted  in  his 
judgments. 


THE  ENGLISH  SPARROW: 
A  DEFENCE. 


“And  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 

Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow. 

Be  comfort  to  my  age.” 

— Shakespeare. 

Harmless,  persecuted,  despised,  reviled  sparrows,  who 
is  brave  enough  to  take  your  part?  Who  will  take  you 
under  a  sheltering  wing  and  say  a  word  in  your  behalf? 

I  dare  so  to  do,  setting  at  nought  the  torrent  of  invec¬ 
tive  which  is  sure  to  fall  on  my  defenceless  head. 

It  was  “  Don’t  Care,  that  came  to  the  lions.”  So  ran 
the  awful  warning  for  wilful  folk  that  I  used  to  pore 
over  with  childish  credulity  in  Doctor  Denning’s  Spell¬ 
ing  Book,  an  ancient  volume  out  of  which  I  learned  my 
first  lessons,  and  where  villainous  type,  hideous  pictures, 
bad  paper,  and  the  use  of  /  for  s  puzzled  the  brain  and 
confused  the  eyes  of  the  little  scholar  of  three  years 
of  age. 

Well,  I  “  don’t  care  ”  if  I  do  come  to  the  lions,  I  will 


96 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


have  my  say  about  those  poor  sparrows,  remembering 
the  words  of  the  gracious  Loi’d,  “Not  one  of  them  shall 
fall  on  the  ground  without  your  Father.” 

“  Doth  God  take  care  for  oxen  ?  ”  saith  the  apostle. 
Yea,  He  careth;  yea,  and  for  the  birds  of  the  air  also. 
He  openeth  His  hand  and  feedeth  them.  Not  one — not 
even  the  sparrow,  despised  among  thoughtless  men — is 
forgotten  by  the  great  Creator, 

“  Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 

A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 

And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world.” 

There  is  a  war  of  extermination  against  these  birds 
going  on  in  the  North-West,  and  among  the  farmers  and 
gardeners  in  country  places.  A  regular  hue-and-cry  is 
being  raised  for  their  destruction,  and  nowhere  are  they 
to  be  shown  mercy. 

Now,  I  would  fain  take  their  case  in  hand  and  en¬ 
deavor  to  prove  that  this  wholesale  persecution  is  both 
unjust  and  unreasonable. 

In  the  first  place,  were  not  the  birds  first  brought  into 
the  country  through  avarice  or  ignorance,  as  a  specula¬ 
tion,  by  some  adventurous  Yankee,  who  “assisted”  them 
across  the  Atlantic  in  order  to  make  merchandise  of  them? 

Were  they  not  introduced  into  the  agricultural  dis¬ 
tricts  as  destroyers  of  the  weevil,  army-worm  and  all 
other  kinds  of  injurious  insects  ? 

Yet  it  was  very  well  known  that  the  sparrow  was  a 


THE  ENGLISH  SPARROW:  A  DEFENCE. 


97 


granivorous,  and  indeed  an  omnivorons,  bird.  He  is  not 
dainty;  he  will  take  anything  and  everything  that  falls 
in  his  way.  As  paterfamilias  he  is  a  good  provider  for 
his  numerous  offspring.  Small  blame  to  him  !  Sparrows 
and  their  young  must  live,  they  will  not  starve. 

Yes,  the  sparrows  will  eat  grain,  and  the  farmer  says 
they  do  eat  the  wheat,  and  therefore  they  must  be  killed. 

But  stop  a  minute.  When  do  they  eat  the  wheat  ? 
Only  in  the  season,  and  that  a  very  short  one,  of  the 
ripening  grain,  as  it  is  only  then  that  they  can  get  it, 
and  when,  with  many  other  grain-eating  birds,  the 
sparrows  flock  to  the  harvest  to  take  their  share. 

“  Audacious  robbers !  ”  the  farmer  calls  them,  and 
straightway  all  the  blame  of  his  loss  is  laid  on  the  immi¬ 
grant  sparrows.  He  forgets  that  the  sparrows  have  been 
cultivating  the  crop,  too,  in  eating  and  destroying  the 
numerous  insects  that  infest  it  while  it  has  been  in  the 
blade  and  in  flower,  and  does  not  stop  to  consider  that 
the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire.  The  sparrow  but 
takes  his  due  for  service  unseen  and  unrecognized  by 
the  master  of  the  field.  Then  when  the  crop  is  garnered, 
he  is  but  one  of  the  many  gleaners  who  are  busy  for 
awhile  in  picking  up  the  fallen  wheat  kernels  scattered 
by  the  reapers. 

The  harvest  and  the  gleaning  season  over,  let  us  follow 
the  sparrows  to  the  villages  and  towns.  There  are  here 
no  fields  of  ripe  grain  to  make  havoc  of,  no  fai'mers  ta 
offend,  but  the  birds  must  be  fed.  How  ? 


98 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Look  down  on  your  streets  and  thoroughfares.  On 
every  heap  of  refuse,  every  scrap  of  garbage,  in  every 
dirty  gutter  or  dropping  in  the  roadway,  about  the  sweep¬ 
ings  from  yard  or  store,  are  groups  of  these  despised 
birds,  busy,  hard-working  and  unpaid  scavengers. 

Who  knows  what  evils  they  prevent,  what  they  devour 
that  otherwise  would  become  decayed  vegetable  matter, 
decomposed  and  typhoid-breeding  filth ;  the  larvae  of 
beetles  and  other  noxious  insects,  half-digested  grain 
that  if  left  would  shortly  breed  corruption  and  disease 
hurtful  alike  to  man  and  beast. 

True,  the  birds  are  bold.  The  sparrow  takes  posses¬ 
sion  of  the  eaves  and  cornices  of  your  buildings,  your 
sign-boards  and  your  window  sills.  Any  projecting 
beam  or  odd  angle  he  makes  his  coigne  of  vantage 
from  whence  to  spy  out  what  he  wants.  But  in  this  he 
really  interferes  with  no  one,  and  it  is  only  the  braggart 
assurance  of  his  manner  that  excites  our  aversion.  His 
ragged  nests  are  usually  hidden  away  in  out  of  sight 
corners  or  sheds,  so  we  have  not  that  to  cite  against  him. 

Ah !  but  someone  comes  down  on  me  with  the  accu¬ 
sation  that  the  cruel,  wicked,  malicious  and  altogether 
disreputable  sparrow  kills  and  drives  away  all  our  dear 
little  song-birds. 

Wait  a  bit,  my  good  friend.  Did  the  other  birds 
never  fight  or  attack  strangers  ?  The  bill  and  claws  of 
the  sparrow  are  not  those  of  the  Raptores.  He  may 
be  pugnacious,  but  so  is  our  dear  pet  the  redbreast. 


THE  ENGLISH  SPARROW  :  A  DEFENCE. 


99 


“Fair  fight  and  no  favor,”  say  I.  Fight?  Yes, 
they  all  fight  at  times,  robin  against  robin,  when  they 
are  in  the  humor  for  it,  and  the  weakest  goes  to  the 
wall. 

As  to  the  accusation  that  the  sparrows  drive  away 
other  birds,  let  the  other  birds  defend  themselves.  In 
physical  strength  they  are  all  his  equals. 

I  cannot  help  thinking,  however,  that  it  is  a  fact  yet 
lacking  confirmation.  There  is  an  old  saying,  “  Give  a 
dog  a  bad  name  and  of  course  he  suffers  for  it.”  It  is 
my  impression  that  in  this  instance  it  is  but  a  news¬ 
paper  scandal  got  up  for  “  copy,”  and  endorsed  by  the 
farmers  who  first  introduced  and  then  traduced  the 
poor  sparrows ;  used  them  first  to  get  rid  of  the  pests 
that  blighted  their  grain,  then  abused  them  for  helping 
themselves  to  the  wages  begrudged  them. 

I  have  here  the  testimony  of  a  very  intelligent 
observer  of  Nature,  one  who  has  carefully  watched  the 
habits,  food  and  peculiar  ways  of  the  sparrows  in  this 
country  as  well  as  in  England.  He  says  ;  “  I  have  nevmr 
been  able  to  detect  wheat  or  any  other  hard  grain  in  the 
crop,  and  it  is  my  opinion  that  these  birds  are  more 
insectivorous  than  granivorous,  and  that  it  is  the  larvae 
of  insects  that  they  obtain  in  the  buds  of  the  fruit  trees 
and  in  the  ears  and  joints  of  the  wheat  and  oats  which 
induces  their  visits  to  the  fields ;  and  if  they  pick  the 
husks  it  is  not  for  the  kernel  itself,  but  for  what  is 
really  destroying  it.  The  sharp  pointed  bill  of  the 


100 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


sparrow  is  more  siaited  for  picking  worms  than  taking- 
up  hard  grain.” 

To  sum  up,  the  sparrow,  an  invited  guest,  an  assisted 
immigrant,  was  at  first  welcomed  ;  then,  when  he  had 
done  the  work  required  of  him,  we  find  he  has  other 
qualities  for  which  we  gave  no  contract,  consequently  we- 
would  like  to  assist  him  home  again  or  exterminate  him, 
as  one  who  has  out-worn  his  welcome. 

Though  he  betrays  no  secrets,  he  is  an  eaves-dropper 
of  the  worst  description.  He  makes  holes  in  our  eaves, 
and  scattei's  the  straw  about,  and  is  a  nuisance ;  yet,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  is  a  good  scavenger  and  helps  to  keep 
the  air  about  the  house  pure. 

He  is  a  bold,  impertinent  fellow  who  is  always  at 
hand  to  eat  up  the  crumbs  thrown  out  for  his  betters, 
and  moreover  he  laboi’s  under  the  imputation  of  driving 
away  other  birds  of  more  value  in  our  eyes,  but  is  known 
to  be  possessed  of  no  more  superior  powers  than  they 
are  provided  with. 

Thus  the  two  heaviest  counts  in  the  indictment  are : 
First,  the  destruction  of  gi'ain  ;  second,  the  driving 
away  of  the  smaller  and  more  valuable  birds — both  of 
which  indictments  have  been  pleaded  by  counsel  as  not 
proven. 

Have  I  made  out  a  good  case  for  the  sparrows  ?  I 
have  said  my  say.  I  am  only  an  old  wmman  after  all, 
with  a  Briton’s  love  of  fair  play,  so  let  us  give  the  poor- 
sparrow  a  chance. 


NOTES  FROM  MY  OLD  DIARY. 


‘  ‘  What  atom  forms  of  insect  life  appear ! 

And  who  can  follow  Nature’s  pencil  here  1 
Their  wings  with  azure,  green  and  purple  gloss’d, 

Studded  with  colored  eyes,  with  gems  embossed ; 

Inlaid  with  pearl,  and  marked  with  various  stains 
Of  lovely  crimson,  through  their  dusky  veins.” 

— Amia  Letitia  Barhaiild. 

On  looking  over  my  old  diary  of  a  far-off  date,  1839,  I 
find  notes  of  many  things  that  struck  me  in  the  first 
years  of  my  sojourn  in  my  forest  home— objects  that  then 
were  new  and  interesting  to  me,  but  which  now  I  seldom 
or  never  see. 

There  is  a  change  in  the  country :  many  of  the  plants 
and  birds  and  wild  creatures,  common  once,  have  dis¬ 
appeared  entirely  before  the  march  of  civilization.  As 
the  woods  which  shelter  them  are  cleared  away,  they 
retire  to  the  lonely  forest  haunts  still  left,  where  they 
may  remain  unmolested  and  unseen  till  again  driven, 
back  by  the  advance  of  man  upon  the  scene. 

8 


102 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


It  is  rarely  now  that  I  catch  a  passing  glimpse  of  the 
lovely  plumed  crossbill,  or  the  scarlet  tanager;  seldom  do 
I  hear  the  cry  of  the  bobolink,  or  watch  the  sailing  of 
the  bald-headed  eagle  or  the  fish-hawk  over  the  lake,  as 
I  did  formerly  in  fear  for  the  safety  of  my  little  goslings. 
Even  the  gay,  cheerful  note  of  the  chickadee  is  rarely 
heard,  or  the  sonorous  rapping  of  the  red-headed  wood¬ 
pecker,  or  the  plaintive,  oft-repeated  monosyllable  of  the 
wood  phoebe. 

I  think  these  birds  dislike  the  appearance  of  the  red 
brick  houses  of  the  modern  villages  and  towns,  with 
their  green  blinds  and  fancy  work  in  wood  and  paint. 
Perhaps  they  look  upon  them  as  possible  traps  to  cage 
them,  and  find  the  old  familiar  rude  shanty  or  log-house 
more  to  their  taste  in  architecture. 

Here  is  one  of  my  old  notes  made  in  that  long  ago 
time  on  the  great  cat-owl : 

A  very  solemn,  formidable-looking  bird  is  this  big 
long-eared  owl.  One  was  shot  and  brought  into  the 
house  for  my  inspection.  It  was  still  living,  having- 
only  been  winged,  and  evidently  was  veiy  angry  with 
its  captor,  ready  to  avenge  itself  by  a  blow  with  its 
strong  hooked  beak  and  sharp  talons.  The  glassy  round 
eyes  were  glaring  ominously  from  beneath  the  swathe 
of  thick  rich  brown  mottled  feathers  that  half  shaded 
them  from  the  light.  The  ears,  or  the  tuft  of  feathers 
that  concealed  them,  stood  up,  giving  a  warrior-like 
aspect  to  the  grand,  proud  bird. 


/ 


NOTES  FROM  MV  OLD  DIARV.  103 

Wlio  is  there  among  the  early  settlers  that  has  not 
heard  in  the  deep  stillness  of  night,  from  some  old  oak 
in  the  woods  or  ont-building  near  the  house,  the  deej) 
sonorous  voice  of  the  cat-owl  calling  to  its  mate  ?  The 
hollow  notes  sound  like  “  Ho — ho — ho — ho,”  repeated 
with  a  pause  between  each  syllable,  as  if  to  prolong  the 
echo. 

The  Indian  notes  of  lamentation  over  the  dead,  “  W o- 
ho-ha-no-min,”  seem  an  imitation  of  the  mournful  cry 
of  this  night  bird. 

An  old  Irish  settler  in  the  backwoods  once  gravely 
assured  me  that  the  “  Banshee,”  the  warning  spirit  of 
death  or  trouble  which,  he  said,  belonged  to  his  family 
when  he  lived  in  Ii’eland,  had  followed  him  and  his  house 
to  Canada.  I  looked  a  little  doubtful.  The  old  man 
grew  angry  because  I  asked  : 

“  Did  she  come  out  in  the  ship  with  you  ?  ” 

“  Shure  an’  why  should  she  not  ?  ”  he  replied.  “  Did 
she  not  cry  all  the  time  me  poor  wife — God  rest  her 
sowl ! — was  in  the  death  thraws  ?  An’  did  she  not  cry 
the  night  the  cow  died  ?  ” 

That  indeed  was  a  proof  not  to  be  doubted,  so  I  judi¬ 
ciously  held  my  sceptical  tongue,  though  I  thought  it 
might  well  have  been  the  cat-owl  crying  to  her  mate 
from  an  old  hollow  tree  near  the  shanty  ;  but  it  would 
have  been  rank  heresy  to  liken  a  real  faithful  family 
“  Cry-by-night,”  or  “  Banshee  ”  to  a  cat-owl. 

Later  the  old  man  in  rather  an  aggrieved  tone,  ques- 


104 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


tionecl  my  faith  in  the  “  little  people,”  or  the  fairies.. 
When  I  suggested  it  was  a  long  way  for  them  to  come 
across  the  Atlantic,  he  took  great  pains  to  convince  me 
that  if  they  cared  for  the  family  when  they  lived  in  Ire¬ 
land,  they  would  not  mind  how  long  the  voyage  or  the 
distance,  so  that  they  could  watch  over  them  here. 

On  the  borders  of  the  lake  I  see  many  beautiful 
dragon-flies  of  all  colors — red,  blue,  green,  bronze,  and 
some  rare  large  flies  with  jet-black  gauzy  wings. 

One  kind,  that  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  capture,  had  a 
scarlet  crescent  mark  on  each  lower  pair  of  wings. 
Another,  not  less  remarkable,  was  distinguished  by  azure 
blue  crescents  on  the  wings.  These  flies  led  me  a  chase 
for  some  time;  I  was  so  much  struck  with  the  beauty  of 
the  rare  insects.  They  did  not  resemble  the  gay  dragon¬ 
flies  in  form  or  color,  and  I  wished  to  obtain  a  specimen 
to  send  home  to  a  friend ;  but  after  that'  summer  I  saw 
them  no  more,  they  having  disappeared  with  the  pine 
woods. 

There  is  a  pretty  and  curious  insect,  one  of  the  Sphinx 
family,  that  comes  out  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  is 
very  busy  on  the  mignonette  and  other  low  growing 
border  plants.  It  is  very  much  like  a  bee  in  appearance, 
and  sings  a  low  humming  song  as  it  darts  from  flower 
to  flower.  Its  body  is  longer  and  narrower  than  that  of 
the  bee,  and  its  colors  are  black  and  white  in  bands. 
The  lower  wings  of  these  curious  moths  are  exceedingly^ 


NOTES  FROM  MT  OLD  DIARY. 


105 


small,  the  upper  ones  long  and  narrow.  The  swiftness 
of  its  hovering  motions  and  the  noise  of  its  wings 
remind  one  of  the  humming-bird,  hence  people  call  it 
the  Humming  Moth. 

The  most  beautiful  of  our  native  moths,  and  also  the 
largest,  is  the  exquisite  pale  green  Attacus  luna.  This 
classical  name  was  given  it  from  the  moon-shaped  figure 
on  each  wing,  showing  the  bright  colors  of  blue  and 
scarlet  in  the  centre  of  the  eye-like  spots. 

The  lower  pair  of  wings  are  lengthened  into  long  tails 
like  the  school-boy’s  kite,  and  are  beautifully  fringed 
with  a  pale  gold  bordering.  These  long  tails  are  said  to 
be  of  essential  service  in  aiding  the  flight  of  the  moth, 
serving  to  maintain  a  proper  balance  in  its  passage 
through  the  air.  Several  of  our  butterflies — as,  for 
example,  Pairilio  turnus,  the  handsome  sulphur-colored 
Swallow-tail — have  this  form  in  a  great  degree,  while  in 
others  it  is  absent,  as  in  Danais  archippus,  a  fine  red 
butterfly,  one  of  our  largest  and  most  showy ;  also  in 
the  representative  of  the  Camberwell  Beauty  and  some 
others. 

The  body  of  the  beautiful  green  Attacus  tuna  is 
thickly  clothed  with  soft  silky  white  down.  The  legs, 
feet  and  antennm  are  of  a  coppery-red  color,  the  latter 
short  and  finely  pectinated — that  is,  having  fine  tooth¬ 
like  projections. 

The  scarlet  and  blue  colors  are  very  effective  in 
contrast  to  the  exquisite  tint  of  pale  green  which  dis- 


lOG 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


tinguishes  this  lovely  moth  from  all  others.  It  is  very 
rarely  to  be  seen  now,  but  seems  to  love  the  shade 
among  the  orchard  and  forest  trees. 

It  is  in  the  orchard  that  we  find  the  cocoons  of  that 
grand  moth,  the  Attacus  cecrojna,  a  splendid  insect, 
both  in  size,  form  and  rich  colors ;  as  large,  W'hen  its 
wings  are  fully  expanded,  as  some  of  our  smaller  birds, 
measuring,  indeed,  nearly  seven  inches  in  Avidth. 

The  hea\"y  thick  body  of  this  insect  is  red,  but 
marked  by  deep  rings,  and  the  surface  clothed  with  soft 
whitish  hairs.  The  head  is  large  and  the  antennae 
strongly  pectinated. 

The  marks  on  the  wings  are  in  the  form  of  half¬ 
moons,  showing  a  variety  of  shadings,  with  vivid  blue 
and  some  red  in  the  centre.  There  are  other  lines  and 
wavy  marks  on  the  Avings,  besides  a  deep  rich  border 
pattern. 

I  am  afraid  my  very  unscientific  mode  of  description 
may  offend  the  learned  entomologist.  If  so,  I  craA^e 
pardon  and  plead  limited  knoAAdedge  as  my  sufficient 
excuse. 

The  common  name  for  this  fine  moth  is  the  Apple-tree 
or  Orchard  Moth,  because  its  broAvn  felted  chrysalid  cases 
are  found  attached  to  the  tAvigs  of  orchard  trees. 

The  fii’st  really  hot  days  cause  the  imprisoned  insect 
to  burst  from  its  sealed  coffin,  and  its  Avonderful  and 
mysterious  resurrection  to  light  and  life  is  at  once 
effected.  It  flutters  forth  a  glorious  but  short-lived 


NOTES  FROM  MY  OLD  DIARY. 


107 


creature,  perfect  in  all  its  beauty,  to  soar  aloft  in  the 
sunlight  and  enjoy  the  SM'eet  warm  summer  air  for  a 
brief  season — a  type  to  man  of  the  promised  resurrection 
of  his  own  body  from  the  dust  of  the  earth,  through  the 
perfect  Avork  of  redeeming  love  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
“  0  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ?  0  Grave !  where  is  thy 

victory  ?  ” 

Since  the  above  description  of  the  Attacus  cecropia 
was  written,  some  years  ago,  I  have  had  knowledge  of 
two  varieties  of  this  remarkably  beautiful  moth. 

About  two  yeai’s  ago  a  friend  sent  me  from  Chicago 
three  cocoons  of  this  species.  These  cases,  attached  to 
slender  twigs,  were  much  smaller  in  size  than  the  apple- 
tree  variety,  and  were  light  brown  and  finely  felted. 

The  moths  (two  came  out  all  right,  one  was  abortive) 
■were  smaller  in  every  way,  but  beautiful  in  markings 
and  color.  They  remained  on  a  sunny  window  for  some 
days,  then  one  died  and  tlie  other  disappeared. 

Last  Christmas  I  was  given  another  cocoon,  fixed  to  a 
red-barked  dog-wood  spray.  It  was  of  large  size  and 
very  unlike  the  brown  woolly  cases  I  had  hitherto  seen. 
It  was  constructed  of  dead  leaves  and  a  grey  papery 
substance  like  that  of  the  wasp.  There  was  no  opening 
whatever  in  it ;  all  was  closely  sealed  up. 

One  sunny  morning  (April  21st)  I  was  delighted 
at  the  sight  of  the  tenant  of  the  grey  house,  a 
magnificent  specimen  of  the  Attacus  moth.  It  stood 


108 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


opening  and  closing  its  wings  as  if  for  flight,,  but 
x'emained  for  lioui'S  on  the  leaf  of  a  scarlet  geranium 
near  the  window,  giving  me  a  good  opportunity  of 
noting  its  beauty.  Especially  did  I  admire  the  rich 
coloring  and  markings  on  the  wide  wings,  which  were 
about  six  inches  in  extent  and  elegantly  rounded  and 
lobed. 

The  general  color  or  ground- work  was  a  rich  dark  red 
brown,  with  two  large  irregular  white  circular  figures ; 
within  the  larger  circle  was  anothep  figure  semi-circular 
in  form  and  of  several  shaded  colors  The  lower  pair  of 
wings  wei-e  adorned  in  the  same  way,  the  edges  being 
more  scalloped  and  smaller  than  those  of  the  upper 
wings,  and  beautifully  marked  and  fringed  with  a 
bordering  of  white,  red  and  grey. 

The  body  of  the  moth  was  short  and  thick,  barred 
with  white,  and  having  deep  red  spots  between  the  lines. 
The  outer  surface  of  the  back,  seen  between  the  open 
wings,  was  deep  red.  The  legs  were  clothed  with  a 
velvety  red  down. 

As  soon  as  the  lamp  was  lighted,  the  moth  spread  its 
wings  and,  bat-like,  flew  to  the  light,  and  would  have 
been  seriously  injured  had  we  not  come  to  the  rescue — 
not,  however,  before  the  feathery  margin  of  the  wings 
was  somewhat  scorched.  Taken  out  of  the  room  it  flew 
about,  casting  a  dark  bat-like  shadow  on  the  ceiling. 
For  some  days  it  hid  itself  among  the  window  curtains, 
coming  out  of  this  retreat  only  at  night,  and  for  the 


NOTES  FROM  MY  OLD  DIARY. 


109 


past  few  days  it  has  remained  fixed  to  the  corner  of  the 
what-not  in  the  parlor.  Its  wings  are  closed,  and  it  has 
apparently  lost  all  its  energy ;  the  light  no  longer 
attracts  it,  the  fine  red  pectinated  antennae  no  longer 
are  moYed  as  at  first — the  beautiful  creature  is  dead,  or 
dying. 

On  a  minute  inspection  being  made  of  the  empty 
cocoon,  it  seemed  a  mystery  how  the  big,  bulky  insect 
could  have  escaped  from  its  prison.  There  was  no 
visible  aperture  for  its  exit  save  one  small  pipe  terminat¬ 
ing  in  a  tiny  orifice,  through  which  it  seemed  impossible 
that  even  the  head  of  the  creature  could  have  issued. 
Yet,  this  must  have  been  its  door  of  egress,  for  no  other 
was  to  be  seen. 

Among  the  myriad  marvels  in  Nature,  there  are  no 
greater  than  those  found  in  the  insect  world. 

I  was  given  two  of  the  large  brown  cases  of  the 
Orchard  Moth  last  winter.  I  laid  them  aside  in  the 
drawing-room  and  forgot  all  about  them.  One  warm 
May  day,  on  going  into  the  room,  great  was  my  surprise 
and  delight  to  see  two  beautiful  creatures  on  the  window 
panes,  enjoying  the  sunshine,  and,  I  dare  say,  longing  to 
be  out  in  the  warm  free  aii’. 

By  and  by  they  became  very  restless,  as  if  bewildered 
by  the  novelty  of  their  surroundings,  flitting  about  on 
the  gay  flowers  of  the  curtains,  and  finally,  after  several 
days  had  elapsed,  one  of  the  two  deposited  sixteen  gold- 


no 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


colored  esfafs  on  the  chintz.  I  make  a  note  of  the  bare 

oo 

fact,  and  leave  it  to  be  pondered  over  by  the  experienced 
naturalist. 

Besides  the  butterflies  I  have  noticed  in  my  old  diary, 
I  minit  have  named  the  Tortoise-shell  and  the  two 

o 

Admirals,  the  red-marked  one  and  the  white.  There  are 
many  others,  too,  which  resemble  in  color  and  appear¬ 
ance  species  I  was  familiar  with  when  in  England. 

There  are  the  Tiger  Moths,  bright,  gay  creatures  that 
come  in  at  night  attracted  by  the  light  of  the  lamp;  and 
some  large  beautiful  grey  and  rose-colored  varieties  with 
damasked  wings,  which  shun  the  glare  of  the  light  and 
retreat  to  shaded  corners  of  the  walls  out  of  sio:ht. 

Our  beautiful  oak  trees  are  often  disfigured  when  in 
full  leaf  by  branches  of  brown  or  withered  leaves,  as  if 
some  scorching  blast  had  fallen  upon  them. 

I  was  standing  on  the  lawn  at  my  friends,  the  Hay¬ 
wards,  admiring  the  glossy  foliage  of  a  group  of  hand¬ 
some  scaidet  oaks  {Rubra  coccinea),  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  our  native  oaks,  when  my  attention  was 
drawn  to  one  of  the  branches  of  a  fine  young  tree  near 
me  which  was  affected  by  a  quivering  motion,  while  all 
the  rest  were  quite  still. 

It  was  an  intensely  hot  July  day,  not  a  breath  of  air 
stirring  the  leaves.  Suddenly  the  branch  parted  from 
the  tree  and  fell  at  my  feet.  I  took  it  up  to  examine 


NOTES  FROM  MY  OLD  DIARY. 


Ill 


the  cause  of  its  fall.  The  leaves  were  still  green  and 
fresh,  but  on  close  inspection  of  the  severed  part,  which 
was  nearly  half  an  inch  in  diameter,  I  found  it  finely 
grooved,  as  if  it  had  been  sawed  or  tiled  by  some  sharp 
toothed  instrument. 

This  was  evidently  the  work  of  a  Sawyer  or  Borer, 
one  of  the  numerous  species  of  the  destructive  Bupestrice, 
which  in  the  larvae  state  are  so  injurious  to  our  forest 
trees. 

I  sought  diligently  on  the  ground  for  the  little  work¬ 
man,  but  while  I  had  been  examining  the  branch  he  had 
hidden  himself  away  in  the  grass,  there  to  undergo  the 
last  change  to  the  perfect  state  of  his  kind  as  a  small 
beetle. 

Being  desirous  of  obtaining  some  information  concern¬ 
ing  the  creature  and  its  work,  I  turned  to  the  report  of 
the  “  Field  Naturalists’  Society  of  Ottawa”  for  1884 
(page  49),  and  the  following  description  satisfied  me  that 
my  sawyer  must  have  been  the  larvee  of  a  Twig-girdler: 

“  Oncideres  cingulatus.  When  the  female  desires  to 
deposit  her  eggs  she  makes  punctures  in  the  bark  of 
small  twigs  or  branches.  She  then  girdles  the  branch  by 
gnawing  a  ring  round  it,  which  kills  the  branch,  and  in 
course  of  time  it  breaks  off  from  the  tree  and  falls  to 
the  ground,  and  the  larvae  feed  on  the  dead  wood.  The 
beetle  is  greyish  brown  with  a  broad  grey  band.  It  is 
commonly  known  as  the  ‘Twig-girdler.’” 

In  the  present  instance  the  leaf  of  the  branch  was  still 


112 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


fresh  and  green,  hut  at  the  same  time  I  noticed  the 
noiseless  fall  of  branches  from  the  oak  trees  adjoining, 
and  saw  that  the  ground  was  strewn  with  dead  withered 
boughs  and  sprays,  while  others  still  hung  by  tiny 
shreds  of  bark,  ready  to  fall,  and  disfiguring  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  the  trees. 

The  entomologists  now  employed  by  the  Government 
and  attached  to  the  Bureau  of  Agriculture,  have  of  late 
years  turned  their  attention  to  the  appearance  and 
habits  of  this  class  of  tree-destroying  insects,  which  ai’e 
doing  so  much  injury  to  the  forests  and  orchards  of  the 
country. 

The  ravages  of  the  various  species  of  Scarahcei  are  not 
confined  to  the  oak  and  pine  alone,  but  every  species  of 
hardwood  tree  nurtures  one  or  several  kinds  peculiar  to 
itself. 

Tlie  subject  is  one  of  considerable  importance,  and 
should  not  be  devoid  of  interest  even  to  the  youngest 
student  of  natural  history.  It  is  a  study  particularly 
recommended  to  the  agriculturist,  horticulturist  and 
florist,  and  it  would  be  well  if  there  were  text-books 
written  in  simple,  plain  language,  that  would  be  instruc¬ 
tive  and  at  the  same  time  awaken  an  interest  in  it  amonar 

o 

our  young  people. 

The  habit  of  close  observation  inculcated  and  encour- 
aged  in  children  is  a  continual  source  of  pleasui’e  and 
profit  in  after-life,  often,  indeed,  leading  to  results  that 
are  little  anticipated,  as  in  the  well-known  case  of  Sir 


NOTES  FROM  MY  OLD  DIARY.  IIS 

Isaac  Newton,  m^Iio  had.  learned  to  see  and  think  as  a 
child — results  so  wonderful  that  the  less  observant  have 
been  disposed  to  attribute  them  to  actual  inspiration 
from  God.  True,  He  implanted  the  seed  thus  nurtured  in 
the  child,  and  brought  forth  the  fruits  in  the  man. 

But  I  am  wandering  away  from  my  subject,  the  ways 
of  those  tiny  insects,  the  twig-borers. 

How  marvellous  and  wonderful  is  their  instinct !  Note 
the  curious  means  employed  to  accomplish  an  end  which 
could  not  be  foreknown  by  experience,  by  teaching  or 
by  reasoning,  in  the  creature  working  for  the  future 
preservation  of  her  unseen  offspring.  The  calculating  of 
the  exact  date  when  it  should  come  forth,  and  the 
corresponding  time  when  the  girdled  branch  should  part 
from  the  tree,  thus  providing  a  nurseiy  for  her  infant 
and  sufficient  nutriment  to  sustain  it,  until  in  its  turn  it 
arrives  at  the  perfect  state  of  the  mother  beetle,  to  enjoy 
like  her  a  brief  term  of  life,  prepare  a  cradle  for  its 
offspring,  and  die. 

Surely  this  leaves  a  lesson  for  man  to  ponder  over 
and  confess  that  he  knows  but  little.  The  wisdom  of 
man  must  be  but  foolishness  in  the  sight  of  God,  since  he 
cannot  fathom  even  the  ways  of  one  of  tlie  most 
insisTnificant  of  the  works  of  the  Creator.  How  then 
can  man  by  his  puny  wisdom  find  out  God  ? 


THE  SPIDER. 


“The  spider  taketh  hold  with  her  hands,  and  is  in  kings’ 
palaces.” — Prov.  xxx.  28. 

I  MU.ST  confess  to  a  natural  aversion  to  spiders,  an 
aversion  I  cannot  overcome  sufficiently  to  avoid  shrink¬ 
ing  from  contact  with  them ;  yet  I  acknowledge  that 
they  are  more  interesting  to  me  than  any  other  of  the 
insect  tribe.  I  study  their  habits  and  ways  with  keener 
pleasure  than  I  do  those  of  the  industrious  bee  or  the 
active  ant. 

Tliere  is  an  individuality  in  the  character  of  every 
spider  which,  in  comparing  one  with  another  and 
studying  the  peculiarities  of  each,  gives  it  additional 
charm.  Each  spider  appears  to  act  independently  of  his 
fellows,  and  often  indeed  of  the  family  pattern.  He  is 
not  of  a  sociable  nature,  and  though  he  will  sometimes 
allow  a  small  brother  to  give  him  a  little  help,  or  to  look 
on  when  some  lai'ge  web  is  in  hand,  he  more  frequently 


THE  SPIDEU. 


115 


carries  on  the  woi'k  in  an  independent  style,  as  if  he 
were  saying : 

“  Let  me  alone,  if  you  please ;  I  want  none  of  your 
help.  You  only  bother  me  and  run  in  my  way.  I  have 
all  my  wits  about  me,  my  own  tools  and  my  own 
materials.  I  can  mind  my  own  business,  and  want 
neither  your  advice  nor  your  assistance.” 

He  is  a  surly  fellow,  a  misanthrope,  and  a  very  ugly 
tempered  as  well  as  conceited  one  at  that. 

The  spider  certainly  is  accredited  with  possessing  a 
very  ferocious  temperament,  the  males  often  fighting 
with  great  fuiy.  The  females,  who  are  larger  than  the 
males,  are  even  more  combative^indeed  the  ungentle 
spouse  is  not  infrequently  charged  with  devouring  her 
own  husband !  It  is  possible,  though,  that  the  victim 
may  have  been  the  meddlesome  proprietor  of  a  neigh¬ 
boring  web,  whose  interference  had  aggravated  her  be¬ 
yond  endurance,  and  the  act,  therefore,  might  be  termed 
justifiable  spidericide. 

Ugly  and  repulsive  as  some  spiders  are,  they  no  doubt 
are  as  proud  of  their  personal  appearance  as  of  their  skill 
in  the  manufacture  of  the  delicate  webs  which  they  hang 
out  to  lure  unwary  flies  to  their  destruction,  and  so 
supply  their  pantries  with  the  dainties  they  love. 

But,  seriously,  what  a  marvel  he  is,  what  striking 
characteristics  he  has,  what  forethought,  what  vigilance. 
How  clever  are  his  contrivances  and  expedients  where¬ 
with  to  compass  his  desired  end.  Who  can  have  failed 


116 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


to  note  his  subtlety  in  concealing  himself,  his  fierce  and 
jealous  temper  ?— all  traits  belonging  to  the  savage,  and,, 
alas,  too  often  to  be  found  among  the  more  civilized  of 
the  human  race. 

But  the  spider  is  not  altogether  without  his  good 
qualities.  We  must  him  justice,  and  not  slay  him 
without  mercy. 

He  has  energy,  industry  and  great  perseverance  under 
difficulties.  He  is  no  idler.  Instead  of  giving  up 
immediately  on  the  first  failure,  he  sets  to  work  to 
repair  what  has  been  destroyed  or  injured,  not  once  but 
several  times.  He  is  courageous,  for  he  will  not  be 
daunted  even  by  a  wasp  or  a  big  blustering  bully  of  a 
blow-fiy,  twice  as  strong  as  himself ;  though,  and  this  is 
hardly  to  be  recommended  as  a  good  quality,  he  often 
overcomes  his  enemy  by  effective  cunning.  He  has  no 
pity  for  his  victim,  but  casts  his  entangling  threads 
over  him  and  binds  him  down  securely  ;  then,  knowing 
that  his  cries  will  bring:  him  no  aid  and  his  strusfsfles 
will  but  bind  his  bonds  more  closely  and  finally  exhaust 
him,  the  wicked  spider  retreats  to  his  dark  corner  and 
waits  for  the  death  of  the  unhappy  prisoner. 

An  ugly  picture  !  We  will  turn  away  from  it  now 
and  see  if  we  cannot  find  a  more  pleasant  side  to  spider 
life  in  the  maternal  instinct. 

One  motherly  spider  carries  her  eggs  along  in  a 
white  silken  bag  wherever  she  goes,  as  if  she  were 
afraid  to  let  them  out  of  her  sight.  This  is  a  dusky 


THE  SPIDER. 


117 


brown  or  black  spider,  and  her  greatest  merit  is  tlie 
tender  care  she  takes  of  her  embryo,  uidiatched 
family. 

There  is  another  species,  known  by  Old  Country 
folks  as  the  “Nursing  Spider.”  She  also  carries  her 
precious  eggs  in  a  fine  yellow  silk  pouch,  attached  to 
herself  by  strings.  The  load  is  so  nicely  balanced  that 
she  can  move  quickly  about  without  being  in  the  least 
incommoded  by  it. 

When  the  tiny  things  are  hatched  they  follow  their 
mother  in  a  long  train,  each  fastened  to  her  by  a  silken 
thread.  Where  she  goes,  they  go.  They  are  of  a  bright 
reddish  color  and  are  very  lively. 

Tlie  old  mother  is  by  no  means  a  disagreeable-looking 
creature ;  her  body  is  about  the  size  of  a  small  garden 
pea,  of  a  light  yellow  brown  color. 

It  used  to  be  a  great  source  of  amusement  to  me  tO' 
watch  the  motherly  care  this  amiable  spider  took  of  her 
numerous  family  when  travelling  over  the  flower  borders. 
If  one  of  them  lagged  behind  or  seemed  disorderly,  she 
came  to  a  halt  till  they  all  assumed  the  regular  marching 
position.  What  the  word  of  command  was,  who  could 
tell  ?  But  however  it  was  given,  it  had  the  desired  effect 
of  restoring  order. 

A  few  years  ago,  when  camping  out  with  a  party  of 
friends  on  a  picturesque  and  rocky  island  in  Lovesick 
Lake,  while  the  younger  members  of  our  party  were 
bathing,  I  used  to  ramble  along  the  rocky  margin  of  the- 
9 


118 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


lake  to  look  for  ferns,  fresh  water  shells  and  other 
curiosities. 

One  morning  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a  ball  of 
yellowish  silk  hanging  in  the  middle  of  a  soft  maple 
bush,  growing  in  the  clefts  of  a  fissure  in  the  limestone 
rock. 

The  ball  was  about  the  size  of  a  pigeon’s  egg,  and  was 
field  in  its  place  by  a  number  of  strong  lines.  On  touch¬ 
ing  one  of  these  with  my  finger,  out  rushed  some  dozens 
■of  small  spiders,  and  from  the  bottom  of  the  bush,  to 
which  several  of  the  threads  were  attached,  came  a  large 
black  spider  of  formidable  appearance  and  unusual 
fierceness  of  aspect. 

Up  she  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  her  brood,  examining 
the  nest  and  lines  with  great  care.  Finding  nothing- 
injured  in  the  cradle-bed  and  its  fastenings,  she  ordered 
the  frightened  little  ones  back  to  their  nest,  and  as  soon 
as  she  saw  them  safely  housed,  retired  slowly  to  her 
post  at  the  foot  of  the  bush.  This  time,  however,  she 
took  the  precaution  to  place  herself  facing  the  ball  and 
its  contents,  that  she  might  the  better  keep  a  vigilant 
outlook  for  the  enemy. 

I  confess  that  curiosity  tempted  me  to  renew  the 
attack  just  to  see  what  the  mother  would  do,  so  I  again 
touched  one  of  the  strings.  The  vibration  was  communi¬ 
cated  to  the  motlier  as  the  little  spiders  again  ran  out, 
which  instantly  had  the  eftect  of  bringing  her  up  to  their 
help. 


< 


THE  SPIDER. 


119 


How  carefully  she  again  souglit  to  discover  the  cause 
of  the  trouble,  her  angry  countenance  showing  manifest 
displeasure  at  the  annoyance  I  had  caused. 

Upon  nearer  observation  I  perceived  that  a  thread  vms 
attached  to  each  one  of  the  little  creatures,  and  this 
again  to  the  centre  of  the  web,  so  that  when  they  ran 
ont  they  formed  a  circle,  and  the  movement  caused  a 
connecting  thread  or  thi-eads  to  convey  the  intelligence 
to  the  mother  below. 

I  could  not  but  admire  the  care  and  wonder  at  the 
marvellous  instinct  of  maternity  implanted  as  strongly 
in  this  little  insect’s  breast  as  it  is  in  that  of  any  human 
mother.  Truly  instinct  has  been  beautifully  defined  as 
“  God’s  gift  to  the  weak.” 

There  is  a  small,  nimble  species  of  field  spider,  with 
a  black  shining  body,  that  is  very  numerous  in  rocky 
pastures. 

Having  first  prepared  a  bed  of  some  glutinous  sub¬ 
stance,  she  spreads  it  in  a  thin  plate  less  in  size  than  a 
three-cent  piece.  On  this  the  eggs  are  deposited  in  due 
order,  and  over  them  is  laid  with  great  care  and  neatness 
a  circular  cover  or  lid  which  is  made  to  fit  as  exactly  as  a 
pastry-cook  would  cover  a  mince  pie  or  oyster  patty. 

So  artistically  is  our  little  spider  pie  finished,  and  the 
edges  brought  together  so  exactly,  that  one  would  think 
it  had  been  pared  evenly  with  a  sharp  knife  and  pressed 
closely  to  prevent  prying  eyes  from  discovering  the 
baby  spiders  tucked  in  so  carefully. 


120 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


My  little  boy  used  to  call  them  “  little  silver  pies." 
Great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  child  one  day,  when 
on  raising  the  edge  of  one  of  these  little  cases  out  ran  at 
least  a  dozen  tiny  black  spiders. 

What  became  of  the  family  thus  turned  out  of  house 
and  home  I  do  not  know,  but  I  Ji'ear  they  came  to  a  sad 
end.  Jamie  did  not  inherit  his  mother’s  aversion  to 
spiders,  and  the  uncertainty  attending  the  fate  of  the 
“  little  dears  ”  his  curiosity  had  turned  out  into  the  cold, 
caused  the  heart  of  the  infant  naturalist  much  concern. 


PROSPECTING,  AND  WHAT  I  FOUND 
IN  MY  DIGGING. 


“All  that  glisters  is  not  gold.” 

— Merchant  of  Venice. 

One  day  last  summer  I  was  digging  in  the  grove  outside 
my  garden  for  some  fine  black  mould  with  which  to  pot 
some  geraniums.  While  poking  about  with  my  spade 
at  the  roots  of  a  decayed  old  stump,  and  stirring  the 
surface  of  the  loose  earth  and  leaves,  a  glittering  object 
caught  my  eye. 

It  was  so  bright  that  I  really  began  to  fancy  that  I 
had  hit  upon  a  treasure,  perhaps  a  nugget,  but  when  I 
continued  to  prospect  for  my  gold,  to  my  surprise  it 
began  to  move,  and  presently  a  jet  black  creature,  with 
coat  like  grained  leather,  decked  with  bright  golden 
stars,  came  slowly  struggling  into  view. 

It  was  evidently  of  the  lizard  family,  biit  unlike  any 
specimen  I  had  ever  before  met  with.  It  was  not  a  true 
lizard,  as  I  found  out  later. 


122 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


In  length,  from  nose  to  the  end  of  the  tail,  it  was 
about  ten  inches.  The  back  was  marked  with  nine  gold 
stars  ;  there  were  also  three  on  either  side,  three  on  each 
leg,  one  on  each  foot,  and  one  on  the  head,  which  was 
flattish,  and  one  on  the  nose, — altogether  a  very  hand¬ 
some  set  of  ornaments  shining  with  yellow  lustre  on  its 
jet  black  coat. 

Knowinof  the  inoffensive  nature  of  the  creature,  and 
that  it  would  neither  bite  nor  sting,  I  transfei’red  it  to 
my  flower  pot  and  carried  it  home_that  I  might  study  it 
more  at  my  leisure. 

I  have  before  alluded  to  my  dislike  for  spiders  and 
reptiles  of  all  kinds,  arising  from  an  aversion  to  any¬ 
thing  ugly  or  disgusting,  and  although  this  little 
creature  was  more  remarkable  for  its  handsome  appear¬ 
ance  than  any  of  its  kind,  I  still  preferred  looking  at  it 
to  touching  it,  and  was  surprised  at  a  young  lady  friend 
not  only  taking  my  lizard  in  her  hand,  but  actually 
petting  and  patting  it  without  the  least  reluctance  or 
aversion. 

My  friend  was,  I  found,  quite  a  naturalist.  She  told 
me  that  she  had  seen  a  specimen  of  the  same  in  Nova 
Scotia,  where  the  species,  though  rare,  was  well  known. 
She  thought  it  belonged  to  a  division  of  the  Bactrian 
order,  and  that  there  were  some  eighty  species  native  to 
North  America,  and  many  southward  ;  possibly  it 
belonged  to  the  genus  Salamandria  macidata,  or 
Spotted  Salamander  family. 


WHAT  I  FOUND  IN  MY  DIGGING. 


123 


After  we  had  studied  it  to  our  hearts’  content,  and 
admired  and  counted  its  spots,  it  was  consigned  to  a 
glass  preserve  jar  half  filled  with  water,  and  left  in  peace. 
Our  prisoner  did  not,  however,  appear  to  be  enjoying  the 
bath  as  much  as  we  expected  he  would,  but  on  the 
contrary  was  evidently  desirous  of  escaping  the  liquid 
element,  raising  his  head  and  forefeet  above  the  surface 
and  looking  anxiously  through  the  transparent  wall  of 
his  prison  with  rather  a  doleful  expression  of  coun¬ 
tenance. 

He  certainly  was  not  happy,  and  I,  having  some  com¬ 
passion  for  poor  “  Gold  Star”  in  his  captive  state,  deter¬ 
mined  to  release  him.  After  a  confinement  of  two  days 
I  opened  the  jar  and  took  him  hack  to  his  home  under 
the  stump  in  the  grove.  The  released  animal  walked  off 
very  leisurely,  hut  no  douht  enjoyed  the  sense  of  liberty, 
which  may  he  as  dear  to  a  salamander  as  to  man. 

Some  time  afterwards  I  was  describing  my  capture 
to  a  gentleman  who  was  much  interested  in  the  natural 
history  of  Ontario.  He  said  it  was  a  true  salamander, 
belonging  to  the  order  Urodela,  family  Salamandrice ; 
that  he  had  often  seen  both  the  spotted  and  gold-starred 
species  in  the  forests  of  southern  France,  where  they 
abound.  Like  all  the  tribe  they  are  great  insect 
devourers,  and  having  no  evil  propensities  are  never 
destroyed  by  the  country  people. 

When  on  the  Continent,  Mr.  E -  was  a  great 

frequenter  of  the  woods,  seeking  for  specimens  of  birds 


124 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


and  insects,  and  would  often  stay  his  steps  to  watch  and 
admire  the  beauty  of  the  glittering  coats  and  the  lively 
movements  of  these  little  creatures  as  they  darted  to 
and  fro  or  basked  in  the  sunshine. 

They  are  great  lovers  of  heat,  and  it  is  from  this  no 
doubt  the  idea  arose  that  the  salamander  could  live 
unhurt  by  fire.  This  was  a  mistake  of  the  ancients,  or 
it  may  have  been  simply  an  exaggeration  in  alluding  to 
the  habits  of  the  sun -loving  animal. 

Mr.  E - thought  this  species^  was  rare  in  eastern 

Canada,  but  might  be  found  farther  westward. 


THE  ROBIN  AND  THE  MIRROR. 


Yesterday  I  noticed  from  my  window  a  pair  of  robins 
paying  many  visits  to  a  maple  tree  at  the  edge  of  the 
lawn.  Much  time  was  spent  in  flitting  to  and  fro,  but 
there  seemed  to  be  no  settled  plan  between  the  pair 
whether  to  build  in  the  upper  or  lower  branches,  and  no 
foundation  was  laid. 

To-day  the  male  bird  made  his  appearance  without 
his  mate,  and  he  seemed  restless  and  uneasy. 

Now  it  happened  that  an  accident  had  broken  the 
glass  in  front  of  the  Wardian  case  appropriated  to  my 
ferns,  and  the  servant  had  lifted  it  on  the  grass  plot  for 
a,  new  light  to  be  put  in.  The  back  of  the  case  had  been 
fitted  with  a  plate  of  looking-glass,  and  as  Master  Robin 
flitted  past  he  saw  his  own  image  in  the  glass  and 
instantly  flew  to  it,  evidently  with  joy,  thinking  he 
recognized  his  absent  and,  I  fear,  faithless  mate.  Ruffling 
his  feathers,  spreading  his  wings,  and  pecking  at  the 
glass  as  if  to  invite  her  in  the  nx)st  loving  manner  to  his 


126 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


breast,  but  finding  his  entreaties  fruitless,  he  flew  up  to 
the  maple — I  suppose  with  the  hope  that  the  wife  would 
respond  to  his  call-note  and  follow.  Then  down  again 
the  poor  fellow  came  to  renew  his  vain  entreaties.  More 
than  half  an  hour  was  thus  spent  in  and  out  of  the  case, 
up  and  down  from  the  tree. 

At  last,  having  made  a  final  dash  at  the  glass,  he  went 
oft’  in  a  fit  of  rage  or  of  astonishment  at  the  behaviour  of 
his  most  obdurate  spouse.  Like  some  men  and  women, 
Rob  had  taken  the  semblance  for  reality  and  been 
deceived. 

A  more  touching  and  somewhat  similar  incident  was 
one  I  witnessed  when  travelling  in  the  country  some 
years  ago. 

In  the  room  into  which  I  was  shown  by  the  mistress 
of  the  hotel  was  a  large  mirror,  and  while  standing 
before  it  I  noticed  the  strange  behaviour  of  a  pretty 
canary  bird,  which  hovered  with  an  impatient  fluttering 
motion  over  my  head ;  but  on  my  moving  away  the 
little  bird  flew  to  the  glass  uttering  a  peculiar  cry,  and 
then  a  thrilling  song  was  followed  by  the  creature  flying 
to  the  empty  cage  and  back  again  to  where  its  own  pretty 
image  was  reflected  in  the  glass,  and  which  it  evidently 
took  for  its  mate. 

On  my  remai’king  upon  the  strange  actions  of  the 
canary,  the  mistress  of  the  house  told  me  that  its  mate 
had  died,  and  that  the  poor  widowed  bird  had  never 
ceased  its  mourning.  She  had  let  it  out  of  the  cage 


THE  ROBIN  AND  THE  MIRROR, 


127 


because  it  was  so  unhappy,  and  seeing  its  own  image 
had  taken  it  for  the  dead  mate. 

“  Indeed,  madam,”  she  said,  “  the  creature  is  for  all 
the  world  like  us  in  its  grief ;  it  makes  my  own  heart 
sad  to  see  it  take  on  so.  I  do  not  know  what  to  do,  for 
I  love  the  little  thing  and  fear  it  will  destroy  itself 
beating  its  breast  on  the  glass.” 

I  advised  her  to  put  it  in  the  cage  and  cover  it  over 
so  as  to  dai’ken  it  awhile,  or  to  take  it  out  of  the  room 
where  the  mirror  was,  which  I  think  she  did. 

In  neither  of  these  cases  can  we  well  refer  the  actions 
of  the  birds  to  the  law  of  instinct  alone. 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


SPRING. 

“  If  thou  art  worn  and  hard  beset 

With  sorrows  that  thou  wouldst  forget, 

If  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson  that  will  keep 
Thy  heart  from  fainting  and  thy  soul  from  sleep, 

Go  to  the  woods  and  hills  ! — no  tears 
Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears.” 

— Longfellou'. 

At  no  season  of  the  year  are  the  woods  more  attractive 
than  in  the  early  spring,  when,  weary  of  their  snowj^ 
covering,  we  hail  with  increasing  satisfaction  the  break¬ 
ing  forth  of  the  tender  leafage  as  it  bursts  from  the 
brown  buds  which  had  encased  it  during  the  long  months 
of  frost  and  winter  snows. 

No  newly  hatched  butterfly  expanding  its  crumpled 
wings  to  the  glad  sunshine  is  more  alive  to  the  genial 
influence  of  sun  and  breeze  tlian  are  the  young  opening 


IX  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


129’ 


leaves  of  the  maple,  poplar,  beech  and  birch,  as  they 
greet  the  soft  winds  of  April  and  May,  and  flutter  forth 
into  full  free  life.  The  very  bark  on  the  twigs  takes  a 
living  freshness  of  tint  and  color,  in  place  of  the  dull 
hal’d  deadness  of  its  winter  hue. 

In  April  the  sap  rises  in  the  dark  thready  foliage  of 
the  pines,  and  the  heavy  boughs  of  the  hemlock  and 
spruce,  those  faithful  hardy  evergreens  of  the  forest, 
brightening  the  sombre  growth  of  former  seasons  with  a 
rich  full  tender  verdure,  harbinger  of  the  brighter  tints 
of  later  trees. 

Then  the  American  larch — the  tamarac  of  the  Indians 
— begins  to  put  forth  her  light  green  leaves  and  hang 
out  her  rosy  tassels  of  red  buds  all  along  the  slender 
pendent  branches.  Beautiful  as  flowers  are  these  soft 
red  cones  peeping  out  from  the  clusters  of  delicate 
thready  leaves  which  guard  them,  and  forming  delight¬ 
ful  contrasts  to  the  deeper  shades  of  the  surrounding 
foliage. 

It  is  the  tough,  elastic  roots  of  the  tamarac  that  are 
chiefly  used  by  the  Indians  in  making  their  birch-bark 
canoes.  This  is  the  “  wali-tap”  which,  after  it  has  been 
stripped  from  the  yellow  bark,  and  steeped  for  many 
hours  in  water  to  render  it  more  supple,  is  coiled  away 
ready  for  use. 

The  graceful  tassels,  or  “  catkins,”  as  they  are  com¬ 
monly  called,  of  the  willow  and  the  birch,  which  have 
been  growing  in  secret  all  through  last  autumn,  are 


130 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


amonw  the  first  buds  of  the  hardwood  forest  trees  to 

O 

unfold,  and  are  now  “  dancing  in  breezy  mirth  ”  on  every 
little  spray.  The  least  breath  of  wind  sets  them  in 
motion,  tossing  them  to  and  fro  as  though  the  whole  tree 
were  quivering  with  the  joy  of  its  new  life. 

Near  by,  but  with  less  lively  aspect,  the  stately  elm 
shows  its  olive-tinted,  furry  flower-buds  in  soft  contrast 
to  the  pointed,  shining  red  cases  that  enclose  the  foliage 
and  fruitage  of  its  neighbor,  the  graceful  beech. 

The  first  of  all  to  give  the  tender  color  of  spring  to  the 
distant  woods  ai’e  the  quivering  aspen  and  the  silvery 
poplar.  The  trees  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  forest,  and 
within  readier  reach  of  the  sun’s  rays,  difink  in  their 
warmth  and  are  the  first  to  send  out  responsive  life  in 
opening  bud  and  leaf,  an  earnest  of  all  that  is  to  follow 
when  the  fresh  verdure  shall  clothe  every  bush  and  tree 
with  its  robe  of  life  and  beauty. 

Then  as  the  snow  melts,  the  fii'st  forest  flowers  appear, 
the  earliest  to  greet  us  being  the  Liver-leaf,  or  “  Snow 
Flower,”  as  the  old  settlers  have  appropriately  named  the 
Hepatica  triloba.  The  sweetest  of  our  spring  flowers,  it 
takes  the  place  to  us  of  the  dear  English  primrose.  The 
starry  blossoms  are  pure  white,  and  blue,  and  pink  of 
several  tints.  They  spring  up  all  wrapped  in  silken 
sheen  from  the  sheltering  beds  of  the  old  leaves  that 
have  clung  to  them,  as  if  to  guard  the  hidden  life  from 
the  bitter  frosts  of  the  lingering  winter. 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


131 


Then  comes  Spring  Beauty,  the  Claytonia  Virginica, 

“  That  delicate  forest  flower, 

With  scented  breath,  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 

Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould, 

An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life.” 

— Bryant. 

Hosts  of  violets  of  all  shades  follow,  and  are  among 
the  earliest  of  the  forest  flowers ;  but,  alas,  the  ruthless 
advance  of  man  upon  the  scene,  in  cutting  down  the 
sheltering  trees,  has  robbed  the  spring  flowers  of  the 
warm  winter  cloak  which  protected  them  from  the  bitter 
winds,  so  that  while  formerly  we  looked  for  these  lovely 
flowers  in  April,  we  now  seldom  find  them  before  May. 
Some  indeed  of  the  forest  plants  have  disappeared  and 
we  see  them  no  more.  Types  are  they  of  the  native 
race,  the  Indian  children  of  the  land,  fast  passing  away. 
“  Thou  shalt  seek  them  in  the  morning,  and  shalt  not 
find  them.” 


SUMMER. 

“  Under  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 

And  turn  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird’s  throat, 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  : 

Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 

But  winter  and  rough  weather.” 

— As  You  Like  It. 

But  it  is  no  rough  weather  that  we  shall  meet  this 


132 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


lovely  summer  clay  if  my  reader  will  go  with  me  into 
the  forest  glades. 

Here  is  a  pathway  under  the  maples  and  beeches  ;  let 
us  follow  it  and  see  the  woods  in  all  their  rich  summer 
array.  The  June  rains  and  July  heat  have  deepened 
and  strengthened  their  coloring  and  given  matured  life 
and  vigor  to  leaf  and  branch,  so  that  we  shall  find  a 
richer  though  perhaps  more  subdued  beauty  of  form 
and  color  than  that  of  the  tender  loveliness  of  the 
spring. 

Overhead  the  light  semi-transparent  leaves  are  all 
astir,  quivering  in  the  breeze  as  the  sunshine  comes 
fitfully  down  through  the  tree-tops  and  casts  moving 
shadows  on  the  dark  mould  below. 

Looking  around  us  we  mark  the  endless  variety  of 
graceful  forms  in  tree  and  leaf  and  flower.  The  earth  is 
teeming  with  luxuriance,  and  one  might  almost  fancy 
her  conscious  of  all  the  wealth  of  vegetable  treasures 
she  bears  on  her  capacious  breast,  and  which  she  has 
brought  forth  and  nourished. 

Besides  the  lofty  maples,  oaks,  beeches,  elms  and 
birches,  there  is  the  leafy  basswood  (American  lime), 
scenting  the  air  with  the  fragrance  of  its  creamy 
blossoms,  and,  farther  on,  the  subtle  almond-like  scent 
of  the  black  cherry  betrays  its  presence  among  the  trees ; 
though  but  for  its  scent  we  should  not  have  distinguished 
it  from  among  its  loftier  compeers  of  the  wood. 

Is  it  the  gummy  odor  of  the  sweet  birch  that  is  so 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


133 


pleasant  or  is  it  the  SAveet  scent  of  those  lovely  pyrolas 
that  some  of  the  country  folks  misname  “  lilies  of  the 
valley,”  but  which  the  more  learned  botanist  classes 
with  the  Heath  family,  although  the  affinity  to  the 
heather  is  not  apparent  to  the  unlearned  lover  of  wild 
flowers  of  the  forest  ? 

Among  the  less  important  forest  trees,  the  bloom  of 
the  horn-beam  attracts  the  eye,  and  truly  no  flower  can 
hang  more  gracefully  from  its  pendent  spray  than  do 
these  pretty  greenish  white  sacs,  resembling  strongly  the 
hop  which  one  sees  twining  its  tendrils  about  the  lattice 
of  many  a  poor  settler’s  veranda  in  the  backwoods, 
where  it  is  cultivated  alike  for  ornament  and  use. 

The  rough  furry  cases  of  the  beechnuts  are  now 
giving  an  olive  hue  to  the  branches,  and  a  darker,  more 
sombre  color  to  the  light  green  foliage  which  so  channed 
us  in  the  first  flush  of  spring.  Thete  is  on  their  laden 
branches  the  promise  of  an  abundant  supply  for  many 
of  God’s  pensioners,  the  squirrel,  the  field-mouse,  the 
groundhog,  the  porcupine,  and  others  of  the  roving 
denizens  of  the  woods  and  wilds.  These  creatures  know 
well  the  time  of  the  dropping  of  the  glossy  three-sided 
nuts,  and  hasten  diligently  to  gather  up  their  stores. 
They  gather  that  they  did  not  toil  for  or  sow,  but  their 
bountiful  Father  openeth  His  hand  and  filleth  all  things 
living  with  plenteousness. 

How  deep  is  the  silence  of  the  forest !  A  strange 
sweet  sense  of  restful  stillness  seems  to  come  down  upon 
10 


134 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


the  soul.  One  scarcely  cares  to  tread  too  roughly,  for  it 
is  as  if  the  shadow  of  the  mighty  God  of  all  creation 
were  around  us  calling  for  an  unspoken  prayer  of  praise 
and  adoration. 

We  stand  beneath  the  pines  and  enter  the  grand 
pillared  aisles  with  a  feeling  of  mute  reverence ;  these 
stately  trunks  bearing  their  plumed  heads  so  high  above 
us  seem  a  meet  roofing  for  His  temple  who  reared  them 
to  His  praise.  “  Where  is  the  house  that  ye  build  unto 
me  ?  .  .  .  Hath  not  my  hand  made  all  tliese  things  ?  ” 

And  hark  !  through  the  aerial  harp-strings,  swept  Ijy 
the  sighing  winds,  ai’e  there  not  hymns  of  melody  and 
praise  unheard  by  human  ears  that  ascend  up  on  high 
even  to  His  throne?  “0  ye  winds  of  God,  praise  Him 
and  magnify  His  name  forever  !  ” 

There  ai’e  melodies  in  ocean,  earth  and  air,  unheeded 
by  man  as  he  goes  forth  to  his  daily  labor,  but  heard  by 
unseen  spiidts  in  their  ministrations  of  love  fulfilling  the 
will  of  our  Father. 

Not  many  living  creatures  cross  our  path  in  these 
leafy  solitudes,  unless  by  chance  we  disturb  some  red 
squirrel  from  his  seat  on  a  moss-covered  fallen  trunk. 
At  our  approach  he  darts  up  the  nearest  tree  in  swift 
gyrations,  for  these  little  creatures  climb  in  circles,  first 
on  one  side  then  on  the  other.  The  eye  can  scarcely 
follow  his  track  until  he  reaches  a  projecting  fork  where 
he  finds  a  hiding-place  ;  there,  made  bolder  by  distance, 
he  stops  to  look  down,  perhaps  not  in  fear  but  with 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


135 


curiosity  and  something  of  displeasure,  upon  tlie  unwel¬ 
come  intruder.  He  expresses  his  anger  by  uttering 
sharp  scolding  notes,  setting  up  his  tine  furry  tail  as  a 
banner  of  defiance. 

Listen  to  that  soft  whispering  sound.  It  cannot  he 
called  a  song,  it  is  so  soft  and  monotonous.  It  is  the 
note  of  a  tiny  brown  bird  that  flits  among  the  pine 
cones,  one  of  the  little  tree-creepers,  a  Sitta  or  a 
Certhia,  gentle  birds  small  as  the  tiniest  of  our  wrens. 

They  live  among  the  cone-bearing  evergreens,  glean¬ 
ing  their  daily  meal  from  between  the  chinks  of  the 
rugged  bark  where  they  And  the  larvm  upon  which 
they  feed. 

As  they  flit  to  and  fro  they  utter  this  little  call-note 
to  their  companions,  so  soft  that  it  would  pass  unnoticed 
but  for  the  silence  that  reigns  around  us. 

We  call  this  little  denizen  of  the  pine  forest  the 
“  Whisperer,”  and  I  have  some  doubt  if  I  am  right  in  sup¬ 
posing  it  to  be  a  Certhia  or  a  Sitta.  I  cannot  recognize 
it  in  Mr.  Mcllwraith’s  “  Bii’ds  of  Ontario.”  I  know  it 
only  as  a  tiny  bi-own  tree-creepei-,  that  runs  up  and  down 
the  trees  uttering  its  soft  whispering  note.  It  is  smaller 
and  less  pretty  than  the  tiny  black  and  wliite  spotted 
woodpecker  that  comes  to  the  trees  in  my  garden  or  taps 
with  its  strong  bill  on  the  shingled  roof  of  the  house — • 
a  quick,  noisy  rapping,  as  much  as  to  say,  “  Here  I  am  ! 
— here  I  am  !  ”  Or  pei’haps  I  see  a  pair  of  these  pretty 
fellows  busy  on  the  moss-crusted  garden  fence.  So  busy 


136 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


are  they  that  they  will  let  one  come  within  a  few  feet  of 
them  before  they  dart  off  to  the  nearest  tree  or  post. 
One  kind  is  striped,  with  a  red  spot  on  its  head ;  the 
larger  ones  are  more  spotted. 

Though  there  is  less  luxuriance  in  the  herbage  grow¬ 
ing  beneath  the  pines  than  under  the  maples  and 
beeches,  we  yet  find  some  rare  and  lovely  plants  flourish¬ 
ing  there  that  are  not  found  in  the  richer  soil  under  the 
hardwood  trees. 

Many  of  the  little  evergreens  known  by  the  familiar 
and  descriptive  name  of  wintergreens  abound,  especially 
the  beautiful  starry-flowered  pyrolas. 

Here  is  one,  the  Pipsissewa  or  “  Eheumatism  Weed” 
of  the  herbalist,  with  the  glossy  shining  leaves  and 
lovely  wax-like  pink  flowers.  It  is  a  floral  gem.  Mark 
its  rosy  stem,  its  dark  green  serrated  leaves  and  umbel 
of  pink-tinted  flowers.  Within  the  hollow  of  each  petal 
we  see  the  stamens  and  amethyst-colored  anthers  sur¬ 
rounding  the  thick-ribbed,  turban-shaped  stigma  in  the 
centre  of  emerald  green.  Who  can  look  upon  this 
exquisite  flower  without  a  feeling  of  pleasure  ?  It 
seems  to  me  perfect  in  all  its  parts. 

There  are  many  others  of  this  family  growing  in  the 
woods,  but  they  generally  prefer  the  richer  soil  under 
the  hardwood  trees,  where  also  they  can  get  more 
moisture. 

Of  these  the  Moneses  unijlora  is  one  of  the  most, 
beautiful.  It  has  but  one  pure  milk-white  blossom,  each. 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


137 


petal  elegantly  scalloped,  and  sending  forth  a  delicious 
perfume.  The  pistil  of  the  Moneses  is  most  singular.  It 
is  much  longer  than  the  closely  appressed  stamens,  and 
tei’ininates  in  a  little  bright, green  pointed  crown  some¬ 
what  inclining  downward.  This  plant  is  rare. 

There  is  another  small  species  less  fragrant,  the  flower 
of  which  is  greenish  white  and  inferior  in  beauty  to  the 
milk-white  and  larger  plants. 

Where  the  ground  inclines  to  be  rocky,  or  in  the 
vicinity  of  water,  we  come  upon  a  bed  of  sweet  May¬ 
flower.  It  is  rather  late  this  year.  May  and  June  are 
its  months  for  blooming,  but  some  will  linger  in  shady 
damjD  spots,  even  on  into  July  and  August. 

“  Sweet  flowers  that  linger  ere  they  fade, 

Whose  last  are  sweetest.” 

What  a  gummy  fragrance  about  this  charming  plant 
with  the  pink  bells,  red  stems  and  oval  leaves !  It  is  in 
the  mossy  glands  of  the  stalks  and  buds  that  the  aroma 
lies  and  is  given  out  from  this  beautiful  Creeping 
Arbutus,  for  it  belongs  to  that  charming  ornamental 
family.  It  would  be  a  desirable  addition  to  the  trailing 
plants  of  our  rockeries  and  hanging  baskets  could  we 
prevail  upon  it  to  abide  with  us,  but  it  loves  too  well  its 
own  wild  rocky  forest  haunts,  and  the  piny  soil  its 
rootlets  find  in  the  crevices  between  the  stones,  to 
readily  change  its  habits. 

Creeping  over  little  hillocks  in  shady  ground  we  see 


138 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


that  kindly  little  evergreen,  the  dark  round-leafed 
Partridge  Berry  {Mitchella  repens),  with  its  fragrant 
starry  white  blossoms,  and  at  the  foot  of  that  old  hem¬ 
lock  spruce  there  is  a  cluster  of  orchids,  the  handsome 
striped  or  coral-rooted  orchids. 

These  showy  flowers  come  up  destitute  of  green 
leaves,  but  with  many  stems,  some  more  than  a  foot  in 
height  and  loaded  with  flowers  of  a  pale  fawn  color, 
striped  with  deep  crimson.  Silvery  scales  take  the 
place  of  leaf  and  bract,  and  there  'are  often  from  ten  to 
twenty  or  thirty  flowers  on  the  scaly  stems,  a  mass  of 
fine  color  growing  closely  together.  The  irregular 
white-knobbed  root  stalk  has  given  it  the  name  of 
Coral  Root  {Gorallorhiza  multijiora). 

There  are  other  species  of  the  orchid  family  dispersed 
among  the  pines,  though  it  is  generally  in  boggy  or 
peaty  soil  these  rare  and  singular  plants  are  found.  Yet 
here  is  a  near  connection — and  one  often  found  in  the 
pine  woods,  where  we  notice  it  growing  on  the  decaying 
trunk  of  some  fallen  tree— the  pearly-flowered  Rattle¬ 
snake  Plantain  (Goody era  repens).  Its  deep  green 
leaves,  with  the  milk-white  traceries  over  their  surface 
and  the  semi-transparent  sac-lipped  little  flower,  surely 
make  it  deserving  of  a  better  name,  and  one  more  in 
keeping  with  its  near  neighbor  and  relative,  the  Ladies’ 
Tresses,  so-called  from  the  spiral  arrangement  of  its  leaves 
and  stalks. 

But  the  slanting  sunbeams  gilding  the  red  trunks  of 


I\  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


139 


the  pines  warn  me  it  is  time  to  retrace  my  steps,  and 
the  sound  of  the  jangling  cow-bells  speaks  audibly  of  the 
hour  when  the  children  will  be  looking  for  their  tea. 


AUTUMN. 

“  See  how  the  great  old  forest  vies 
With  all  the  glories  of  the  skies, 

In  streaks  without  a  name  ; 

And  leagues  on  leagues  of  scarlet  spires, 

And  temples  lit  with  crimson  fires, 

And  palaces  of  flame  ! 

And  domes  on  domes  that  gleam  afar. 

Through  many  a  gold  and  crimson  bar 
With  azure  overhead  ; 

While  forts,  with  towers  on  towers  arise. 

As  if  they  meant  to  scale  the  skies. 

With  banners  bloody  red.” 

— Alexander  McLachlan. 

Silently  but  surely  the  summer  with  all  its  wealth  of 
flower  has  left  us,  though  we  still  have  a  few  of  its 
latest  blossoms  lingering  on  into  the  ripened  glory  of 
the  autumn  days.  Our  roadsides  and  waste  places  are 
brilliant  with  the  gay  waving  Golden  Rod  (Solidago) — 
that  sun-loving  flower  which  does  not  fade  and  droop  its 
golden  spikes  under  the  August  and  September  heat. 

Graceful  asters,  too,  of  many  sorts  are  blooming  in  sun¬ 
shine  and  in  shade,  and  many  a  beautiful  gentian,  both 
the  fringed-flower  of  the  poet  and  the  later  variety, 
have  I  gathered  late  in  October. 

August  suns  have  ripened  the  grain,  and  the  harvest 


140 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


moon  has  set  over  the  fields  now  ready  for  the  plough, 
where  the  sower  will  soon  be  abroad  scattering  the  seed 
for  another  year. 

God’s  silent  workers  have  not  been  idle.  They  have 
gathered  in  the  harvest  on  plain  and  wayside  wastes,  on 
lonely  lake  shore  and  by  the  banks  of  the  gliding  river. 
The  dormouse  and  the  ground  squirrel  (our  little 
striped  chipmunk),  and  the  red  and  black  squirrel  have 
already  begun  to  lay  by  stores  of  kernels,  seeds  and 
grain.  The  musquash,  the  otter  .and  the  beaver  may 
delay  yet  a  little  till  the  frosty  nights  warn  them  that 
“  time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man,”  nor  yet  for  the  wild 
creatures  that  build  by  forest,  lake  and  stream. 

The  brown  acorns,  glossy  and  shining,  now  fall  with 
every  wind  that  shakes  the  branches.  The  rugged 
husks  of  the  beech  have  opened  wide  to  let  the  bright 
three-sided  mast  fall  to  the  earth  to  be  gathered  up  by 
“  the  wild  fiock  that  never  need  a  fold.” 

Truly,  it  is  wonderfully  strange,  yet  true,  that  each 
one  knows  exactly  how  much  it  will  require  to  keep  its 
family  during  the  winter  months.  Here  is  a  calculation 
that  defies  many  a  thrifty  human  housekeeper.  He  that 
gathers  imxch  hath  nothing  over,  and  he  that  gathers 
little  hath  no  lack. 

The  pines  are  strewing  the  ground  with  a  soft  carpet  of 
spiny  needle-like  leaves,  the  product  of  former  seasons, 
and  already,  early  in  September,  a  few  brilliant  scarlet 
leaves  have  appeared  among  the  green  of  the  maples. 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


141 


while  the  birch  and  poplar  hang  out  their  golden 
banners,  soon  to  scatter  them  abroad.  Not  less  attrac¬ 
tive  are  the  young  beeches  as  seen  against  the  full  dark 
green  of  the  spruce  and  hemlock. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  or  on  the  bank  of  lake 
■or  stream,  the  eye  is  caught  by  fringes  of  every  hue, 
the  red  of  the  osier  beds,  the  high  bush  cranberry  with 
its  purplish  tinge  of  foliage  and  rich  crimson  fruit, 
while  the  glorious  scarlet  of  the  prinos,  or  “  winter 
berry,”  like  the  holly  of  the  motherland,  charms  us  by 
its  gay  fruitage.  The  old  settlers  call  this  fine  shrub — 
for  it  does  not  attain  to  the  dignity  of  a  tree — the 
■“  Pigeon  Beriy.” 

I  know  a  rocky  island  in  Stony  Lake,  not  far  from 
our  own  little  island  of  Minnewawa,  where  there  is  a 
splendid  bush  laden  with  the  berries  and  dark  shining 
leaves ;  a  lovely  object  it  appeared  reflected  on  the  still 
bosom  of  the  lake  that  bright  September  morning. 
What  a  feast  for  the  wild  bii'ds  !  One  almost  envied 
them  their  treat. 

The  juniper  and  the  red  cedar,  too,  are  very  beautiful ; 
the  mealy  whiteness  of  the  one  and  tlie  blue  tints  of  the 
clustering  berries  of  the  other  are  now  in  perfection, 
ready  for  the  little  hoarders  of  the  fruits  of  the 
wilderness. 

Of  all  the  seasons  in  Canada,  that  of  September  is  the 
most  enjoyable.  Heat  we  have  for  a  sliort  time,  but  not 
overpowering.  The  summer  indeed  is  gone,  but  there  is 


142 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


a  dreamy  softness,  a  fulness  and  finish,  if  I  may  so 
express  it,  that  is  very  near  perfection.  This  is  the 
pause  before  the  eqiiinoctial  gales  come  to  rend  the 
trees  and  strew  the  earth  with  a  rich  covering  of  leaves, 
ere  the  Frost  King  has  with  his  nipping  fingers  touched 
the  oak,  the  maple,  the  elm  and  the  beech,  changing 
their  green  leaves  to  every  shade  of  crimson,  scarlet, 
orange,  yellow,  and  russet  blown.  These  colors,  as  the 
days  steal  by,  light  up  the  landscape  with  a  passing 
glory — a  glory  that  has  with  it  a  , sense  of  sadness,  too, 
for  it  is  the  beauty  that  heralds  in  decay — Nature’s 
fever  glow  on  the  cheek  of  the  dying  year. 

An  English  aiTist,  accustomed  to  study  the  more  sober 
hues  of  the  foliage  in  the  woods  and  hedgerows  of  his 
own  country,  gazed  with  almost  despairing  eyes  upon 
one  of  our  glowing  autumnal  landscapes.  Striking  his 
hands  together,  he  exclaimed  :  “  Those  contrasts  of  color 
are  too  brilliant !  Those  cloudless  skies,  that  deep  blue 
water,  those  gorgeous  scarlets,  orange  and  reds — how 
can  such  a  scene  as  this  be  rendered  faithfully  as  a 
truthful  picture  of  Canadian  scenery  ?  ‘  What  exagger¬ 

ation  !  ’  would  be  the  verdict.  How  can  I  tone  it  all 
down  to  be  believed  in  ?  Yet  how  surpassingly  beauti¬ 
ful  it  is !” 

But  the  lovely  pageantry  soon  disappears.  A  day  of 
pouring  rain,  a  sweeping  wind  or  night  of  frost,  and 
the  glory  has  departed,  and  we  may  write  upon  it, 
“  Ichabod,”  while  the  breeze  sounds  its  requiem  in  wails 


[N  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


143 


and  sobs  among  the  leafless  bonglis,  or  shivers  with 
rnstling  sound  the  leaves  still  clinging  to  the  young 
beeches  and  oak  saplings  in  the  forest. 

There  is  a  change  in  the  climate  since  the  time  when 
we  used  to  look  for  the  Indian  summer.  The  destruc¬ 
tion  of  the  forest  trees  has  told  upon  it  in  many  ways. 
AVe  feel  it  in  the  sweep  of  the  wind  in  autumn  and 
spring  especially,  in  the  drifting  snow  of  winter,  and 
in  the  growing  scarcity  of  the  flsh  in  our  lakes. 

Those  soft  calm  days  of  November  or  late  October  are 
now  seldom  experienced — the  frosty  nights,  misty 
mornings,  and  warm  days  when  the  sun,  veiled  by  the 
smoky  atmosphere,  looked  red  and  strange,  yet  not 
inspiring  fear — day  after  day  of  changeless  calm  which 
the  natives  call  Indian  summer,  claiming  it  as  if  it  of 
right  belonged  to  them.  “  Our  summer,”  they  say  ;  “  the 
month  of  our  harvest  of  rice,  the  hunter’s  month,  the 
fisher’s  month  ” — thus  they  call  the  last  three  months  of 
the  year.  But  with  the  forests  the  Indians  and  their 
summer  are  both  passing  away. 

My  sister’s  lines  on  the  Indian  Summer  may  well  be 
quoted  here  : 

“  By  the  purple  haze  that  lies 
C)n  the  distant  rocky  height, 

By  the  deep  blue  of  the  skies, 

By  the  smoky  amber  light 
Through  the  forest  arches  streaming, 

Where  Nature  on  her  throne  sits  dreaming, 

And  the  sun  is  scarcely  gleaming 

Through  the  cloudlets,  snowy  white, — 


144 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Winter’s  lovely  herald  greets  us  . 

Ere  the  ice-crowned  tyrant  meets  us. 

“  This  dreary  Indian  summer  day 

Attunes  the  soul  to  tender  sadness ; 

We  love — but  joy  not  in  the  ray; 

It  is  not  summer’s  fervid  gladness, 

But  a  melancholy  glory 

Hovering  softly  round  decay, — 

Like  swan  that  sings  her  own  sad  story 
Ere  she  floats  m  death  away.” 

— Susanna  Moodie. 


WINTER. 

“  Sharp  is  the  frost,  the  Northern  Light 
Flickers  and  shoots  its  streamers  bright ; 

Snowdrifts  cumber  the  untracked  road. 

Bends  the  pine  with  its  heavy  load.” 

— Francis  Rye. 

There  is  silence  in  the  forest.  The  birds  that  came 
to  make  their  summer  sojourn  here  hav^e  long  since  for¬ 
saken  us.  All  are  gone — not  a  song,  not  a  twitter  or 
chirp,  meets  the  ear.  Even  the  lively  little  ground 
squirrel  has  gathered  in  his  stores  and  retired  to  his 
warm,  cosy  house  under  the  root  of  oak  or  beech,  where, 
within  reach  of  his  well-filled  granary,  he  is  snugly 
■cuddled  with  his  furry  family,  a  happy  denizen  of  his 
native  woods.  The  bolder,  hardier  red  squirrel  is  safel}^ 
housed  in  the  fork  of  a  hollow  tree,  sheltered  from  blus¬ 
tering  wintry  winds  and  drifting  snow.  The  racoon,  the 
porcupine,  the  little  field-mouse,  are  all  hidden  in  nest  or 


IK  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


U5- 


buri’ow,  and  even  the  bears  with  their  cubs  are  sleeping 
in  tlieir  secret  haunts. 

Few  indeed  of  the  hardier  birds  that  winter  with  us- 
are  now  seen  to  venture  from  the  close  coverts  of  tlie 
dense  cedar  swamps ;  only  on  chance  sunny  days  the 
crossbill,  the  pine  grosbeak  or  the  hardy  blue  jay  will 
come  near  our  dwellings,  and  the  little  spotted  wood¬ 
pecker  be  heard  upon  the  trunk  of  some  neighboring 
monarch  of  the  forest  tapping  and  rapping  as  busy  as 
a  bee. 

The  hunter  and  the  lumberman  may  sometimes  catch 
sight  of  the  little  tree  creeper  and  the  titmouse  flitting 
among  the  pines  in  search  of  the  insects  hidden  in  the 
bark  and  cones,  or  hear  the  rapid  sonorous  strokes  of 
the  large  woodpecker,— the  red-capped  “  cock  of  the 
woods  ” — hammering  away  on  some  old  tree  and  strip¬ 
ping  down  gi’eat  sheets  of  bark  from  the  fast  decaying 
trunk ;  but  only  in  the  thicke.st  of  the  forest  would  this 
be,  for  rarely  is  this  large  species  met  with  elsewhere. 

The  ruffed  grouse  that  is  commonly  called  “  wood 
partridge  ”  is  not  migratory ;  both  it  and  the  spruce 
partiidge  abide  the  winter  hidden  in  the  spruce  and 
hemlock  woods.  All  through  the  cold  months  of  the 
Canadian  season  they  feed  on  the  scanty  berries  of  the 
wintergreen,  the  buds  of  spruce,  aftd  the  red  bark  of  the 
wild  raspberry.  The  latter  imparts  a  red  tinge  and 
much  bitterness  to  the  flesh,  and  by  the  month  of 
February  renders  it  unfit  for  food. 


146 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


The  Frost  King  is  abroad,  and  as  by  the  magic  touch 
of  an  enchanter’s  wand  has  wrought  a  wondrous  change 
within  the  forest  as  well  as  on  lake  and  stream. 

What  has  become  of  the  unsightly  heaps  of  brush¬ 
wood,  the  debris  of  fallen  rotting  leaves,  of  stalks  of 
withered  flowers  and  rank  herbage,  the  blackened 
stumps,  the  old  prostrate  wind-blown  trees  ?  Where 
are  they  now  ?  Here  is  purity  without  a  sign  of  deca}". 
All  that  offended  the  sight  in  oui’  forest  walks  has 
vanished. 

A  spotless  robe  of  dazzling  whiteness,  soft  and  bright 
as  the  swan’s  downy  breast,  is  .spread  over  all  that  was 
unsightly.  The  new-fallen  snow  decks  every  fan-like 
spray  of  hemlock,  balsam,  fir,  and  spruce,  with  mimic 
wreaths  of  fairy  flowers.  The  young  saplings,  weak 
and  slender,  bend  beneath  their  burden,  liflfhtlv  as  it 
seems  to  lie  xipon  them,  weighing  them  down  until  they 
touch  the  ground,  forming  bowers  and  graceful  arcades 
of  crystal  brightness ;  even  the  very  stumps  are  dressed 
with  turbans  whiter  than  the  far-famed  looms  of  Decca 
could  weave  or  art  of  fuller  whiten. 

Looking  upward  we  see  a  hazy  veil  above  the  dark 
funereal  pine  tops,  through  which  the  silvery  stars  gleam 
softly,  while  fantastic  shadows  checker  the  glittering 
snow  beneath  our  fe%t.  All  about  us  is  a  stillness  so 
profound  that  it  would  seem  as  if  Nature  herself  lay 
wrapped  in  sleep. 

The  dull  creaking  of  our  footsteps  on  the  closely 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


147 


packed  snow,  the  fall  of  a  dry  pine  cone,  or  the  cracking 
of  the  frost-l)onnd  hark  of  some  distant  forest  tree,  alone 
breaks  the  silence.  Is  there  no  sound  or  sight  of  living 
thing?  Yes;  see  those  tinj^  marks  upon  the  surface  of 
the  snow — footprints  so  small  that  Imt  for  the  long  line 
reaching  from  tree  to  tree  they  would  escape  the  quick¬ 
est  sight.  Some  living  thing  has  been  here.  It  is  the 
tiniest  of  all  quadrupeds,  the  little  “jumping  mouse,”  or 
zerboa.  A  brave  little  animal,  fearless  of  cold  and  frozen 
snow,  it  has  ventured  from  its  domicile  in  search  of  food. 
It  would  not  come  out  just  for  play  in  the  cold  moon¬ 
light.  One  cannot  snsj^ect  the  fairy  creature  of  any  such 
motive  ;  but  motive  it  must  have,  and  it  keeps  it  to  itself. 
Well  is  it  if  no  midnight  owl  or  the  white  arctic  hawk 
which  is  sometimes  seen  in  the  dense  forest  does  not 
pounce  upon  its  defenceless  head  and  bear  it  off  as  a 
prize.  I  liave  seen  these  pretty  little  mice  in  the  sum¬ 
mer,  and  admired  their  agile,  skipping  ways ;  but  in  the 
winter,  though  seeing  many  a  track  of  their  fairy  feet 
on  the  snow,  I  have  never  observed  the  little  creatures 
themselves. 

In  an  old  diary  I  have  notes,  written  years  ago,  of 
sleigh  drives  in  a  rude  vehicle,  when,  wrapped  in  buffalo 
and  bear  skin.s,  lying  at  ease  with  my  little  ones  cuddled 
up  from  the  keen  wintry  cold,  we  made  many  a  moon¬ 
light  visit  to  some  friend.  What  a  merry,  noisy  party 
we  were,  singing  and  laughing  and  chattering  as  we 


148 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


sped  through  the  snow-laden  forest  road — a  rough  road 
and  a  wild  one  it  was  then,  more  than  fifty  years  ago. 

What  changes  the  years  have  brought !  Where  now 
are  the  pine  woods  ?  Where  the  log-house,  the  primeval 
settlement  house ;  the  disfiguring  stump  in  the  newly- 
cleared  fallows ;  the  ugly  snake-like  rail  fences,  the  rudo 
enclosures  of  the  first  efforts  of  the  immigrant ;  the  jang¬ 
ling  sound  of  the  cattle  bells,  the  lumber  sleighs  ?  All 
are  gone — things  that  were,  not  things  that  are. 

Fair  dwellings,  tasteful  gardens,  fruitful  orchards,  the 
village  school-house,  the  church  spire,  the  busy  factory, 
the  iron-girdered  bridge,  the  steamboat,  the  railroad,  the 
telegraph,  the  telephone — these  have  taken  the  place  of 
the  lonely  forest  settlements. 

“  Old  things  are  passed  away ;  behold,  all  things  are 
become  new.”  Slowly  and  surely  the  march  of  civiliza¬ 
tion  has  gone  on,  yet  “  seed  time  and  harvest,  summer 
and  winter  ”  have  returned  according  to  their  circuits ; 
and  as  I  look  back  through  the  long  vista  of  the  past  I 
can  trace  the  OTidinof  hand  of  Him  who  chan^eth  not. 

o  »  to 

A  SONG  FOR  A  SLEIGH  DRIVE. 

Tune:  “Farewell  to  Glen  Owen.” — Welsh  air. 

Hurrah  for  the  forest !  the  dark  pine  wood  forest ! 

The  sleigh  bells  are  jingling  with  musical  chimes; 

The  woods  still  are  ringing 

As  gayly  we’re  singing —  , 

Oh,  merry  it  is  in  the  cold  winter  time. 


IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS. 


149 


Hurrah  for  the  forest!  the  dark  pine  wood  forest! 

With  the  moon  stealing  down  on  the  cold  frozen  snow. 
With  eyes  beaming  brightly, 

And  hearts  beating  lightly, 

Through  the  wild  forest  by  moonlight  we  go. 

Hurrah  for  the  forest !  the  dim  ancient  forest! 

Where  silence  and  stillness  for  ages  have  been. 

We’ll  rouse  the  grim  bear. 

And  the  wolf  from  his  lair. 

And  the  deer  shall  start  up  from  the  thick  cedar  screen. 

Oh,  wail  for  the  forest !  the  green  shady  forest ! 

No  longer  its  depths  may  the  hunter  explore ; 

For  the  bright  golden  grain 
Shall  ■wave  o’er  the  plain. 

Oh,  wail  for  the  forest,  its  glories  are  o’er ! 


11 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST. 


The  first  impetus  that  our  neighborhood  received  was 
the  putting  up  of  a  saw-mill  at  the  Falls  of  the  Otonabee, 
about  half  a  mile  below  my  brother’s  house,  and  the 
building  of  a  bridge  to  connect  the  townships  of  Douro 
and  Smith,  thus  giving  a  better  access  to  the  town  of 
Peterborough,  then  (1833)  the  only  market  for  our 
produce  and  for  the  pui’chase  of  household  necessaries. 

The  clack  of  the  mill  wheels  was  soon  mino-linff  with 

o  o 

the  sound  of  the  rush  of  the  rapids,  and  we  were  able 
to  obtain  the  requisite  lumber  to  complete  the  new  log- 
house,  and  subsequently  to  build  a  frame  barn  and 
stable  for  the  cattle. 

The  proprietor  of  the  mill  was  an  adventurous  young 
Scotchman,  very  ambitious  and  sanguine,  but  who 
illustrated  the  truth  of  the  Italian  proverb,  “  His  beak 
is  longer  than  his  wings.” 

He  went  home  on  speculation  for  a  wife,  and  succeeded 
in  persuading  a  young  lady  who  had  some  money  to 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE  CLEARING. 


151 


I  was  so  interested  in  the  scene  that  I  did  not  hear 
the  step  of  a  barefooted  child  behind  me  until  a  little 
figure,  wi-apped  in  a  faded  tartan  shawl,  laid  her  hand 
upon  my  arm  and  in  a  strong  Scotch  accent  said ; 

“  Mistress,  j^e  maun  come  awa’  the  noo  wi’  me  to  see 
the  wee  ane.  The  mither  is  aye  greeting  and  sent  me 
ower  to  hid  ye  come  to  see  till’t.” 

“  And  who  is  it  that  sent  you  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  The  mither  o’  the  sick  wean,  Mrs.  P - ,  at  the 

Falls.” 

“  But,”  I  said,  “  my  little  maid,  what  can  I  do  for  the 
sick  child  ?  ” 

“  I  dinna  ken,  but  ye  maun  come.” 

Though  from  Maggie’s  further  description  of  the 
state  of  the  babe  I  feared  I  could  do  little  for  the 
sufferer,  I  thought  I  might  do  somewhat  to  comfort  the 
poor  young  mother,  so  I  put  on  my  plaid  and  hood  and 
followed  my  little  guide. 

“  She  stayed  not  for  brake  and  stopped  not  for  stone,” 
but  led  the  way  fearlessly  over  the  most  impracticable- 
looking  places,  sometimes  climbing  over  log  heaps,  dash¬ 
ing  through  puddles  of  melting  snow,  creeping  along 
fallen,  half-rotted  logs  beside  pools  where  even  the  little 
will-o’-the-wisp  was  not  sure  of  a  safe  passage,  and 
often  stretching  out  a  strong  red  fist  to  aid  me  when  I 
faltered  on  the  way. 

At  last  the  house  was  reached  without  accident,  and  I 
found  the  young  mother  sorrowfully  regarding  the  sick 


152 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


infant.  It  was  lying  in  a  rude  cradle,  pale  death, 
wasted  almost  to  a  shadow,  and  exhausted  from  its  last 
fit  of  convulsions.  I  had  seen  it  in  her  arms  only  a 
week  before  a  picture  of  infantile  health  and  beauty,  for 
indeed  it  was  a  lovely  babe.  Though  so  young,  its 
pretty  head  was  thick  with  curls  ;  now  lax  and  damp 
they  hung  round  the  brow  on  which  death  had  already 
set  its  seal.  Poor  Jessie  !  poor  mother  ! 

“  It  cannot  live,”  she  said  mournfully,  looking  up  in 
my  face  as  if  to  ask  for  some  word  to  give  her  a  ray  of 
hope.  Alas  !  she  saw  I  could  give  her  none.  The  Lord 
of  life  alone  could  restore  that  fading  flower,  for  “  Life’s 
young  wings  were  fluttering  for  their  flight.” 

We  put  the  baby  into  a  warm  bath  to  try  and  stay 
the  attacks,  but  in 'vain  ;  every  half  hour  fresh  fits  con¬ 
vulsed  the  tender  frame,  each  one  threatening  to  be  the 
last  efibrt  of  expiring  life. 

It  was  saddening  to  see  the  intense  anguish  of  the 
mother  as  she  stopped  from  the  work  she  was  compelled 
to  attend  to  (cooking  for  the  mill  hands)  to  bend  over 
her  dying  babe,  suppressing  the  grief  that  none  but  a 
mother  can  feel.  I  could  help  her  only  by  holding  the 
child  in  my  lap  or  watching  beside  it. 

Jessie’s  husband  was  the  overseer  of  the  busy  work¬ 
men  employed  at  the  buildings  then  being  erected  at  the 
mills,  and  the  wife  had  to  cook  for  all  the  men.  The 
master  was  young  and  had  little  sympathy  for  the  poor 
young  mother.  What  was  a  babe  of  the  overseer’s  ta 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE  CLEARING. 


153 


liim !  The  ready  meals  for  the  men  must  not  be 
negdected,  and  she  must  attend  to  and  fulfil  her  cove¬ 
nanted  duties,  babe  or  no  babe.  His  hard  heart  was  not 
softened  by  the  sight  of  the  poor  mother’s  yearning,  tear¬ 
ful  eyes  as  she  turned  them  so  sadly  on  her  dying  child ; 
but  some  of  the  more  sympathetic  among  the  men  tried 
to  cheer  her  by  saying  the  child  might  yet  recover,  and 
though  they  knew  the  hope  was  not  to  be  realized,  it 
was  kindly  spoken. 

As  night  drew  on  I  knew  the  child  must  die,  and  as  I 
had  not  the  heart  to  leave  the  poor  mother  alone  with 
her  great  sorrow,  I  despatched  a  messenger  to  my  own 
house  to  say  I  should  not  be  home  till  morning.  I 
prevailed  on  Jessie  to  lie  down  on  her  bed  while  I  kept 
vigil,  and  glad  I  was  to  see  the  weary  heart  at  rest  after 
the  day  of  toil  and  grief. 

The  infant  slept,  too,  its  last  sleep  on  earth,  to  waken 
to  a  new  life  in  heaven. 

The  first  grey  streaks  of  morning  light  found  me 
still  a  watcher.  The  frosty  air  blew  bleak  and  chill 
through  the  chinks  in  the  imperfect  wooden  walls  of  the 
barrack-like  building.  Carefully  replacing  my  sleeping 
charge  in  the  cradle,  I  opened  the  door  and  went  forth 
to  look  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  and  the  heavens,  for 
my  eyes  were  weary  and  my  heart  was  sad. 

Truly  a  lovely  sight  it  was  that  met  my  view.  The 
frosted  ground  was  gemmed  with  countless  mimic  stars, 
glittering  beneath  as  brightly  as  the  stars  in  the  blue 


I 


154 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


sky  above  were  gleaming  ere  they  paled  before  the 
saffron  light  of  the  dawning  day  now  streaking  the 
eastern  horizon.  The  mist  was  rising  in  clouds  from  the 
river  where  the  rapids  were  tossing  their  white-crested 
heads  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  pines  that  clothed  the 
opposite  shores,  grand  and  beautiful,  untouched  by  the 
hand  of  man.  What  a  contrast  to  the  confusion  spi'ead 
around  the  recently  erected  mill  and  the  half-finished, 
unsightly  buildings,  where  heaps  of  refuse,  piles  of  chips 
and  bark  strewed  the  ground  ' 

O  » 

No  one  was  awake  or  stirring — not  a  sound  was  heard 
save  the  wild  rushing  sweep  of  the  restless  river  as  it 
dashed  over  its  rocky  bed,  unchecked  in  its  downward 
course  by  mill-dams  or  saw-logs,  its  clear  waters 
unpolluted  by  sawdust  or  bark,  nor  ploughed  and  stirred 
by  steamboats  and  the  rafts  and  cribs  of  the  lumbermen. 

I  turned  once  more  to  the  contemplation  of  human 
suffering.  Without  all  was  joy  and  life ;  within  was 
sorrow  and  death. 

I  found  Jessie  awake  and  watching  by  the  cradle  of 
her  little  one,  her  hopes  risen  with  the  new  day.  The 
babe  lay  still  and  sleeping,  and  she  thought  it  might  yet 
recover.  Knowing  that  I  was  needed  at  home  by  my 
own  little  one,  and  leaving  Jessie  with  a  pi'omise  to 
return,  I  set  out  on  my  solitary  walk. 

The  day  was  now  fairly  opened.  The  ground  was 
hard  and  crisp,  and  though  keen,  the  fresh  air  of  the 
early  morning  refreshed  and  revived  me. 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE  CLEARING. 


155 


Nature  herself  had  as  it  were  been  enjoying  perfect 
rest,  and  with  the  sun  had  awakened  to  a  newness  of 
life.  The  living  creatures  were  lifting  up  their  voices 
in  hymns  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  to  Him  from  whom 
all  blessings  flow,  whose  goodness  had  protected  them 
through  the  night,  and  whose  bounty  was  still  to  pre¬ 
serve  them  through  the  coming  day. 

There  were  songs  and  twitterings  from  birds  rarely 
heard  in  the  full  glare  of  day.  The  red  squirrels  were 
out  and  abroad,  crossing  my  path,  while  the  little 
chipmunk  stopped  and  set  up  his  furry  tail  and  chat¬ 
tered  as  if  he  would  inquire  what  business  I  had  out 
among  his  haunts  at  that  early  hour  in  the  morning. 

The  robins  had  just  arrived  in  the  clearing,  and  it  was 
a  treat  to  hear  the  full  song  they  poured  forth.  The 
rapping  of  the  woodpecker  and  sharp  shrill  note  of  the 
blue  jay  jarred  on  my  ear  as  I  listened  for  the  soft 
whispering  of  the  little  brown  certhia  or  the  livelier 
trill  of  the  wren. 

All  these  sweet  sounds  came  with  a  soothing  influence 
to  my  spirit,  and  in  after  years  the  memories  of  them 
come  back  to  the  mind  wearied  with  the  toil  and  moil  of 
life,  like  the  psalms  and  hymns  we  learned  as  children, 
to  refresh  us  and  lead  us  back  from  earth  to  heaven. 

That  evening  I  went  back  to  the  Falls  to  And  the 
poor  mother  overwhelmed  with  grief.  The  child  had 
died  in  that  last  sleep.  It  was  her  first-born  treasure, 
and  her  grief  was  sore.  I  did  my  best  to  comfort  her. 


156 


PEAKLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


although  I  had  not  then  known  the  pang  of  a  bereaved 
mother’s  heart.  God  gave  me  that  trial  in  after  years. 
I  could  only  mingle  my  tears  with  hers,  and  even  that 
human  sympathy  was  something  to  the  grieving  heart. 
Once  she  looked  down  upon  her  arm  and  cried,  “  It  used 
to  lie  here,  and  I  shall  never  feel  it  here  sae  near  to  my 
ain  heart  again.” 

Jessie  never  forgot  that  babe ;  it  lay  very  near  to  her 
warm  motherly  heart  long  after  it  had  been  forgotten 
by  eveiyone  but  her. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  the  child’s  funeral 
was  to  take  place  at  noon.  The  door  being  open  I 
entered  the  darkened  room  without  knockino-.  I  shall 

o 

never  forget  the  feeling  of  solemn  awe  that  came  over 
me  as  I  crossed  the  threshold  from  the  bright  noonday 
sunshine  into  the  hushed  gloom  of  the  house  of 
mourning. 

There  was  no  funeral  pomp  or  display,  no  outward 
demonstration.  A  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was 
covered  with  a  damask  cloth  of  snowy  whiteness  ;  beside 
it  sat  the  child’s  father,  a  grave  respectable  Scotchman, 
in  black,  his  hat  craped  and  tied  with  the  white  ribbon 
symbol  of  the  youth  and  innocence  of  the  dead  babe. 
A  large  Bible  lay  before  him.  He  just  raised  his  head 
from  the  book  as  my  shadow  fell  upon  the  page,  and 
bowed  reverently  and  in  silence  as  I  passed  over  to 
where  the  mother  bent  above  the  little  coffin. 

I  see  her  now  in  her  black  dress,  her  fair  hair,  like  a 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE  CLEARING. 


157 


golden  veil  gemmed  with  tears,  almost  shrouding,  the 
calm  sweet  face  of  her  dead.  There  was  no  violence 
in  the  subdued  grief  of  the  mourner.  She  took  a  little 
packet  from  her  breast,  and  opening  its  folds  pointed  to 
the  bright  silken  curls  that  she  had  cut  fx’om  the  pretty 
head,  then  replaced  it  with  a  sigh  in  the  bosom  where 
the  soft  head  had  been  so  tenderl}"  nestled.  It  was  only 
when  the  bearers  came  in  and  closed  the  coffin  lid  that 
forever  hid  her  darling  from  her  sight  that,  with  a 
burst  of  grief  not  to  be  suppressed,  she  threw  herself 
into  my  arms  and  wailed  the  piteous  cry,  “  Gone  !  gone  ! 
My  wean  !  my  wean  !  ” 

Then  she  besought  me  to  join  the  little  funeral  proces¬ 
sion  to  the  burying-ground  across  the  river,  but  this  I 
could  not  do,  for  the  way  was  far  and  I  did  not  feel 
equal  to  the  long  walk. 

I  watched  them  as  they  crossed  tlie  bridge  and 
ascended  the  opposite  bank,  till  the  white  pall  was  lost 
among  the  dark  pines  that  marked  the  forest  road,  and 
then  with  heavy  heart  retraced  my  steps  to  my  own 
home. 


THE  EARLY  BLEST. 

(Lines  by  my  sister,  Agnes  Strickland.) 

Thy  mother’.^  sad  eyes  in  wild  angui.sh  wept  o’er  thee. 
And  the  tears  of  a  father  flowed  fast  to  deplore  thee  ; 
And  thine  own  feeble  cries  told  the  struggle  within, 
When  thou,  sinless  babe,  paid  the  forfeit  of  sin. 


158 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


There  was  speechless  despair  when  life’s  last  rose  had  faded, 
And  thy  death-darkened  eyes  with  their  cold  lids  were  shaded, 
And  thy  young  limbs  were  wrapped  in  the  robes  of  the  dead. 
And  forever  consigned  to  their  lone  narrow  bed. 

They  mourned  for  the  hope  that  affection  had  cherished  ; 

They  saw  it  in  dust,  and  they  deemed  it  had  perished  ; 

But  they  knew  not  that  mercy  directed  the  blow 
That  laid  their  beloved  and  beautiful  low. 

Like  the  blossom  that’s  plucked  ere  rude  winds  have  profaned  it, 
Or  the  snow-wreath  that  melts  ere  the  soil  has  distained  it. 

Thou  wert  snatched  from  a  world  of  corruption  and  strife. 

And  saved  from  the  cares  and  temptations  of  life. 

They  heard  not  the  summons,  exultingly  given. 

Which  called  thee  from  earth  and  its  conflicts  to  heaven  ; 

They  saw  not  the  prospects  which  brightened  around  thee 
When  the  cold  hand  of  death  in  its  fetters  had  bound  thee  : 
They  heard  not  the  joy-notes  triumphant  and  clear 
Which  angels  exultingly  poured  on  thy  ear ; 

Heir  of  mortal  sin  and  pain. 

Thou  hast  ’scaped  each  earthly  stain. 

Child  of  sorrow,  care,  and  woe. 

Grief  and  care  thou  ne’er  wilt  know  ; 

Life’s  dark  page  can  never  be. 

Happy  babe,  unrolled  to  thee  : 

Tears  can  never  dim  that  eye 
Brightening  now  with  ecstasy  I 


“  Child,  whom  Jesus  died  to  save. 

Wake  and  triumph  o’er  the  grave  ! 

Cast  its  gloomy  thralls  aside  : 

Thou  art  freed  and  justified  ! 

Death  hath  touched,  but  could  not  slay — 
Heir  of  glory,  come  away ! 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE  CLEARING. 


159 


‘  ‘  Leave  the  sable  bier  and  shroud, 

ISIount  the  morning’s  golden  cloud  ; 

Come  through  realms  of  azure  space  ! 

Come  to  thine  appointed  place  ! 

Thou  wert  purchased  with  a  price  ; 

Thou  shalt  enter  Paradise. 

“  Come  through  sunbright  fields  of  air, 

Ever  shining,  ever  fair ; 

Come  where  blessM  spirits  dwell ; 

Come  to  joys  ineffable  ; 

Come  through  boundless  fields  of  spice  ; 
Come  to  thine  appointed  place. 

“  Come  where  heavenward  souls  are  winging  ; 
Come  where  angel  harps  are  ringing  ; 

Come  where  seraphs  ever  cry, 

‘  Glory  be  to  God  on  high  !  ’ 

Come  where  shining  cherubim 
Pour  the  everlasting  hymn. 

Thou  shalt  join  that  radiant  train  ; 

Thou  wilt  swell  their  raptured  strain. 

♦ 

“  Come,  thou  highly  favored  one  ! 

Come  before  thy  Maker’s  throne  ; 

Come  w'here  guilt  can  never  sever  ; 

Come  and  praise  the  Lord  forever.” 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE 
CLEARING* 


“  There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there ! 

There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe’er  defended. 

But  has  one  vacant  chair.” 

— Longfellow. 

One  lovely  morning,  early  in  April,  I  was  standing  at 
the  window  that  overlooked  the  lake  and  its  dark- 
fringed  shore,  watching  the  wild-fowl  that  were  gath¬ 
ered  in  flocks  about  the  pools  of  blue  water  where  the 
warm  sunshine  had  melted  the  ice.  My  little  boy  was 
in  my  arms  evidently  enjoying  the  lively  movements  of 
the  birds  as  they  dashed  and  splashed  the  water  over 
themselves.  There  were  wild  geese,  ducks  and  herons, 
and  above  them  hovered  a  big  bald-headed  eagle  ready 
to  swoop  down  upon  any  luckless  fowl  that  he  might 
mark  for  his  prey. 


*Froni  my  Journal,  April  6th,  1834. 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST. 


161 


accept  him  and  return  with  him  to  Canada.  Accustomed 
to  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  comforts  which  independent 
means  enabled  her  to  command  in  the  Old  World,  it  was 
little  wonder  that  the  young  wife  beheld  with  dismay  the- 
homeliness  of  her  new  surroundings  in  the  backwoods. 

She  had  felt  the  fatigue  of  a  journey  through  the- 
sombre  pine  forest,  and  turned  with  deep  disgust  from 
the  unsightly  prospect  of  half-cleared  fields,  disfigured 
by  charred  stumps  and  surrounded  by  scorched  and 
blackened  trees,  in  the  midst  of  which  lay  her  new 
home. 

Where  was  the  charming  rural  village  her  husband 
had  spoken  of  with  pride  and  delight  ?  Here  was  only 
a  saw-mill — never  a  pleasant  sight — heaps  of  newly- 
sawn  boards,  all  the  debris  of  bark  and  chips,  and  the 
skeleton  frames  of  unfinished  buildings  scattered  with¬ 
out  order  over  the  rough  ground.  The  stone  house  to 
which  she  was  introduced  as  her  future  residence  con¬ 
sisted  simply  of  two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  and  two 
small  bedrooms  above,  with  a  kitchen,  a  wide  barrack¬ 
like  lean-to  built  of  boards  against  the  main  edifice. 

Is  it  to  be  wondered  that  a  feeling  of  disappointment, 
and  discontent  took  possession  of  her,  and  that,  unable 
to  see  the  future  with  her  husband’s  sanguine,  hopeful 
eyes,  she  should  often  weep  and  sigh  over  her  lot ;  that 
she  should  feel  the  change  from  her  former  life,  and  that 
the  remembrance  of  all  she  had  lost  in  her  own  beloved 
country  should  make  the  contrast  more  painful  ? 


162 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Yet,  though  very  miserable  at  times,  she  clung  with 
passionate  affection  to  her  husband.  With  womanly 
devotion  she  made  all  sorts  of  excuses  for  him ;  she 
would  not,  could  not,  believe  that  he  had  willingly 
deceived  her  or  had  married  her  from  interested  motives. 
This  love,  as  it  grew  stronger,  upheld  her  in  the  sad 
reality  of  utter  ruin,  for  truly  misfortune  like  an  armed 
force  came  soon  upon  them,  and  every  fair  and  flattering 
prospect  vanished.  Unable  to  command  the  money  to 
meet  the  claims  of  importunate  creditors,  or  to  satisfy  the 
workmen  clamoring  at  his  door  daily  for  their  wages, 
her  husband  was  obliged  to  give  up  under  a  sheriff  s  war¬ 
rant  all  the  property  he  possessed,  and  to  find  himself  a 
prisoner  in  his  own  house.  Only  on  Sundays  was  he 
free  to  go  abroad.  No  entreaties  availed  to  obtain  any 
portion  of  the  principal  of  his  wife’s  property,  and  it 
was  fortunate  for  them  that  it  was  so  vested  in  the 
hands  of  trustees  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  any  claim 
from  the  creditors,  as  the  interest  on  it  alone  kept  the 
unfortunate  debtors  from  starvation. 

With  these  trials  and  privations  came  a  courage  and 
strength  of  mind  to  do  and  to  bear.  The  young  wife 
had  no  former  experience  of  hardships,  hut  when 
encountered  she  bore  them  hravety.  She  was  now  a 
mother,  and  the  unwonted  cares  of  maternity  were 
added  to  other  arduous  duties.  She  often  lamented 
over  her  want  of  knowledge  in  the  management  of  her 
baby ;  she  had  never  been  accustomed  to  see  young 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST. 


163 


children  otherwise  than  in  the  nursery  of  a  friend, 
under  the  care  of  nurses,  and  tending  on  an  infant  was 
an  entirely  new  experience,  which  troubled  her  much. 

To  add  to  her  labors  ague  attacked  her  husband,  and 
to  a  young  active  man  confinement  to  his  bedx’oom  or 
to  the  house  was,  no  doubt,  very  trying.  To  do  him 
justice,  he  was  always  kind  and  considerate  to  his  wife, 
and,  when  not  suffering  under  the  effects  of  the  ague, 
took  much  of  the  care  of  the  babe  upon  himself. 

One  by  one  my  poor  friend  parted  with  her  jewelry 
and  her  rich  silks  and  satins,  in  order  to  raise  the  means 
of  defraying  the  wages  of  a  servant  to  perform  such 
services  as  she  was  totally  unused  to  and  unfitted  for. 
She  was  fond  of  flowers,  but  finding  it  useless  to  try  and 
cultivate  them  in  the  rough  stony  ground  about  her 
house,  she  gave  it  up  and  was  content  with  the  few  I 
could  give  her  from  my  garden. 

She  came  often  to  see  me  to  ask  advice  about  the 
baby,  or  for  milk  or  other  necessaries  when  in  need  of 
them.  She  knew  that  I  took  a  kindly  interest  in  her, 
and  that  she  was  always  sure  of  sympathy  and  my 
husband’s  help  if  required  in  any  difficulty.  He  pitied 
the  misfortunes  of  her  husband,  and  felt  for  them  both 
in  their  trials. 

A  longer  interval  than  usual  having  elapsed  without 
a  visit  from  my  friend,  and  feai'ing  that  she,  too,  had 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  ague,  I  walked  over  to  ascertain 
the  cause  of  her  long  absence.  I  found  her  lying  on 


164 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


the  rude  couch  which  her  ingenuity  and  resource  had 
manufactured  to  supply  the  place  of  the  furniture  seized 
hy  the  sheriff’s  officers.  She  looked  very  pale,  and  her 
heautiful  fair  hair  hung  all  dishevelled  about  her  neck 
and  shoulders,  as  if  she  were  too  weary  to  gather  it  up.. 

I  expressed  my  fear  that  she  had  taken  the  ague  or 
lake  fever,  but  she  said,  “No,  it  is  only  fatigue,  not 
illness ;  for  do  you  know,  I  was  out  wandering,  lost  for 
awhile  in  the  woods  last  night.” 

“  On  what  errand  ?  ”  I  asked  in,  surprise,  for  I  knew 
she  rarely  left  the  clearing. 

“  I  had  reason  to  expect  letters  from  Scotland,”  she 
replied,  “  and  I  could  trust  no  one  about  the  place  to  go 
for  them — indeed  the  business  could  only  be  done  by 
myself — so  leaving  my  boy  with  his  father  and  the 
servant,  I  set  off  to  walk  to  the  town,  with  my  good 
old  dog  Nelson  for  company  and  protection.  I  got  my 
letters  all  right,  made  such  purchases  as  were  needed, 
and  with  my  bundle  was  preparing  to  return — for  the 
day  was  advancing  to  dusk^ — but  Nelson  was  missing., 
I  M'Cnt  to  every  place  I  had  been  to  during  the  day 
without  finding  him,  and,  weary  and  anxious,  I  was 
obliged  to  turn  my  steps  homeward  alone. 

“  The  moon  was  young,  and  I  feared  the  light  would, 
fail  me  before  I  could  make  my  way  through  the  dark 
forest.  You  know  what  a  cowardly  dread  I  have  of 
wolves  and  bears,  and  I  do  not  love  these  lonely,  gloomy 
woods. 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST. 


165 


"  I  pushed  on  for  the  first  hour  as  fast  as  I  was  able 
to  walk.  I  was  really  tired,  and  my  mind  was  harassed 
al)out  leaving  the  dog  behind  me.  I  thought,  too,  of 
my  sick  husband  and  my  boy,  so  that  I  did  not  dare  to 
linger  or  stop  to  rest. 

“  My  mind  was  so  full  of  anxious  thoughts  that  tho 
way  appeared  more  dreary  ;  everything  was  so  silent 
and  death-like  that  my  own  footsteps  startled  me  as  they 
fell  upon  the  fallen  leaves ;  even  the  cracking  of  the  dry 
sticks  on  the  path  wakened  foolish  nervous  fears.  So 
absorbed  was  I  by  these  needless  terrors  that  I  did  not 
notice  at  first  that  I  had  reached  a  point  where  twO' 
paths  met  and  liranched  off  in  opposite  directions,  and  I 
became  sorely  perplexed  as  to  which  was  the  right  one- 
to  follow. 

“  After  I  had  advanced  for  some  time  on  the  one  I  had 
chosen,  my  mind  misgave  me,  and  I  hastily  retraced  my 
steps,  not  satisfied  that  I  had  taken  the  right  path,  and,, 
unfortunately,  decided  upon  following  the  other,  which 
proved  to  be  the  wrong  one.  1  hurried  on,  hoping  tn 
make  up  for  the  time  I  had  lost  by  my  indecision. 

“  The  increasing  gloom,  deepened  by  a  growth  of 
hemlocks  and  cedars,  made  me  think  that  I  was  drawing 
near  to  the  river  and  should  soon  find  the  bridge  and 
the  mill.  Still,  I  could  not  recognize  some  of  the  big 
pines  that  I  had  marked  in  my  walk  in  the  morning. 

“  My  heart  thrilled  with  terror  as  I  heard  the  long- 
drawn  howl  of  what  I  thought  was  a  wolf  in  the  cedar 
12 


166 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


swamp  that  I  had  entered ;  the  path,  too,  grew  narrower 
and  darker. 

“  My  fii’st  impulse,  when  I  heai’d  that  terrible  sound, 
was  to  turn  and  flee  for  my  life,  but  all  my  strength 
failed  me  at  once,  and  I  was  compelled  to  sit  down  on 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  to  recover  myself.  I  remember 
crying  out  aloud,  ‘  Alone,  lost !  lost  in  these  dreadful 
woods,  to  perish  by  the  fangs  of  wolves.  What,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  Lord,  save  me,  a  poor  lone  wanderer  !  0 

my  God,  help  me  !  ’  Such,  dear  friend,  was  my  agonized 
prayer  as  I  sat  there  in  the  dark  forest. 

“  Then  came  the  rapid  sound  of  some  animal  rushing 
toward  me  at  full  speed,  crashing  the  dry  branches  as  it 
came.  I  felt  that  to  escape  was  impossible,  and  started 
to  my  feet,  while  the  wild  beating  of  my  heart  was  so 
loud  that  I  heard  no  other  sound. 

“  You  may  judge  of  the  relief  I  experienced  when  my 
dear  dog,  my  faithful  Nelson,  bounded  towards  me 
almost  as  panting  and  breathless  as  his  terror-stricken 
mistress. 

“  You  know  I  do  not  often  indulge  in  tears,  even  when 
overwhelmed  with  trouble,  but  in  this  instance  I  fairly 
cried — but  it  was  for  joy— and  I  lifted  up  my  heart  in 
fervent  thankfulness  to  Him  who  in  His  mercy  and  pity 
had  guided  my  dumb  protector  through  the  tangled 
bush  to  my  side  that  night.  I  could  not  help  saying, 
‘  Come,  dear  old  N elson,  you  have  made  a  man  of  me  ! 
I  shall  fear  neither  wolf  nor  bear  while  I  have  you 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST. 


167 


beside  me.’  (Nelson  was  a  powerful  Newfoundland  dog, 
and  as  brave  as  a  lion.) 

“I  fastened  my  bundle  about  his  neck,  and  he  trotted 
beside  me,  proud  of  the  Inirden  of  which  my  arms  had 
become  very  weary. 

“  I  thought  I  would  return  and  try  the  track  I 
followed  first,  but  noticing  that  there  was  a  clearing  of 
the  trees  ahead  of  me,  I  pushed  on,  thinking  I  was  not 
far  from  some  lumberer’s  shanty  or  the  log-house  of  one 
of  the  Irish  settlers.  Nor  was  I  mistaken,  for  a  few 
minutes  brought  me  to  the  edge  of  a  newly  chopped 
fallow,  and  I  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog,  which  I  had 
mistaken  for  the  cry  of  a  wolf. 

“  The  moon  had  set,  and  I  judged  it  must  be  getting 
late  into  the  night.  I  peeped  through  the  curtainless 
window  of  the  shanty.  The  glimmering  light  from  a 
few  burning  lirands  on  the  hearth  and  the  smouldering 
red  embers  of  a  huge  back  log  in  the  wide,  clay-built 
chimney  showed  me  the  interior  of  the  rude  cabin. 

“  The  inmates  were  all  sleeping  soundly.  The  growl¬ 
ing  of  the  cur  as  he  retreated  in  fear  of  my  big  dog  had 
failed  to  rouse  them,  so  I  took  French  leave  and  stepped 
in  without  further  ceremony  than  a  light  tap  with  my 
hand  on  the  door. 

“  On  a  rude  bed  in  the  recess  formed  between  the  log 
walls  and  the  chimney  lay  two  women.  One,  the  elder, 
not  undressed,  was  lying  on  the  coverlet,  while  the 
younger  with  fever-flushed  cheeks  lay  restlessly  tossing 
on  the  bed  beside  her. 


168 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


“  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  I  managed  to  rouse 
the  elder  woman  to  a  consciousness  of  my  presence  and 
make  her  understand  that  I  wanted  a  guide  to  the  mill. 

“  ‘  Och  !  och  !  me  dear  craythure,’  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  raised  herself  on  her  brawny  elbow  and  gazed  at  me 
from  under  a  mass  of  tangled  locks,  a  curious  look  in 
her  black  eyes ;  ‘  what  for  should  a  young  thing  like 
yerself  be  doin’  up  an’  abroad  at  sich  a  time  o’  night. 
Shure  an’  it  must  be  near  the  mornin’.’ 

“  ‘  My  good  woman,’  I  said,  ‘I  have  lost  my  way  in 
the  bush  coming  from  the  town,  and  I  want  some  person 
to  show  me  the  way  to  the  mill  at  the  Falls.’ 

“  '  Shure,  thin,’  she  said,  '  an’  it’s  no  time  to  be  axin’ 
tired  men  or  the  bhyes  to  be  lavin’  their  beds,  but  sit 
ye  down  an’  I’ll  speak  to  me  man  yonder.’  And  point¬ 
ing  to  another  couch,  where  three  boys  of  different  ages 
were  sleeping  beside  their  father,  she  got  up. 

“  After  some  discussion  between  them  the  master 
agreed  to  send  one  of  the  boys,  as  soon  as  it  was  light, 
to  guide  me  to  the  Falls. 

“  ‘  There,  misthress,’  he  said,  ‘  ye  may  jist  make  yerself 
aisy  now,  an’  lie  down  on  the  bed  by  my  gal ;  she  has 
the  ague  an’  the  fever,  but  she’s  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  an’ 
will  not  disturb  ye.’ 

“  This  was  kind  enough,  but  I  preferred  sitting  before 
the  fire  on  a  block  of  wood,  that  served  in  lieu  of  a 
stool,  to  sharing  the  sick  girl’s  bed  or  partaking  of  a 
meal  of  fried  pork  and  potatoes  which  the  woman 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST. 


169 


offered  to  prepare  for  me.  Then  the  couple  left  me  to 
my  own  cogitations  and  the  companionship  of  my  dog 
Nelson. 

“  The  one  feeling  uppermost  in  my  mind  was  thank- 
fnlness  for  my  present  safety  and  shelter,  rude  as  it  was. 

The  eery  novelty  of  the  situation  almost  amused  me ; 

* 

then  graver  thoughts  arose  as  I  looked  about  on  the 
smoke-stained  wall  and  unbarked  rafters  from  which 
grey  mosses  and  cobwebs  hung  in  fanciful  drapery  above 
my  head.  I  thought  of  my  former  home  in  Scotland,  of 
my  old  life  of  pride  and  luxury,  of  my  Canadian  home. 
What  a  strange  contrast  did  it  present  to  my  mind  at 
that  moment,  the  red  flashing  light  of  the  blazing  wood- 
fli’e,  now  burning  fiercely,  illumining  every  corner  of  the 
rude  dwelling  and  showing  the  faces  of  the  sleepers  in 
their  lowly  beds. 

“  Close  beside  me  lay  the  poor  sick  girl,  whose  fevered 
cheek  and  labored  breathing  excited  my  compassion,  for 
what  comfort  could  there  be  for  either  body  or  mind  on 
that  hard  bed  and  among  those  rude  surroundings.  The 
chinkings  (so  I  hear  the  people  call  those  wedges  of  wood 
between  the  logs)  had  fallen  out  in  many  places,  and  the 
intervals  had  been  stufted  with  straw,  old  rags,  moss 
and  other  rubbish,  to  keep  out  the  cold  wind.  Anyone 
miglit  have  known  from  what  country  the  inmates  of 
the  shanty  came,  even  witliout  hearing  the  brogue  of 
the  south  of  Ireland  in  their  speech. 

“Few  and  simple  were  the  articles  of  household  use. 


170 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Two  or  three  shelves  made  of  unplaned  boards  held  a 
few  crockery  cups  and  cracked  saucers,  some  tin  plates 
and  mugs,  and  a  battered  tin  teapot,  minus  a  handle  ;  a 
frying-pan  with  a  long  handle,  an  iron  pot  and  a  bake- 
kettle  seemed  to  comprise  all  the  cooking  utensils. 

“  There  was  a  barrel  of  flour  and  another  of  pork,  an 
Irish  spade  which  gleamed  brightly  beside  an  axe,  a  hoe 
and  a  gun,  the  last  supported  by  two  wooden  pegs 
driven  into  the  log  wall. 

“  While  I  leaned  my  back  again,st  the  sick  girl’s  bed 
and  thus  occupied  myself  in  making  an  inventory  of  the 
furnishings  of  the  house,  I  fell  fast  asleep.  So  weary 
was  I  that  I  slept  on  till  daylight,  when  I  was  roused 
by  the  rolling  over  of  one  of  the  logs  on  the  hearth. 

“  Looking  up,  I  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  mine  host, 
whose  keen,  black  eyes  were  bent  on  me  with,  as  I 
thought,  a  sinister,  inquisitive  look,  such  that  I  shrunk 
affrighted  from  before  him. 

“  In  good  truth,  a  more  courageous  person  than  I  am 
might  have  been  justified  in  feeling  afraid  had  she 
been  in  a  similar  position,  utterly  helpless  and  alone. 
But  my  fear  soon  subsided,  and  I  thought  it  was  wisest 
to  affect  a  courage  that  I  hardly  felt  and  to  show  perfect 
confidence,  so  I  said  with  as  cheerful  an  air  as  I  could 
assume, 

“‘You  caught  me  napping,  sir.’ 

“  I  remember  the  time  in  the  days  of  my  romance¬ 
reading  that  I  would  have  fancied  myself  quite  a  heroine 


ALONE  IN  THE  FOREST, 


171 


and  turned  my  honest  old  Irishman  into  a  brigand ;  hut 
my  intercourse  with  tlie  Irish  immigrants  has  taught 
me  that  there  is  little  cause  for  fearing  them,  and  my 
husband  tells  me  that  their  wild  passions  are  chiefly 
roused  by  insult  to  their  country  or  their  religion,  or 
when  excited  by  spirituous  liquor,  and  that  such  an  act 
as  robbing  or  murdering  the  stranger  who  seeks  shelter 
under  their  roof  is  unheard  of  in  Canada. 

“  The  old  man’s  frank,  good-humored  manner  and 
pressing  hospitality  soon  reassured  me,  and  I  would  not 
have  hesitated  to  take  him  as  my  guide  through  the 
lonely  woods.  He  told  me,  however,  that  his  boy  Mike 
knew  every  step  of  the  road,  and  he  could  trust  him  to 
take  care  of  me  and  he’d  ‘  be  proud  to  do  it.’ 

“  The  good  woman  soon  bestirred  herself  to  get  break¬ 
fast,  and  I  was  hungry  enough  to  take  a  share  in  the 
‘praties  and  pork’  and  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea,  though 
there  was  only  maple  sugar  to  sweeten  it  and  no  milk 
to  soften  its  harshness ;  but  I  had  become  used  in  my 
own  home  to  privations  in  food  and  many  common 
comforts,  as  you  well  know. 

“  One  by  one  the  three  ragged  urchins  came  stealing 
shyly  from  their  bed  ready  dressed  for  the  day,  and  I 
verily  believe  their  garments  did  duty  instead  of  bed¬ 
clothes.  The  boys,  Mike,  Patrick  and  Jonas,  had  all  the 
same  smoke-dried  skins,  grey  eyes  and  black  liair,  with 
a  certain  shrewd  expression  in  their  faces  that  one  often 
sees  in  the  Iidsh  cabins.  They  cast  furtive  glances  of 


172 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


wonder  at  the  strange  lady,  but  no  one  ventured  to 
make  a  remark  at  my  appearance ;  they  bestowed  all 
their  attention  upon  Nelson,  coaxing  him  into  friendship 
by  giving  him  bits  of  meat  and  bread,  which  no  doubt 
were  very  acceptable  to  the  hungry  dog. 

“  I  gave  the  woman  a  piece  of  silver,  which  she 
protested  against  receiving  but  accepted  after  a  little 
persuasion,  and,  escorted  by  Michael,  reached  home 
thoroughly  tired  but  very  glad  to  find  all  well,  though 
anxious  at  my  delay. 

“  Now  I  am  resting,  and  I  fear  I  have  tired  you  with 
the  long  account  of  my  adventure,  of  which  I  can  only 
say,  ‘  All’s  well  that  ends  well.’  ” 


ON  THE  ISLAND  OF  MINNEWAWA. 


It  was  a  lovely  summer  day  in  July,  1893,  when  we  took 
possession  of  Minnewawa,  our  island  in  Stony  Lake. 
The  little  platform  that  had  done  duty  as  wharf  the 
year  before  had  floated  from  its  moorings,  but  a  strong 
hand  soon  helped  to  replace  it  and  to  put  me  on  the 
level  ground  above  the  rocky  shores.  A  little  out  of 
breath  from  the  climb,  I  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the 
vei'anda  surrounding  the  house  to  rest  and  enjoy  the 
beauty  of  the  prospect. 

The  lake,  with  its  wild  wooded  rocky  shores  and  its 
many  islands,  lay  before  me.  The  latter  were  of.  all 
forms  and  sizes,  from  the  tiny  islet  that  was  no  more 
than  a  half-hidden  rock  against  which  the  wavelets 
lifted  themselves  and  broke  softly,  almost  caressingly,  to 
the  large  tree-clad  island,  with  deeply-indented  bays  and 
overhanging  vine-covered  rocks.  There  were  rugged, 
flarkly  furrowed  masses  of  rock,  without  foliage  save  a 
few  tufts  of  juniper,  their  sides  covered  with  grey 


174 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


lichens,  those  pioneers  of  vegetation,  giving  them  a  time¬ 
worn,  hoary  appearance.  One  after  another  they 
stretched  away,  until  Mount  Julien  rose  like  a  crown 
upon  the  mainland  beyond. 

With  pleasure  I  contemplated  the  varied  beauties  of 
wood  and  rock,  island  and  forest-bounded  lake,  and  to 
the  eastward  the  red  rocky  crest  of  Eagle  Mount.  How 
I  longed  to  revel  in  those  fields  of  mosses  that  are  fed 

o 

and  kept  ever  green  by  its  many  springs,  and  which 
carpet  in  mosaic-like  patches  the  surface  of  the  gneiss 
rock. 

It  was  indeed  a  lovely  place,  and  I  congratulated  my 
daughter  on  her  choice  of  the  site  for  our  little  cottage. 

Everything  was  new,  clean  and  fresh  within  the  little 
domicile,  and  all  without  wild  and  picturesque — rocks, 
trees,  hill  and  valley,  wild-flowers,  ferns,  shrubs  and 
moss,  and  the  pure,  sweet  scent  of  the  pines  over  all, 
breathing  health  and  strength. 

If  I  were  a  doctor  I  would  send  my  patients  to  live 
in  a  shanty  under  the  pines. 

Our  house  is  a  small  one.  On  one  side  a  branching 
oak,  with  its  dark  shining  leaves,  nearly  covers  the  roof, 
on  the  other  a  tall  pine  and  an  oak  shade  the  veranda. 

The  island  rises  in  the  centre,  and  to  the  south  is 
thickly  wooded  with  many  noble  trees.  The  shoi'es  are 
steep  and  precipitous.  A  deep  channel  on  one  side 
divides  the  higher  and  main  portion  of  the  island  from 
the  lofty  wooded  mounds  to  the  eastward. 


ON  THE  ISLAND  OF  MINNEWAWA. 


175 


At  high  water,  in  the  spring,  this  gully  must  he  over¬ 
flowed  from  end  to  end,  but  just  now  it  is  quite  dry  and 
is  strewn  with  the  debris  of  fallen  trees.  The  ground 
rises  again  beyond,  but  so  abruptly  rugged  and  steep 
that  I  look  at  it  and  fear  even  by  the  aid  of  hands  and 
knees  it  would  be  inacce^isible  to  the  most  adventurous 
climber.  A  bold  promontory  terminates  the  island  on 
the  north,  a  dangerous,  precipitous  place,  but  tempting 
one  with  the  grand  views  it  commands. 

A  tiny  tenant  had  taken  up  its  abode  over  the  door¬ 
way  of  the  house,  where  a  patch  of  dark-green  moss 
first  attracted  my  attention  ;  then,  with  a  hasty  flutter 
of  wings,  a  pretty  little  mother  bird  popped  down  from 
it  and  sought  safety  on  a  stump  among  the  pile  of  dark 
rocks  in  the  hollow  below  the  steps  of  the  veranda. 

I  am  not  quite  sure  if  the  bird  was  a  wood  phoebe 
or  not.  The  back  and  wing  coverings  were  a  dark  slate ; 
the  head  black,  with  some  white  about  the  breast ;  the 
legs  dark  and  slender.  Her  nest  was  very  neat  and 
compact,  made  entirely  of  one  sort  of  moss,  and  coated 
inside  with  mud.  The  eggs  in  it  were  small,  round, 
whitish  and  speckled.  The  nearest  description  to  it  that 
I  can  find  in  Mr.  Mcllwraith’s  book  is  that  of  the  Gnat- 
catcher,  but  I  do  not  feel  quite  satisfied  that  my  little 
lodger  over  the  door  was  one  of  that  family. 

It  was  very  watchful  and  timid,  yet  bold  to  defend 
its  nest,  never  ceasing  to  flit  to  and  fro  till  it  saw  me 
moving  away,  when  it  darted  back  to  the  nest,  and 


176 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


would  not  leave  it,  though  in  returning  I  passed  through 
the  doorway  below  the  sill  where  it  rested.  I  do  not 
think  it  was  a  tree-creeper,  the  legs  were  too  long  and 
slender ;  yet  it  seemed  to  cling  to  the  stump  when  it 
lio'hted  there,  thoug-h  without  the  backward  movement 
peculiar  to  the  tree-creeper. 

The  little  bird  seemed  very  solitary,  as  I  saw  no  mate, 
and  one  day  while  we  were  away  the  wary  little  mother 
took  the  oppoiTunity  of  canying  otF  her  brood.  The 
nest  was  empty  and  the  birds  flown  when  we  returned, 
and  though  we  sought  among  the  rocks  and  bushes  we 
found  no  trace  of  them. 

These  birds  are  evidently  fond  of  such  shelters  as 
sheds  and  under  roofs,  for  in  the  old  kitchen  I  found 
another  nest  of  the  same  make  and  materials,  but 
deserted,  and  at  Fairy  Lake  Lodge  there  was  another 
neat  new  one  of  the  same  round  deep  pattern.  Later, 
when  staying  at  Fair  Havens,  the  summer  reti’eat  of 
another  of  my  daughters,  I  noticed  a  lively  family  of  the 
same  little  bird  associating  with  the  little  brown  certhia 
and  small  downy  woodpeckers.  There  was  a  company 
of  four  or  five  of  these  pretty  birds,  and  they  were  so 
tame  and  fearless  that  they  would  alight  from  the  over¬ 
hanging  branches  of  a  pine  tree  that  shadowed  the 
platform  of  rock  on  which  the  house  was  built,  and  come 
down  almost  to  my  feet  to  take  the  crumbs  I  scattered 
for  them.  Then  having  enjoyed  the  feast,  they  retired 
to  the  tree  to  watch  and  wait  for  a  fresh  supply,  readily 


ON  THE  ISLAND  OF  MINNEWAWA. 


177 


sharing  it  with  the  other  little  birds,  with  whom  they 
seemed  on  the  best  of  social  terms. 

There  were  sweet  warbling  notes,  low  and  tender, 
uttered  among  them,  but  which  were  the  musical  birds 
of  the  flock  I  could  not  discover. 

Blue  harebells  grow  in  the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  and 
when  in  the  canoe  my  companions  are  ever  ready  to 
indulge  my  covetous  desires  and  to  paddle  close  into  the 
shore  and  climb  the  rocks  to  gather  me  the  treasures. 

How  often  in  years  long  gone  by  have  I  gathered  the 
lovely  blue-bell  from  among  the*  heather,  both  in  Eng¬ 
land  and  Scotland  '  How  different  the  soil  in  which  it 
flourishes  here  to  the  dry  black  sand  of  the  heath-lands 
there,  yet  the  flowers  seem  just  the  same.  Although  I 
knew  the  species  to  be  that  of  the  Campanula  rotundi- 
folia,  I  had  often  questioned  the  correctness  of  the 
descriptive  name,  the  root  leaves  being  so  little  seen;  but 
here  they  were  all  right,  though  withered.  I  had  the 
whole  plant — root,  stem  and  flowers — and  saw  that  the 
leaves  were,  or  had  been,  round  or  rounded,  so  the  botan¬ 
ists  were  right,  and  the  flower  deserved  the  specific 
name.  Though  faded,  the  foliage  had  fulfilled  its  office 
of  caterer  to  the  slender  stems  and  delicate  buds  and 
blossoms.  It  might  now  render  up  to  Mother  Earth 
such  earthy  particles  as  had  been  borrowed  from  hei-  to 
perfect  the  fair  desert  flowers.  They  had  not  needed 
much — a  little  black  mould,  a  rift  in  the  dark  rugged 
rock  to  hold  them  in  position,  the  rain  and  the  dews  to 


178 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


nourish  them,  and  the  sunshine  to  tint  the  bells  with  a 
ray  from  the  fountain  of  light. 

Sweet  flowers !  Were  ye  indeed  “  born  to  blush 
unseen,  and  waste  your  sweetness  on  the  desert  air  ”  ? 
How  can  we  tell  ?  May  not  the  gardens  of  the  great 
Creator  be  realms  of  beauty  to  those  who  walk  the  earth 
unseen  by  man  ? 

“  Nor  think  though  men  were  none, 

That  heaven  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise  : 
Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep  ; 

All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  His  works  behold 
Both  day  and  night.” 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  FOREST. 


“  Ye  say  they  all  have  passed  away, 

That  noble  race  and  brave  ; 

That  their  light  canoes  have  vanished 
From  off  the  crested  wave  ; 

That  in  the  forests  where  they  roamed 
There  rings  no  hunter’s  shout, — 

But  their  name  is  on  your  waters. 

Ye  may  not  wash  it  out.  ” 

— L.  Sigourney. 

Judging  from  the  natural  reticence  of  the  dusky- 
skinned  Indian,  one  would  not  suppose  him  capable  of 
conceiving  one  poetical  idea,  yet  under  the  stolid  and 
apparently  unimaginative  exterior  there  lies  a  store  of 
imagery,  drawn  from  the  natural  objects  around  him, 
which  he  studies  more  carefully  than  we  do  our  most 
interesting  books.  Nature  is  the  only  volume  of  know¬ 
ledge  to  the  child  of  the  forest  and  plain.  He  borrows 
no  ideas  from  written  books.  His  Manito,  the  Great 
Spirit,  the  God  of  Nature,  supplies  all  he  needs.  He 


180 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


seeks  for  no  rhymes  in  which  to  clothe  his  simple 
thoughts,  no  flowery  verse ;  but  there  is  poetry  in  his 
speech,  and  a  musical  ring  in  the  names  he  has  given  to 
the  rivers,  lakes  and  flowers  that  is  absent  in  ours.  The 
Indian  names  are  both  descriptive  and  characteristic, 
and  in  some  instances  contain  the  germ  of  local  or  dis¬ 
tinctive  history,  which  change  or  even  mispronunciation 
would  obliterate  for  ever. 

The  disjointed  syllables  may  not  sound  euphonious  to 
foreign  ears,  but  to  the  understanding  of  the  native 
Indian  they  convey  a  simple  description,  a  graphic  word- 
picture.  The  beautiful  rapid  Otonabee  is  described  in 
the  name,  “  water  running  swiftly  flashing  brightly  ” ; 
Katchewanook,  “lake  of  three  islands”;  Ontario,  “sheet 
of  placid  water  ” ;  Pem-a-dash-da-kota,  “  lake  of  the 
burning  plains,”  the  original  name  of  Pice  Lake.  How 
many  years  ago  it  was  that  these  plains  were  burned 
over  they  do  not  know,  but  that  they  were  the  scene  of 
a  great  conflagration  the  Indian  name,  as  well  as  the 
half-charred  blackened  roots  below  the  surface  of  the 
soil,  prove.  Napanee,  the  Indian  word  for  flour,  indi¬ 
cates  that  on  the  site  of  that  now  flourishing  town  the 
first  flour-mills  in  the  district  were  ei’ected. 

How  much  prettier  is  the  Indian  name  for  Spring 
Beauty,  “  Mis-ko-deed,”  than  the  unmeaning  botanical 
one  of  Glaytonia  Virginica.  In  the  latter  some  botan¬ 
ist  has  perpetuated  his  own  insignificant  name  of 
Clayton,  while  the  Indian  mother,  with  truer  instinct,,. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  FOREST. 


181 


though  she  might  give  the  name  Mis-ko-deed  to  her 
April-born  child,  would  never  name  a  flower  after  her 
child. 

The  Indian  girl’s  name,  Mad-wa-osha,  is  harsh  on  our 
tongue  until  we  render  it  into  English  in  “  murmuring 
winds.”  The  Indians  were  alwaj^s  good  friends  to  me, 
and  I  have  ever  taken  a  great  interest  in  and  sympa¬ 
thized  with  them,  admiring  their  patience  and  quiet 
endurance  under  great  privations. 

Would  that  the  charitably  di.sposed,  who  do  so  much  for 
the  poor  in  the  large  cities,  would  turn  their  thoughts, 
more  often  to  the  suffering  among  the  scattered  remnant 
of  the  former  owners  of  the  land  !  The  men,  restricted 
by  the  narrow  limits  of  civilization,  die  early,  leaving 
widows  and  orphans,  or  linger  out  a  dull  existence  by 
the  fireside,  their  blood  grown  sluggish,  and  their  one¬ 
time  energy  in  the  chase  weakened  by  the  necessary 
observance  of  the  game  laws.  Those  of  the  last  genera¬ 
tion  have  lost  their  spirit ;  the  boys  of  the  present  have 
nothing  to  call  theirs  into  active  existence.  I  once 
asked  an  Indian  woman  in  the  village  what  the  great 
boys  I  saw  lounging  about  the  streets  did.  “  They  ? 
Eat !  ”  was  the  terse  and  emphatic  reply. 

But  I  am  wandering  away  from  the  Indian  names. 
The  one  given  me,  Peta-wan-noo-ka,  “  red  cloud  of  the 
dawn,”  was  suggested  by  my  rosy  English  complexion, 
and  those  given  to  others  among  the  early  settlers  in 
the  bush  were  equally  poetical  or  descriptive. 

13 


182 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


What  a  pity  it  is  that  the  meanings  of  all  the  Indian 
names  remaining  to  our  lakes,  rivers  or  cities  are  not 
understood  and  made  familiar ;  and  greater  pity  still, 
that  in  some  cases  they  have  been  set  aside  to  make 
room  for  European  names  that  have  no  significance  to 
Canadians. 

About  four  miles  above  Stony  Lake  there  is  a  shallow 
piece  of  water  known  to  the  settlers  by  the  name  of 
Bow-shink.  This  lake  (though  it  hardly  deserves  the 
term)  lies  below  the  highest  elevation  of  land  in  that 
section,  called  “Jack’s  Mountain,”  famous  for  its  deposits 
•of  mica  and  other  minerals.  Seen  through  its  embossing 
mass  of  forest  trees,  the  eye  takes  in  little  beyond  the 
silveiy  gleam  of  the  water  visible  at  intervals  between 
the  trees. 

One  of  the  settlers,  who  was  curious  about  the  origin 
of  the  Indian  nomenclature,  asked  what  the  words 
Bow-shink  signified. 

“Spilt  water;  looks  like  it,”  replied  the  Indian, 
Moses  Muskrat,  as  he  stalked  away,  laughing  at  the 
conceit. 

The  words  of  lamentation  for  the  dead,  “  Wali-Jia- 
no-min”  when  uttered  by  them  in  a  long  drawn-out, 
mournful  cadence  and  minor  key,  have  an  indescribable 
wailing  sound  of  grief  and  woe. 

Ty-zah,  spoken  quickly  with  an  upwai’d  inflection  of 
the  voice,  are  excellent  expressions  of  the  combined 
wonder,  admiration  and  surprise  the  words  are  meant  to 


POLLY  Crow’s  ISLANli. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  FOREST. 


183 


convey;  and  the  low  monotonous  sounds,  i7a-/ia-/io-Ao- 
hi-hi,  varied  only  by  the  transposing-  of  the  syllables, 
and  accompanied  by  a  slow  movement  of  the  body,  a 
sort  of  rocking  to  and  fro,  is  a  soothing,  sleep-inducing 
cradle-song,  which  grows  as  one  listens  into  a  semblance 
of  the  sighing  sound  of  the  summer  wind  among  the 
pine  tops. 

There  is  a  dry  humor,  too,  shown  in  some  of  their 
names.  “  The-Man-with-Two-Tongues  ”  is,  I  think,  an 
excellent  sobriquet  for  a  liar  or  deceiver,  a  character 
greatly  despised  by  the  Indian.  “  The-Man-who-Walks- 
Under-the-Dirt  ”  may  be  taken  to  mean  a  miner,  but  it 
has  posgibly  an  allegorical  and  deeper  significance  to 
their  ears. 

Their  code  of  morality  is  quite  as  well  defined  as  in 
our  own  decalogue,  but  is,  of  course,  not  more  strictly 
kept  by  the  bad  Indian  than  our  own  by  the  bad  white 
man  who  dis»:races  the  name  of  Christian. 

Their  laws  are  few  and  simple,  suited  to  the  savage 
for  the  protection  of  life  and  property  between  man  and 
man.  Theft,  lying,  murder — that  is,  taking  life  without 
justifiable  cause — comprise  the  criminal  code. 

Their  religion  was  pantheistic  before  evangelization, 
and  the  older  people  in  the  Rice  Lake  disti-ict  held  a 
vague  belief  in  a  great  and  good  Spirit,  an  overruling 
Deity ;  but  even  this  knowledge  was  dim  and  was 
limited  to  such  as  were  under  the  influence  of  their 
wise  or  “  medicine  ”  men.  They  had  a  general  belief  in 


184 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


the  power  of  demons  or  inferior  spirits  who  ruled  the 
elements  of  water,  earth  and  air.  These  were  their 
Lares  and  Penates,  like  the  household  gods  of  the 
heathen  Greeks  and  Romans,  but  the  Indians  made  no 
graven  images  or  idols  to  represent  these  imaginary 
spirits.  They  gave  propitiatory  offerings  of  food  or 
drink  to  avert  their  displeasure,  or  as  thanks  for  favors 
received,  and  before  meals  a  morsel  cast  from  their  hand 
or  a  few  drops  of  liquid  were  thus  given  as  a  sort  of 
silent  grace,  but  the  custom  is.  now  no  longer  seen 
among  the  Christian  Indians. 

It  is  seventy  years  since  the  work  of  evangelizing  the 
Indians  of  this  part  of  Ontario  was  begun  through  the 
efforts  of  the  missionaries,  and  it  has  j^leased  God’s 
Spirit  to  bless  their  labors.  All  honor  to  the  devoted 
men  who  labored  so  faithfully  to  preach  the  gospel  of 
Christ  to  the  red  men,  to  bring  them  out  of  darkness 
into  the  blessed  light  of  love  and  everlasting  life.  With 
the  simplicity  of  children  they  have  received  the  truth 
and  kept  it. 

The  little  hamlet  of  Hiawatha,  on  the  north  shore  of 
Rice  Lake,  sent  forth  Peter  Jacobs,  John  Sunday  and 
others  whose  names  are  not  so  familiar  to  me  —earnest 
Christian  workers  to  carry  the  Word  to  the  red  men  of 
other  tribes. 

Some  few  years  ago  the  Reverend  Dr.  Bethune  (not 
our  respected  late  Bishop,  though  bearing  the  same 
name,  but  the  Lutheran  Bishop  of  Brooklyn,  U.S.)  wa& 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  FOREST. 


185 


on  a  visit  to  a  family  residing  on  the  south  side  of  Rice 
Lake,  opposite  to  the  little  Indian  village.  The  Doctor, 
in  the  early  years  of  his  ministiy,  had  been  a  teacher 
and  evangelizer  of  the  Indians,  and  loved  the  work. 

In  reply  to  a  neighboring  clergyman’s  complaint  of 
the  difficulty  of  reaching  the  understanding  of  the 
Indians  and  of  breakincr  throutrli  their  stolid  indifter- 

C5  O 

ence,  he  said  : 

“  Ah,  my  friend,  you  do  not  go  the  right  way  to  work. 
You  must  reach  the  Indian  through  Ids  knowledge,  not 
through  yours,  from  the  word-pictures  written  in  the 
only  book  he  knows,  the  book  of  Nature.” 

On  Sunday  morning  at  an  early  hour  Doctor  Bethune 
crossed  the  lake  to  preach  to  the  Indians,  and  was  met 
on  the  shore  by  the  leading  men. 

One  of  them — it  might  have  been  John  Sunday,  or 
■George  Copway,  or  Tobico — asked  the  Doctor  to  explain 
the  work  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  giving  light  to  the 
soul,  an  enquiry  which  elicited  the  following  brief  but 
effective  sermon : — 

“  My  Indian  brothers,  look  at  the  lake  before  you.” 

The  Indians  uttered  a  groan-like  “  Ugh  !  ”  They 
could  not  see  the  water — lake  and  sunlight  alike  were 
obscured  by  a  thick  fog.  They  gazed  upon  it,  no  one 
speaking.  The  preacher  bent  his  head  in  silent  prayer. 

Suddenly  a  light  wind,  stirring  the  air,  breathed  upon 
the  mist,  and  as  if  by  some  magical  touch  the  dense 
■curtain  began  to  rise,  and  slowly  rolling  back  to  the 


186 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


hills  and  tree-tops,  allowed  the  sun  in  all  its  morning 
splendor  to  shed  its  light  upon  the  little  hand  of 
expectant  worshippers.  Then  the  preacher,  lifting  his 
hand,  said  :  “  Even  as  the  rays  of  yon  sun  break  through 
the  dense  mists  that  hid  his  face  and  the  dark  waters  of 
the  lake  below  from  your  sight,  so  the  Spirit  of  the 
blessed  Lord  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God,  shines  down  into 
the  hearts  of  men,  showing  the  dark  waters  of  sin  and 
lifting  the  cloud  which  hid  from  them  all  the  goodness 
and  power  and  mercy  of  their  Father  who  is  in  Heaven. 
This  light  is  life.  ‘  Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and 
the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts ;  and  let  him  return 
unto  the  Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him  ;  and 
to  our  God,  for  he  will  abundantly  pardon.’  My  Indian 
brothers,  let  us  pray.” 

“  The  preacher’s  words  are  good;  your  Indian  brothers 
see  light  in  them,”  was  the  hearty  response  to  this 
.simple  and  beautiful  discourse. 

“  In  Nature’s  book  on  lake  and  stream, 

And  flower-strewn  path,  and  isle  untrod 
By  pale-face  feet,  the  red  man  reads 
Tlie  word  of  the  eternal  God. 

The  dawn  to  him  a  promise  gives. 

The  day  the  looked-for  gift  bestows  ; 

He  reads  the  signs,  by  reason  lives 
His  part  to  do — for  well  he  knows 
That  Nature  fails  not  nor  deceives — 

Trusts  the  Great  Spirit  and  believes.” 


THOUGHTS  ON  VEGETABLE 
INSTINCT. 


The  great  Creator  has  endowed  all  vegetables  with  a 
property  analogous  to  life  and  sensation.  The  plant, 
like  the  animal,  is  subject  to  the  law  of  death  and  decay. 
This  very  fact  is  a  proof  of  life,  for  that  which  has  not 
life  cannot  be  said  to  die. 

Differing  from  the  animal,  we  still  find  in  the  plant 
an  inanimate  power  exerted  for  its  preservation.  This 
power,  which  might  be  termed  Vegetable  Instinct, 
seems  even  in  the  plant  an  approach  to  the  exercise 
of  will,  though  in  a  very  limited  degree.  This  may  be 
instanced  in  its  selection  or  rejection  of  such  nutriment 
as  is  suitable  or  detrimental  to  its  growth. 

The  tree,  indeed,  is  not  gifted  with  volition  to  change 
its  place,  as  the  animal  or  even  the  insect  can  do ;  it 
cannot  come  and  go,  but  it  can  refuse  to  grow  and 
flourish  where  it  has  been  planted,  should  soil  or  climate 


188 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


prove  foreign  to  its  nature.  It  shows,  as  it  were,  a  will 
of  its  own,  which  is  often  stubborn  and  resists  inter- 
fei’ence  from  man’s  will ;  and  man  must  conform  as  far 
as  it  is  possible  to  the  natural  wants  of  the  tree  or  the 
plant  if  he  would  turn  it  to  his  own  advantage. 

The  vegetable,  like  the  animal,  experiences  hunger, 
and  must  be  fed.  Like  tile  animal,  also,  it  seems  to  be 
endowed  with  a  power  of  choice.  It  has  its  likings  and 
dislikings ;  it  rejects  or  selects  according  to  its  peculiar 
tastes  and  necessities. 

Man  by  his  superior  gifts  can,  1  jy  care  and  observation, 
give  to  tlie  plant  what  is  needful  to  promote  its  growth, 
and  by  long  experience  is  enabled  to  acclimatize, 
improve,  and,  as  it  were,  educate  the  plant  for  his  own 
uses,  through  the  power  given  him  by  God. 

The  florist  or  the  agriculturist  is  able  to  increase  the 
value  of  his  crops  by  studying  the  best  food  for  the 
plants  whose  seed  he  casts  into  the  ground.  Yet,  that 
there  is  a  diversity  in  the  requirements  of  some  vege¬ 
tables  is  evident.  Some  species  are  gross  and  demand 
rich  soil ;  others  of  a  more  delicate  habit  are  abstemious, 
and  will  thrive  best  with  the  most  scanty  nourishment, 
where  the  ranker  feeding  kinds  would  starve. 

The  little  Carpet  Weed,  a  small  hardy  plant  belonging 
to  the  Poligonum  family,  grows  and  thrives  b}"  our  path 
in  dry  sandy  soil ;  down-trodden  and  despised  it  still 
flowers  and  increases,  where  another  species  would  perish 
utterly.  In  richer  mould  and  under  the  protecting  hand 


THOUGHTS  ON  VEGETABLE  INSTINCT. 


1S9 


of  culture,  this  sturdy  little  plant  might  dwindle  away 
and  lose  its  hardihood. 

There  ax'e  inarv^els  of  beauty  among  the  Orchids,  which 
feed  upon  what  the  atmosphere  alone  supplies.  These 
floral  beauties,  dressed  in  the  most  glorious  colors,  seem 
to  be  fed  by  air  and  sunbeams,  the  gifts  of  Him  who 
made  their  forms  so  wondrous  fair  and  caused  their 
seed,  invisible  to  our  eyes,  to  fall  upon  some  sapless 
branch,  or  wall,  or  rugged  rock,  there  to  grow  and  flour¬ 
ish  and  die,  perhaps  never  looked  upon  by  the  eye  of 
man. 

Is  it  not  wonderful  how  these  lovely  orchids  grow  and 
thrive,  and  drink  in  the  dews  of  heaven,  expanding  their 
petals  to  receive  the  light  and  warmth,  to  become  living 
manifestations  of  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  Him  who 
made  them  for  His  glory  and  His  pleasure,  and  fed  them 
by  His  care  to  delight  other  eyes' than  ours  ? 

It  is  true  that  in  virtue  of  the  authority  vested  in 
man,  he  can  subject  in  some  measure  the  vegetable  world 
to  his  use.  He  was  given  power  to  subdue  the  earth 
and  govern  it.  That  was  his  privilege  during  his  state 
of  obedience,  l)ut  now  the  earth  is  rebellious  and  it 
requires  labor  to  goveiai  it  and  to  restore  that  which  was 
cursed  for  his  sake.  The  thorns  and  thistles  must  be 
rooted  up  or  the  land  will  not  yield  to  him  its  strength. 
Labor  is  the  remedy,  and  man  must  exert  both  bodily 
strength  and  mental  skill  to  live.  The  life-supporting 
grain  must  be  cultivated  ;  it  will  not  yield  its  substance 


190 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


spontaneously.  So  Christ  is  the  remedy  for  the  moral 
weeds  sown  by  our  spiritual  foe. 

That  the  plant  possesses  an  energy  within  itself  to 
overcome  obstacles  that  interfere  with  its  growth  may 
be  noticed.  I  have  seen  an  elm  or  beech  embracing  with 
its  strong  elastic  roots  a  huge  block  of  stone,  binding  it 
down  while  it  sent  out  its  smaller  fibrous  rootlets  to  the 
soil  below.  The  tree  itself  had  sprung  into  life  from  a 
seed  that  had  fallen  into  a  crevice  of  the  rugged  stone, 
but  as  it  advanced  in  stature  it  requii’ed  more  support 
and  more  nutriment.  Firmly  rooted,  it  now  defied  the 
force  of  wind  and  storm.  It  threw  out  its  cables  and  its 
anchors,  and  then  began  to  flourish  more  abundantly — 
not  by  the  large  woody  roots,  but  by  the  tender  vege-, 
table  tubes  didnking  up  the  food  from  the  more  generous 
soil  which  they  had  entered  to  wait  upon  and  feed  the 
tree,  like  faithful  servants  ready  to  cater  to  their  masters’ 
wants. 

There  is  power  in  the  living  germ  of  a  tiny  seed.  See 
how  the  tender  blade  of  wheat  will  pierce  the  hardest 
clod.  The  seedling  of  some  delicate  flower  will  burst 
through  the  environing  mould,  raising  its  soft  plumy 
leaflets  to  the  light  and  air,  while  sending  down  its  roots 
deep  into  the  earth,  exerting  a  force  from  within  its 
tender  frame  that  eludes  the  most  cunning  scrutiny  of 
the  eye  to  detect.  Silently  and  secretly  this  mysterious 
action  takes  place  in  the  sprouting  seed.  The  sceptic 


THOUGHTS  OX  VEGETABLE  INSTINCT. 


191 


says,  “  It  is  the  necessity  of  its  nature.”  True,  but  tlie 
sceptic  does  not  see  God  in  Nature. 

Tliere  is  a  curious  adaptation  in  plants  to  overcome 
certain  obstacles  that  obstruct  their  progress  in  growth, 
and  that  enables  them  to  put  foidh  certain  energies 
which  under  other  circumstances  are  not  exerted. 

This  is  seen  in  the  case  of  the  ivy  and  many  other 
climbing  plants.  In  its  infant  stage  the  ivy  appears  as 
a  tender  light  green  plant,  with  sharply  pointed  leaves. 
For  a  time  it  creeps  over  the  ground  ;  then  when  more 
advanced,  the  leaves  take  a  lobed  form  and  become  of  a 
dark  green,  the  stem  woody  and  branching.  The  slender 
branchlets  seeking  support,  it  raises  itself  to  any  eleva¬ 
tion  from  the  ground,  by  means  of  some  bush  or  the 
trunk  of  a  tree.  It  puts  forth  tiny  flat  feet,  armed 
with  imperceptible  rootlets,  by  which  it  attaches  itself 
to  the  rough  surface  of  a  wall  or  the  bark  of  a  tree.  It 
may  be  for  shelter  or  support,  it  cannot  be  for  nourish¬ 
ment.  It  is  not  improbable  that  climbing  is  inherent  in 
its  nature,  and  so  it  stidves  to  overcome  every  obstacle 
that  interferes  with  its  upward  progress — who  shall 
say  ? — and  to  this  end  it  exerts,  to  accomplish  its  desire, 
a  power  that  it  had  no  need  to  make  use  of  in  its  former 
condition. 

The  sower  who  casts  his  seed  in  the  furrows  of  his 
field  never  pauses  to  think  how  it  will  fall — whether  or 
not  it  shall  lie  in  the  best  position  for  the  germination 
of  the  grain. 


192 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES, 


Nature  follows  her  own  laws  without  heed  to  the 
hand  that  sows  the  seed.  The  latter  will  right  itself. 
Place  a  bulb  in  the  earth  with  the  crown  downward  or 
■sideways,  and  it  will  come  up  in  spite  of  the  awkward 
position  it  was  planted  in. 

Here  are  a  number  of  onions  or  of  potatoes  left  lying 
in  all  manner  of  ways ;  the  shoots,  you  will  notice,  take 
the  upward  direction  attracted  to  the  light.  Tlie  innate 
power  in  the  living  vegetable  is  to  ascend  to  the  light, 
while  the  root  descends,  loving  darkness  rather  than 
light. 

Thus  the  inanimate  things  of  creation  silently  obey 
the  will  of  the  Creator,  fulfilling  the  work  which  He 
has  ordained  to  His  praise  and  glory.  He  hath  given 
them  laws  which  shall  not  be  broken. 

A  FLORAL  MYSTERY. 

An  interesting  account  of  the  peculiar  properties  of 
some  aquatic  plants,  as  illustratiYe  of  what  we  have 
called  vegetable  instinct,  may  not  be  out  of  place  here, 
ami  will  perhaps  be  new  to  some  of  my  youthful  readers. 

Michelet,  the  delightful  old  French  naturalist,  gives 
the  following  history  of  the  Vallisneria,  better  known 
by  its  common  name  of  Tape  or  Eel  Grass,  an  aquatic 
plant  very  frequently  seen  in  slow-flowing  lakes  and 
ponds,  covering  tlie  surface  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
summer  with  its  slender  light  green  leaves  and  white 
floating  flowers : 


THOUGHTS  ON  VEGETABLE  INSTINCT.  193^^ 

“  The  blos.soins  of  this  water  plant  are  of  two  kinds. 
The  stamens  or  pollen-hearing  flowers  are  clustered  on 
short  scapes  (stems),  and  are  seen  growing  at  the  bottom 
of  the  lake  or  pond.  The  fertile  or  fruit-bearing 
blossoms,  on  long  thready  elastic  stalks,  rise  to  the 
surface  of  the  Avater,  and  there  expand  to  await  the 
appearance  of  the  sterile  or  male  floAver,  the  buds  of 
Avhich  break  aAvay  from  the  bottom  of  their  watery  bed 
and  float  upAvards,  open  out  their  petals,  and,  mingling 
with  the  fertile  flowers,  shed  upon  them  the  fertilizing 
pollen  dust.  The  latter  after  awhile  retire  below  the 
surface  by  means  of  the  spirally  coiled  scape,  Avhich,  by 
contracting,  draws  down  the  impregnated  flower,  there 
to  ripen  and  perfect  its  seed.  The  seed  vessel,  which  is- 
a  A^ery  long  and  slender  pod,  of  an  olive  brown  color,  is 
attached  to  the  stalk  of  the  female  flowei\” 

The  pretty  Avhite  blossoms  of  this  singular  plant  are 
about  the  size  of  a  quarter-dollar,  and  in  the  month  of 
August  the  flowers  may  be  seen  in  some  quiet  bay,, 
covering  the  still  waters  with  their  snowy  petals. 

THE  AVHITE  AVATER  LILY. 

The  beautiful  Water  Lily,*  that  “  Queen  of  the  Lakes,”' 
what  pen  can  do  justice  to  her  loveliness ! 

The  exquisitely  folded  buds  are  seen  at  all  stages  of 
development,  rising  midway  from  the  bed  of  the  still 
waters  as  you  look  downward  into  its  depths.  As  they 


•  Nymphce  Oderata. 


194 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


reach  the  influence  of  the  light  and  the  warm  sunshine, 
the  flowers  expand  into  full-]>lown  beauty  and  delicious 
lemon-scented  fragrance. 

To  float  beside  a  bed  of  these  beautiful  flowers  and 
glossy,  widespi’ead  leaves  is  a  treat  not  to  be  forgotten. 
As  daylight  closes  to  evening,  the  lovely  blossoms  fold 
their  snowy  petals  over  the  golden  stamens  and  retire  to 
their  watery  chambers  for  the  night. 

The  native  water  lilies  of  North  America  exceed  in 
size  and  beauty  those  of  England,  aiid  there  are  varieties 
found  among  our  inland  lakes  in  Ontario,  tinged  with 
the  most  delicate  rose  pink.*  I  have  seen,  in  one  of  the 
inland  lakes,  a  very  small  and  lovely  water  lily  hardly 
exceeding  a  silver  dollar  in  size. 

In  many  aquatic  plants  we  find  the  foliage  is  minutely 
and  finely  divided,  which  enables  the  water  to  flow 
through  them  without  any  impediment,  as  in  the  Pond- 
weed  Family.  In  the  water  Rantincidi  the  root  leaves 
are  flat  and  wide-spreading,  but  as  the  plant  ascends 
the  leaves  are  cut  into  fine,  narrow  segments,  and  so 
allow  the  currents  of  water  to  pass  freely  tln-ough  them. 

*  In  my  “Studies  of  Plant  Life,”  illustrated  by  Mrs.  Chamberlin,  is  given 
a  colored  plate  of  the  pink  Nymphce  Oderata. 


SOME  CURIOUS  PLANTS. 


BROOM  RAPE. 

Among  the  wild  vegetable  products  of  our  forests  may 
be  found  manj'  strange-looking  plants  unlike  any  of 
those  with  which  we  are  familiar  in  our  gardens  or  fields. 

One  of  these  is  the  Broom  Rape  (Orobranche).  It 
comes  up  in  the  woods,  often  by  the  pathway,  and  at 
first  glance  you  take  it  for  a  little  bundle  of  hard  dry 
brown  twigs,  but  on  closer  inspection  you  see  that  it  is  a 
plant  with  life  and  gi'owth  in  it. 

The  stems  are  clustered  together  at  the  base.  It  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  any  roots,  and  yet  it  is  bearing 
its  flowers  almost  underground  as  well  as  upon  its  scaly 
stems.  Of  foliage  it  has  none,  at  least  no  green  leaves, 
only  scales  dry  and  brown,  and  the  flowers  are  simply 
two  little  hard-beaked,  bead-shaped  scales,  made  notice¬ 
able  by  the  abundance  of  yellowish  stamens  and  anthers 
which  look  like  little  heaps  of  sawdust.  The  stigmas 


196 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


are  not  visible.  The  whole  plant  looks  like  a  tiny  brush 
or  broom,  and  is  more  remarkable  for  the  oddity  of  its 
appearance  than  for  its  beauty. 

It  belongs  to  a  singular  family,  that  known  as  the 
Orohranclie  or  Broom  Rape  family,  to  which  also  the  term 
Cancer  Root  has  been  popularly  given.  I  believe  this 
curious  plant  is  used  by  the  Indian  herb  doctor  as  a  cure 
for  cancer,  but  whether  outwardly  or  inwardly  is  not 
known. 

There  are  several  species,  some. of  the  order  having- 
blue  and  white  tubular  flowers,  others  yellowish-brown 
and  hairy ;  all  are  parasites  on  the  roots  of  oak,  beech 
and  some  other  trees. 

INDIAN  PIPE. 

Another  of  our  curious  flowers  is  the  Indian  Pipe 
{Monotropa  unifiora).  This  singular  plant  is  distin- 
gui.shed  by  its  pure  whiteness,  without  one  tinge  of  color. 
From  root  to  summit  it  is  spotless,  white  as  new  fallen 
snow.  It  is  also  called  the  Wood  Snowdrop.  It  attracts 
the  eye  by  its  contrast  to  the  dark  rich  mould  on  which 
it  grows,  generally  at  the  foot  of  beech  trees,  sending  up 
a  cluster  of  white-scaled  stems  some  nine  or  ten  inches 
in  height.  Each  thick  stem  is  terminated  by  one  white 
pellucid  flower  about  the  size  of  a  small  tobacco  pipe, 
the  head  slightly  bent  downward  at  first,  but  becoming 
erect  for  the  better  preservation  of  the  seed. 

So  sensitive  is  this  remarkable  plant  that  it  turns  black 


SOME  CURIOUS  PLANTS. 


197 


soon  after  being  pnlleJ,  as  if  polluted  by  contact  with 
the  hninan  hand.  In  the  herbarinm  it  loses  all  its 
beauty,  turning  black  as  ink,  nor  can  it  retain  its  semi¬ 
transparent  texture.  To  appreciate  the  plant  it  must  be 
seen  growing  in  the  shade  of  the  forest. 

There  is  another  species,  found  only  in  pine  and  ever¬ 
green  woods,  which  is  of  a  tawny  color,  the  stem  woolly 
and  bearing  from  three  to  live  flowers.  The  bells,  when 
upright,  are  filled  with  drops  of  clear  honey. 

This  is  known  as  Sweet  Pine  Sap.  Like  the  uniflora 
the  Pine  Sap  {Monotropa  hypopitys)  is  a  perfect  flower 
and  not  a  fungous  growth,  as  some  have  supposed.  It 
also  is  leafless,  the  foliage  being  mere  thin  scales  arranged 
along  the  scape. 

THE  DODDER. 

Tlie  Dodder  (Cuscuta)  is  another  of  our  eccentric- 
plants,  of  which  we  have  several  native  species. 

The  singularity  of  one  of  these  struck  me  as  very 
remarkable,  from  the  attachment  it  showed  for  one 
particular  little  plant,  a  slender  species  of  Golden  Rod. 
There  were  other  plants  growing  near  these  Dodders 
which  would  have  given  all  the  needed  support,  Imt 
they  evidently  did  not  possess  the  same  attraction  and 
were  passed  by — it  was  the  little  Solidago  and  none 
other.  It  really  looked  like  xvill  in  the  Dodders. 

And  what  was  strange,  too,  both  plants  seemed 
perfectly  healthy — while  the  clustei-ed  flowers  of  the- 


198 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Dodder  coiled  round  tlie  supporting  stem  of  the  Golden 
Rod,  the  latter  bore  its  yellow  blossoms  fresh  and  fair 
to  view  uninjured.  I  preserved  several  specimens  of  the 
united  flowers  for  my  herbal. 

The  stem  of  the  Dodder  was  leafless,  of  a  rather  rusty 
green,  hard  and  wiry ;  the  numerous  clusters  of  flowei-s 
were  greenish  white. 

Another  species  of  this  curious  plant,  with  thready 
orange-colored  coils,  I  found  on  the  rocks  twining  among 
grasses  and  other  herbage. 

SENSITIVE  PLANTS. 

There  are  certain  flowers,  the  floral  organs  of  which 
are  so  sensitive  that  the  slightest  touch  aflects  them. 

This  sensibility,  though  diflering  from  what  I  have 
called  vegetable  instinct,  seems  to  indicate  a  sense  of 
feeling  akin  to  a  life  principle  existing  in  the  flower. 
Possibly  the  more  learned  naturalist  may  object  to  my 
crude  idea  on  this  most  interesting  subject.  I  know  little 
beyond  what  observation  teaches  or  suggests,  and  am 
open  to  correction  when  I  err.  My  main  object  in  these 
pages  has  been  to  awaken  an  interest  in  young  readers, 
such  as  to  induce  them  to  seek  and  learn  for  themselves. 
Knowledge  thus  gained  is  very  pleasant  and  leads 
upward  and  onward  to  higher  and  more  satisfactory 
results. 

Everyone  knows  the  nervous  sensitiveness  of  the 
leaves  of  the  Sensitive  Plant,  which  on  the  sliffhtest 

O 


SOME  CURIOUS  PLANTS.  19f) 

touch  from  the  huger  instantly  closes  and  collapses  as 
if  fainting ;  biit  it  is  not  of  this  and  others  of  a  similar 
nature  that  I  wish  to  remark,  but  of  a  few  of  our  native 
howers. 

There  is  the  not  uncommon  shrub,  the  Berberry,  the 
blossoms  of  which  can  easily  be  tested.  If  the  base 
of  the  stamens  is  touched  with  a  pin  or  needle  they 
instantly  close  together.  Probaldy  a  similar  effect  is 
produced  by  the  tongue  of  the  bee  or  the  sucker  of  a 
fly.  Xot  only  to  scatter  the  jiollen  dust,  but  it  may  be 
to  guard  the  germen  of  the  flower  from  injury,  this 
movement  of  the  stamens  takes  place. 

The  same  effect  seems  to  be  prodiTced  in  the  sensitive 
organs  of  the  flowers  of  that  jDretty  shrub  known  as 
Dog-bane  {Apocynum  androsoemifolium)  or  shrubby 
Milk- weed.  The  little  pink-strijoed  blossoms  of  this 
plant  seem  to  be  chosen  by  some  species  of  very  small 
fly  as  a  sleeping  place  (that  is,  if  flies  do  sleep).  As 
evening  dews  begin  to  fall  they  resoi't  to  the  sweet- 
scented  bells  for  rest  or  shelter,  but  are  instantly 
captured  by  the  flower  stamens,  as  may  be  seen  by 
the  closed  anther  tips.  In  every  bell  a  tiny  prisonei-  is 
held  fast  in  the  tenacious  clasp  of  the  organs  of  the 
flower. 

It  has  been  a  matter  of  dispute  whether  the  Pitcher 
Plant  (Sarracenia  Purpurea)  feeds  upon  the  insects 
that  creep  within  its  hollow  tube-like  leaves  or  not. 
That  the  insects,  flies  or  beetles,  enter  either  for  shelter 


200 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


or  for  the  fluids  contained  in  these  beautiful  natural 
vases  seems  most  likely,  and  having  entered,  the  stiflT, 
I’eflexed  hairs  that  line  the  tubes  form  a  barrier  to  their 
exit.  The  consequence  is  that  they  are  either  drowned, 
wliich  is  most  probably  their  fate,  or  made  prisoners  for 
life.  The  trap  proves  fatal  to  the  unwary  flies,  but 
the  plant  can  in  nowise  be  answerable  for  their  death. 
They  had  no  business  to  intrude  themselves  uninvited 
on  the  premises,  and  so  there  can  be  no  case  of  wilful 
murder  against  the  pitcher  plants.  The  verdict  is 
“accidental  death,”  and  an  impartial  jury,  could  such 
be  called,  would  say,  “  Serves  them  right !  what  business 
had  they  there  ?  ” 

Nor  can  it  be  proved  that  the  plants  derive  any 
benefit  from  the  intrusion  of  the  insects  otherwise  than 
that  all  vegetables  feed  on  the  carbonic  exhalations 
arising  from  decomposing  animal  or  vegetable  matter. 

The  pitcher  plant  is  the  northern  representative  of  a 
most  remarkable  order.  It  occurs  both  in  Canada  and 
all  over  the  continent  of  North  America,  and  if  not  so 
wonderful  in  appearance  as  some  of  the  magnificent 
tropical  species,  it  is  too  singular  in  structure  and  habits 
to  be  passed  by  without  notice. 

Well  worth  seeing,  indeed,  is  a  bed  of  pitcher  plants, 
especially  in  the  month  of  June,  their  flowering  time. 

The  tall,  naked  scape  bears  one  large  deep  red 
blossom.  From  the  globular  five-rayed  ovary  rises  a. 
short,  pillar-like  style  which  expands  into  a  thin  yellow 


SOME  CURIOUS  PLANTS. 


201 


uiiibrella-shaped  body,  elegantly  scalloiied  at  the  edges 
and  covering  the  floral  organs,  adding  greatly  to  the 
beauty  of  the  flower. 

All  the  parts  of  the  flower  are  in  fives — petals,  sepals 
and  valves  of  the  seed  vessel.  The  root  is  thick  anil 
fleshy,  the  hollow  leaves  beautifully  veined  with  Iwight 
crimson ;  the  lip  or  mouth  of  the  leaves  is  scalloped  and 
the  interior  fringed  with  stitf,  silvery  hairs. 

F ollowing  the  inner  part  of  each  leaf  runs  a  membrane 
like  a  flap.  This  curious  appendage,  being  shorter  than 
the  outside  curve  of  the  leaf,  throws  the  hollow  mouth 
into  the  right  position  for  receiving  and  retaining  the 
water  with  which  the  pitcher  is  generally  half  filled. 

In  some  species  of  this  most  interesting  order  of  plants 
there  is  a  natural  lid  which  probably  answers  the  same 
purpose.  In  some  the  urn  or  pitcher  is  a  prolongation 
of  the  leaf,  and  is  suspended  by  a  tendril.  The  flower, 
which  is  distinct  from  the  curious  hollow  leaf,  fades 
quickly  and  bears  an  abundance  of  seed.  The  whole 
plant  is  singular  in  all  its  parts,  and  is  a  sight  to  be 
admired. 


SOME  VARIETIES  OF  POLLEN. 


.  The  fertilizing  dust  or  pollen  of  different  flowers  varies 
in  shape,  no  two  species  being  exactly  alike  when 
examined  under  a  powerful  microscope. 

As  the  subject  may  have  hitherto  escaped  the  atten¬ 
tion  of  my  readers,  I  will  notice  what  varieties  have 
been  perceived  and  made  note  of  by  such  scientific 
naturalists  as  Jussieu,  Malpighi  and  others. 

Malpighi,  the  learned  French  naturalist,  found  that 
the  pollen  of  the  sunflower  was  round,  but  beset  with 
rough  prickles ;  in  the  cranesbill  or  geranium  family 
the  particles  were  perforated  ;  in  the  mallow  they  took 
the  form  of  wheels  with  teeth  ;  in  the  palma  Christi,  like 
grains  of  wlieat ;  in  pansies,  angular :  in  maize  or  Indian 
corn,  flat  and  smooth ;  in  borage,  like  a  thin  rolled-up 
leaf  ;  in  coniferm,  double  globules. 

The  observations  of  Jussieu  concerning  the  pollen  of 
the  maple  deserves  our  notice.  He  says:  “Those  gentle¬ 
men  who  have  minutely  examined  the  fertilizing  dust  of 


SOiME  VAKIKTIES  OF  POLLEN. 


203 


tlic  flower  of  the  maple,  have  drawi]  the  figure  of  the 
pai’ticles  in  form  of  a  cross,  hut  I  find  them  to  lie  globu¬ 
lar  ;  nevertheless,  as  soon  as  they  were  touched  witli 
moistui-e  they  instantly  hurst  into  four  parts,  assuming 
the  form  of  the  cross. 

“  From  wliich  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  hollow 
globules  contained  some  subtle  fluid  which,  when  moist¬ 
ened  by  rain  or  dew,  lairst  and  ilischarged  their  contents 
on  the  surrounding  organs  of  the  flower.” — Evelyn’s 
Silvti. 

What  wondrous  secrets  are  x’evealed  to  us  through  the 
medium  of  the  microscope  !  What  a  world  of  interest 
does  it  open  to  the  inquiring  mind  of  the  young  student 
of  Nature  1 

Tlie  minutest  insect,  the  wing  of  a  fly,  a  drop  of 
puddle  water,  the  capsule  of  a  tiny  moss,  or  a  morsel  of 
sea-weed,  are  revelations  sealed  to  the  mere  outward, 
unassisted  vision. 

A  scientist  once  remarked,  “Life,  even  a  long  life,  is 
not  long  enough  to  take  in  the  tliousandth  part  of 
what  wonders  the  microscope  could  reveal  to  us  in  one 
short  hour,  of  things  so  insignificant  that  we  pass  them 
by  withoxit  seeing  or  caring  for  them.” 

There  is  notliing  small  in  God’s  sight.  To  us  these 
things  may  appear  insignificant,  but  all  have  been  created 
with  a  purpose,  and  go  to  complete  the  wonderful  work 
of  the  creation. 


204 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


POLLEN  OF  THE  WHITE  PINE. 

When  I  first  settled  in  tlie  backwoods  of  northern 
Ontario,  I  noticed  that  after  heavy  thunder-storms  the 
water  on  the  surface  of  the  lake  and  the  puddles  on  the 
_ground  were  covei’ed  wdth  a  fine  sulphur-colored  powdery 
substance,  which  lay  like  a  thin  yellow  cru.st  on  the 
earth  after  the  water  had  evaporated.  On  asking  an 
old  settler  what  it  was,  he  answered,  “  Sulphur,  which 
comes  down  with  the  rain  from  the  clouds.  We  call 
them  sulphur  showers,  for  it  is  always  seen  in  this 
country  after  thunder-storms.” 

Not  being  quite  convinced  of  the  real  nature  of  the 
substance,  I  collected  a  poi'tion  of  it,  dried  it  and  for¬ 
warded  it  to  a  Mend  who  was  the  possessor  of  a  fine 
microscope  of  four  hundred  magnifying  power.  I 
received  from  him  a  drawing  of  the  magnified  powder 
grains,  which  resembled  grains  of  wheat,  a  central  line 
dividing  the  figure,  giving  the  idea  of  duality  to  the 
form  of  each  atom. 

My  friend  pronounced  the  substance  to  be  the  pollen 
of  the  White  or  Weymouth  Pine  (Pinus  strobus). 

This  settled  tlie  matter  and  was  pei’fectly  conclusive, 
especially  as  this  sidphur-looking  substance  is  seen  only 
during  the  time  when  the  cone-bearing  trees  are .  in 
flower  in  July,  which  is  also  the  time  when  thunder¬ 
storms  are  most  general. 

The  extreme  ligldness  of  the  pollen  dust  renders  it 


SOME  VARIETIES  OF  POLLEN. 


20.'> 


probable  that  it  may  ascend  into  the  upper  air  or  cloud 
region,  and  be  precipitated  to  the  earth  during  heavy 
showers. 

It  is  a  curious  and,  if  needed,  a  convincing  fact,  that 
this  phenomenon  is  rarely,  if  ever,  noticed  now  in  the 
cleared  parts  of  the  country.  This  may  be  attributed 
to  the  great  destruction  of  tlie  pines,  the  forests  in 
many  places  being  denuded  almost  to  the  extermina¬ 
tion  of  these  noble  trees.  The  time,  indeed,  seems  fast 
approaching  when  the  pine  tribe  will  disappear  and 
become  a  thing  of  the  past  only. 

While  writing  on  the  subject  of  the  so-called  “Sulphur- 
Showers,”  I  was  much  pleased  and  surprised  by  reading 
a  passage  I  met  with  quite  unexpectedly  in  a  volume  of 
that  rare  and  interesting  book,  “  Evelyn’s  Sylva.”  It  is 
so  much  to  the  purpose  that  I  will  transcribe  it.  The 
writer  observes  : 

“  Tlie  figure  of  each  of  the  minute  particles  which 
form  so  impoi-tant  a  paid  in  the  economy  of  every  plant 
and  tree,  probably  varies  in  shape  in  each  tribe,  even  in 
the  various  species. 

“  To  the  unassisted  eye  we  see  only  a  fine  yellow  or 
grey  dust  that  floats  so  lightly  on  the  air  that  the  least 
breath  of  wind  ruffling  the  branches  moves  it,  and  so 
light  and  so  plentiful  is  the  supply  that,  if  it  chances  to 
rain  during  the  fiowering  sea.son  of  tire  pines,  the  stand¬ 
ing  waters  near  will  be  painted  with  yellow  rings  of 
this  dust  from  the  trees.” 


206 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


It  is  known  that  the  mingling  of  pollen  from  flowers 
of  the  same  natural  order,  through  the  agency  of  bees 
and  other  winged  insects,  is  the  cause  of  the  great 
variety  of  species  which  we  find  in  plants  of  the  same 
family ;  thus  the  different  races  of  plants  can  be  traced 
back  to  their  natural  orders,  including  the  genus  and 
species  of  every  family  in  all  its  variations. 


THE  CRANBERRY  MARSH. 


To  THE  EYE  of  the  botaiiist  our  cranberry  marshes  are 
fields  of  beauty  and  of  great  interest. 

Elegant  wreaths  of  this  beautiful  evergreen  plant, 
with  its  tiny  dark  green,  glossy  leaves,  trail  over  lovely 
peat  mosses,  the  Sphagnum  cymbefolium  and  tlie 
Sphagnum  ciliare. 

The  delicate  pink  bells,  pendent  on  their  light  thready 
stalks,  are  seen  through  the  season  with  the  fruit  in 
every  stage  of  growth  and  color,  from  the  tiny  dot  not 
larger  than  the  head  of  a  pin  to  the  pear-shaped,  full- 
sized  berry,  green,  yellow  and  bright  purpfish-red, 
hanging  among  the  soft,  creamy  mosses ;  and,  often, 
over  all,  a  forest  of  the  stately  chain  fern  or  the  noble 
Osmundi  regalis,  both  of  which  love  the  moisture  of 
the  peat  soil  and  the  cranberry  marsli. 

These  marshes  are  the  nurseries  of  many  other 
varieties  of  fenis,  flowers,  orchids,  plants  and  shi'ubs. 
They  are  also  the  haunts  of  harmless  species  of  snakes. 


208 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


for  although  the  black  snake  and  the  copper-head  have 
rather  a  doubtful  reputation,  I  have  never  yet  heard  of 
any  injury  being  suffered  from  these  obnoxious  reptiles. 

All  sorts  of  flies  are  bred  in  these  marshy  places — 
mosquitoes,  deer-flies  and  big  gad-flies  (the  terror  of  the 
■cattle  in  the  North-West,  under  the  name  of  “bull  dogs”), 
and  most  likely  those  little  torments,  the  Canadian 
black  flies,  may  nestle  there,  too.  Owing  to  this  rather 
undesirable  company,  the  lovely  wild  garden  is  rather 
shunned  by  the  timid  botanist  during  the  months  of  May 
and  June,  when  it  puts  forth  its  greatest  attractions  in 
flowers  and  shrubs. 

To  enter  into  this  paradise  of  wild  flowers  and  flies, 
moths  and  beetles,  the  naturalist  must  not  be  afraid  of 
mosquitoes  or  wet  feet,  nor  muse  he  mind  tripping  in  a 
liidden  network  of  tangled  roots.  Such  accidents  will 
not  hurt  him,  and  if  he  is  an  enthusiastic  botanist  or 
entomologist,  he  will  laugh  at  such  trifling  matters  and 
scramble  on  in  spite  of  black  snakes  or  bull-frogs,  to  be 
rewarded  by  finding  many  a  rare  bog  orchid,  unobtain¬ 
able  upon  the  dusty  highways  and  byways  among  the 
common  haunts  of  men. 

Just  fancy  a  young  field  naturalist  returning  from  an 
exploring  tour  in  the  cranberry  marsh.  He  is  hot  and 
tired,  a  good  deal  fly-bitten,  dilapidated  in  dress  and 
appearance,  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  but  with 
looks  that  tell  of  unexpected  good  fortune. 

Having  hastily  satisfied  his  hunger  and  thirst  at 


THE  CRANBERRY  MARSH. 


209' 


the  camp,  he  unstraps  his  japamied  case,  and,  his  face 
heaniing  witli  triuinjjhant  smiles,  proceeds  to  exhibit 
his  wonderful  linds  in  the  shape  of  rai’e  beetles  of 
metallic  hues,  green,  red,  scarlet,  blue  and  sulphur- 
colored  ;  dragon-llies  large  and  small,  bronze,  blue,  red 
or  metallic  green ;  silvery  moths  with  dappled  wings  or 
elegant  blue  ones  with  brilliant  eyes. 

From  a  little  pill-box  which  he  has  carried  carefully 
in  his  vest  pocket  he  takes  a  tiny  land  tortoise,  no 
bigger  than  a  black  beetle,  that  he  found  basking  in  the 
siind  near  a  creek  and  only  just  hatched  from  its  warm 
shady  nest. 

And  then  he  will  be  off  the  next  morning  at  sunrise 
to  the  big  peat  moss  which  he  has  not  yet  had  leisure  to 
explore. 

The  peat  mosses  are,  of  all  our  native  mosses,  the 
most  worthy  of  notice.  They  form  extensive  beds, 
many  acres  in  extent,  in  overflowed  marshes,  extinct 
lakes  and  partially  dried  beaver  meadows,  where  the 
bottom  soil  is  still  wet  and  spongy. 

In  such  situations  where  these  white  mosses  abound, 
mingled  with  the  running  vines  of  the  cranberry  there 
are  other  marsh -loving  plants  and  shrubs,  such  as  the 
Labrador  Tea  {Ledum  latifolia),  the  Wild  Rosemary 
{Andromeda  polifolia),  the  Kalmia  and  the  white  and 
pink  flowered  Spiraea. 

Here,  too,  we  meet  with  large  beds  of  the  curious  and 
interesting  pitcher  plants  and  that  little  gem,  the  sundew. 


210 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES, 


The  leaves  of  this  latter  plant  are  round  in  form,  of  a 
red  color,  the  edges  beset  with  pellucid,  shining  di-ops, 
reflecting  the  rays  of  light  like  diamonds.  There  are 
two  species,  the  Drosera  rotundifolia  and  the  Drosera 
longifolia.  The  floAvers  are  small  and  white,  sometimes 
tinged  with  pink  and  boi’ne  on  tall  stems.  The  former 
is  the  prettier  of  the  two.  In  such  places,  also,  we  find 
some  of  our  rarest  orchids — the  Grass  Pink  (Colopogen 
pulchellus),  the  stemle.ss  Lady’s  Slipj)er  (Cyprejjedium 
acaule),  the  Rain’s  Head  Orchis,  {G.  aristenum),  the 
Arethusa ;  the  Calypso  borealis,  or  Bird’s  Eye  Orchis, 
and  many  others. 

When  very  young  the  peat  moss  is  of  the  liveliest 
tender  green,  but  as  it  increases  in  groAvth  it  becomes  of 
a  creamy  whiteness,  Avhich  deepens  again  with  age  to 
soft ,  rose  pink,  the  fruitful  plant  turning  to  a  deep 
rose  purple  and  the  bud-like  capsules  collecting  at  the 
summit. 

The  foliage  of  the  larger  species  is  soft  and  cottonjL 
drooping  or  flaccid,  densely  clothing  the  upright  stems, 
which  in  height  often  measure  from  nine  inches  to  a 
foot,  and  being  interwoven  support  each  other,  forming 
deep,  soft  beds. 

Nor  are  the  peat  mosses  without  their  uses.  They 
are  so  soft  and  pliable  that  they  are  found  most  service¬ 
able  to  the  florist,  nurseryman  and  gardener  as  a  suitable 
material  for  packing  the  roots  of  plants  and  shrubs  for 


THE  CRANBERRY  MARSH. 


211 


di.stant  transportation,  for  which  purpose  many  tons  are 
used  in  the  year. 

There  are  several  species  of  sphao'iiums.  The  slendei’, 
delicate  S.  aciitifolium  has  narrower  leaves  than  the 
S.  cymhefolium.  The  capsules  are  green,  not  I’ed,  and 
the  plant  is  not  so  robust,  but  it  is  still  curious  and  fair 
to  look  upon. 

Many  other  kinds  of  coarse  mo.sses  also  mingle  with 
the  sphagnums  and  form  pleasing  contrasts  to  the 
vdiiter  mosses  and  bog-loving  plants. 


OUR  NATIVE  GRASSES. 


“  And  the  blithe  grass  blades  that  stand  straight  up 
And  make  themselves  small,  to  leave  room  for  all 
The  nameless  blossoms  that  nestle  between 
Their  sheltering  stems  in  the  herbage  green.; 

Sharp  little  soldiers,  trusty  and  true. 

Side  by  side  in  good  order  due ; 

Arms  straight  down,  and  heads  forward  set. 

And  saucily-pointed  bayonet. 

Up  the  hillocks,  and  down  again. 

The  green  grass  marches  into  the  plain, 

If  only  a  light  wind  over  the  land 
Whispers  the  welcome  ■word  of  command.” 

— Lord  Lytton. 

Modern  botanists  liave  separated  the  old  natural  order- 
of  the  grasses  into  three  distinct  divisions — the  grass- 
proper,  G^uininece;  the  sedges,  Cyperacece;  the  rushes, 
Jmicacece.  But  iny  knowledge  of  them  is  according  to 
the  old  school,  which  included  all  in  one  great  order. 
The  stately,  gigantic  bamboo  of  the  tropics ;  the  sugar¬ 
cane,  the  flexible  .cane-brake  of  the  southern  swamps 


OUR  NATIVE  GRASSES. 


2ia 

tlie  useful  broom-cane ;  the  graceful  feathery  plumed 
grass  of  the  Pampas,  waving  in  the  breeze  like  gently- 
heaving  billows  of  a  silvery  shining  sea ;  the  heavy 
dark-headed  bulrush  so  familiar  to  the  eye ;  the  verdant 
rice  and  the  purple-topped  Indian  corn  witli  its  silky 
tassels  and  golden  fruit — all  these,  and  the  coarse  gi^asses 
that  gi’ow  on  every  wild,  uncultivated  spot,  rushes,  reeds 
and  sedges — all  and  every  species  were  classed  with 
the  sweet  vernal  grasses  of  the  meadows  and  pastui’es ; 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  they  were  all  included 
under  the  familiar  name  of  Grass. 

Tlie  rich  variety  and  abundance  of  the  native  grasses 
of  the  western  and  north-western  prairies  of  this  great. 
American  continent  form  one  of  its  most  attractive 
features — great  waving  oceans  of  verdure  where  the 
bison  once  fed,  but  which  are  now  yielding  to  the  plow 
of  the  settler.  Man  by  his  reckless  greed  has  driven  off 
and  well-nigh  exterminated  the  bison  (Indian  buffalo) 
from  the  plains  of  Manitoba  and  the  Saskatchewan, 
and  the  wild  grasses  of  the  prairie  are  also  destined  to 
disappear  with  the  wild  herds  which  fed  upon  them. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  among  all  the  many  varieties 
of  the  prairie  grasses  there  are  no  true  grain-bearing 
cereals  to  be  found,  none  producing  seed  sufficiently 
nutritive  for  the  support  of  man.  Although  many  of 
the  grasses  resemble  oats,  wheat,  barley  and  maize,  there 
seems  to  be  in  the  substance  they  produce  an  absence  of 
the  qualities  required  to  make  bread. 

15 


214 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


The  most  edible  grain  that  we  find  in  a  wild  state  is 
dhe  Zizania  aquatica,  or  “Water  Oats” — the  Indian 
rice — but  it  is  not  a  native  of  the  prairies,  and  is  not 
found  in  many  of  the  inland  lakes  of  our  North- 
West,  though  abundant  in  the  slow-flowing  waters  of 
Ontario. 

It  grows  in  many  of  the  upper  lakes  in  such  large 
beds  as  to  resemble  islands,  and  in  the  shallow  bays  and 
coves  attains  so  rank  a  growth  as  to  impede  the  passage 
of  boats.  When  in  flower  it  is  ope  of  the  most  graceful 
and  lovely  of  our  native  grasses.  The  long  flexible 
ribbon-like  leaves  float  loosely  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  the  tall  spikes  of  the  pretty  straw-colored 
.and  purple  anthers,  freed  from  the  fold  of  the  slender 
stalks,  hang  gracefully  fluttering  in  the  breeze. 

When  the  leaves  turn  yellow,  and  the  grain  ripens  in 
the  mellow  days  of  late  September  or  October,  the  Indian 
women  gather  it  into  their  canoes  by  means  of  a  short 
thin-bladed  paddle,  with  which  they  strike  the  heads  of 
the  grain-bearing  stalks  against  a  stick  held  in  the  other 
hand  and  over  the  edge  of  the  canoe. 

The  wild  rice  has  a  peculiar  weedy,  smoky  flavor,  but 
if  properly  cooked  is  very  delicious.  The  Indians  pre¬ 
serve  it  in  many  waj^s,  and  look  upon  it  as  belonging 
■especially  to  them.  They  call  the  month  of  the  rice 
harvest  the  “  Moon  of  the  Ripe  Rice.” 

One  of  )ny  Indian  friends  always  brings  me  each  year 
a  pretty  birch-bark  basket  of  wild  rice,  giving  it  to  me 


OUR  XATIVE  GRASSES. 


215 


with  the  kindly  word.s,  spoken  in  lier  own  .soft  tongue, 
“  Present  for  yoii.” 

These  little  otfei-ings  are  very  sweet  to  me.  The)'  are 
genuine  tokens  of  simple  gratitude  and  aftection,  and  for 
which  I  never  ofter  any  payment,  knowing  it  woidd  l)e 
at  once  rejected,  for  the  rice  is  a  free-will  gift  and  there¬ 
fore  priceless. 

d'he  deer,  too,  feed  upon  the  rice  beds.  The  doe  leads 
down  her  fawn  to  the  lake,  and  the  sweet,  tender  grassy 
leaves  of  the  young  rice  are  eaten  eagerly  by  the  gentle 
creature.  In  the  season  countless  vdld-fowl  come  from 
the  colder  regions  of  the  north,  and  the  sportsmen  know 
their  fav'orite  feeding  beds  among  the  rice  fields  of  the 
inland  lakes. 

There  is  a  beautiful  chapter  on  “  Grass  ”  in  the  Rev. 
Hugh  McMillan’s  chai’ining  volume,  “  Bible  Teaching  in 
Nature,”  which  I  wish  everyone  could  read.  I  would 
gladly  transcribe  much  of  it,  but  would  not  thus  rob  mj' 
readers  of  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  the  book  for  them¬ 
selves.  A  few  words  only  I  mu.st  quote  here : 

“  Grass  forms  the  beautiful  and  appropriate  covering 
of  the  grave.  As  it  was  the  earth’s  first  blessing,  so  it 
is  her  last  legacy  to  man.  The  body  that  it  fed  when 
living,  it  reverently  covers  when  dead  with  a  garment 
richer  than  the  robe  of  a  king. 

“When  all  other  kiiidne.ss  in  food  and  clothino-  and 

o 

emblematical  teaching  is  over,  it  takes  up  its  Rizpah 
watch  beside  the  tomb,  and  foi-sakes  not  what  all  else 


216 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


has  forsaken.  Gently  does  it  wrap  up  the  ashes  of  the 
dead,  wreathing  like  a  laurel  crown  the  cold  damp  hrow 
with  its  interlacing  roots,  drawing  down  to  the  darkness 
and  solitude  of  the  grave  the  warm  bright  sunshine  and. 
blessed  dews  of  heaven.” 

There  is  many  an  unknown  grave  in  Canada  long 
deserted  and  forgotten.  In  the  early  days  of  the  colony 
the  settlers  were  wont  to  bury  their  dead  in  some  spot 
set  apart  as  a  family  burying-ground.  There  was  little 
attention  paid  to  the  rites  of  religion,  and  little  ceremony, 
for  the  dwellers  were  few,  and  their  houses  often  far 
apart — some  on  the  banks  of  lonely  forest  streams, 
others  near  the  great  lakes,  and  some  deep-seated  in  the 
heart  of  the  woods. 

A  prayer,  maybe  a  hymn  or  psalm,  a  mother’s  tears, 
and  tlien  the  grass  and  wild-flowers  took  possession  of 
tlie  grave  and  hallowed  it.  Rude  was  the  soil  and 
lonely  the  spot — a  rough  rail  enclosure,  a  surface  stone 
to  mark  where  lay  the  sleeper,  or  a  ci'oss  of  wood,  or  a 
name  rudely  cut  upon  the  living  bark  of  some  adjacent 
tree,  the  sole  memoi’ial  of  the  dead. 

The  lands  have  passed  away  from  the  families  of  the 
first  breakers  of  the  soil,  and  the  peaceful  dead  are 
neglected  in  their  lonely,  unmarked  resting-place.s, 
forgotten  by  man,  but  not  uncared  for  by  Redeeming 
Love. 


OUR  XATIVE  GRASSES. 


217 


THE  GRAVES  OF  THE  EMIGRAXTS. 


They  sleep  not  where  their  fathers  sleep, 
In  the  village  churchyard’s  bound ; 

They  rest  not  ’neath  the  ivied  wall 
That  shades  that  holy  ground  ; 

Nor  where  the  solemn  organ’s  peal 
Pours  music  on  the  breeze. 

Through  the  dim  aisles  at  evening  hour. 
Or  swells  among  the  trees ; 

Nor  where  the  turf  is  ever  green. 

And  dowers  are  blooming  fair 

Upon  the  graves  of  the  ancient  men 
Whose  children  rest  not  there  ; 

Nor  where  the  sound  of  warning  bell 
Floats  mournfully  on  high, 

And  tells  the  tale  of  human  woe, 

That  all  who  live  must  die. 

Where,  then,  may  rest  those  hardy  sons 
Who  left  their  native  shore 

To  seek  a  home  in  distant  lands 
Beyond  the  Atlantic’s  roar  ? 

They  sleep  in  many  a  lonely  spot 
Where  mighty  forests  grow, 

Where  stately  oak  and  lofty  pine 
Their  darkling  shadows  thr<jw. 

The  wild-bird  pours  her  matin  song 
Above  their  lonely  graves. 

And  far  away  in  the  stilly  night 
Is  heard  the  voice  of  waves. 


218 


PEARLS  AXD  PEBBLES. 


Fair  lilies,  nursed  By  weeping  dews, 
Unfold  their  blossoms  pale, 

And  spotless  snow-flowers  lightly  bend 
Low  to  the  jjassing  gale. 

The  fire-fly  lights  her  little  simrk 
To  cheer  the  leafy  gloom. 

Like  Hope’s  blest  ray  that  gilds  the  night 
And  darkness  of  the  tomb. 

Where  moss-grown  stone  or  simple  cross 
Its  silent  record  keeps. 

There,  deej)  within  the  forest  shade. 

The  lonely  exile  sleeps. 


INDIAN 


GRASS.* 


This  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  our  native 
^^rasses,  both  as  respects  its  appearance  and  habits  as 
well  as  the  use  the  Indian  women  make  of  it  in  the 
manufacture  of  all  sorts  of  ornamental  trifles  and  useful 
articles.  They  weave  its  long,  flexible  shining  dark 
green  leaves  into  baskets,  mats,  braids  and  many  other 
things.  As  I  write  I  have  before  me  a  cup  and  saucer 
neatly  and  skilfully  woven  together  in  one  piece  by  the 
dusky  fingers  of  an  Indian  squaw. 

The  Indian  grass  retains  its  color  for  a  long  time,  and 
its  fine  ai’omatic  perfume,  resembling  the  scent  of  vanilla, 
remains  for  many  years  after  it  is  cut  and  woven  into 
the  vai'ious  articles  made  from  it. 

*The  Indian  Grass,  commonly  so-called,  is  the  identical  “Holy  Grass” 
of  northern  Europe.  The  botanical  name  Hicrochloa  is  deri^’ed  from  the 
Greek  words  meaning  sacred  and  grass,  the  custom  of  strewing  churches 
and  other  sacred  buildings  with  this  fragrant  plant  giving  it  the  name.  It 
was  only  when  reading  Smiles’  “Memoirs  of  Robert  Dick  ”  (long  after  the 
above  was  written),  and  the  account  that  industrious  naturalist  gives  of 
this  plant,  that  I  instantly  recognized  it  as  the  same  found  in  Ontario  and 
used  by  the  Indian  women  in  their  work. 


■220 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Tliis  gra.s.s,  with  the  quills  of  the  porcupine  (which  the 
squaws  dye),  moose-hair,  the  hark  of  the  silver  or  white 
birch  and  the  inner  bark  of  various  other  trees — bass, 
cedar,  oak  and  beech — from  which  they  make  the 
coarser  baskets,  are  the  only  stock-in-trade  now  left  to 
the  poor  Indians. 

The  soil  in  which  the  Indian  grass  grows  is  for  the 
most  part  light,  sandy,  low  ground,  near  water,  so  the 
Indians  tell  me ;  but  it  is  also  found  in  prairie  lands, 
where  it  is  very  beautiful,  the  husk  or  plume  being  of 
a  purplish  color  and  very  bright  and  shining.  Under 
cultivation  it  is  very  shy  of  blossoming,  but  the  leaf 
attains  to  a  great  length.  In  my  own  garden  it  grows 
most  luxuriantly,  the  blade  often  measuring  nearly  three 
feet. 

It  breaks  the  ground  early  in  the  spring,  before  any 
other  grass  has  begun  to  show  itself  on  the  lawn.  Like 
the  spear-grass  it  has  a  ruiniing  root,  pointed  and  sharp, 
to  pierce  the  moist  soil,  and  is  hardy,  remaining  green 
and  bright  in  cold  or  in  summer  drought.  It  does  not 
give  out  its  perfume  until  a  few  hours  after  it  has  been 
cut.  One  of  its  useful  qualities  lies  in  its  toughness — it 
will  not  break  when  being  twisted  or  braided,  and  can 
even  be  knotted  or  tied — and  it  is  this  elasticity  which 

enables  the  Indian  women  to  make  it  so  available  in 

0 

their  manufactures. 

I  have  myself  used  it,  making  it  into  table  mats,  and 
find  it  pretty  and  useful  for  that  purpose.  I  used  to 


INDIAN  GRASS. 


221 


get  from  the  Indians  pretty  braided  cliains,  confined  at 
intervals  by  bands  or  rings  of  dyed  quills  or  beads. 
These  I  sent  home  to  England,  where  they  were  highly 
esteemed  for  the  work  and  the  sweet  scent  of  the  grass. 
One  of  these  chains  is  still  in  existence  and  has  lost 
little  of  its  fragrance. 

I  have  sometimes  suggested  that  the  ai'oma  might  he 
utilized  as  a  toilet  article  in  the  way  of  perfume. 

The  Indian  women  of  the  present  generation  are  much 
more  refined,  and  pay  more  attention  to  cleanliness  in 
their  habits  than  did  their  mothers  and  grandmothers. 
A  lady  who  was  returning  to  her  friends  in  England 
asked  me  to  procure  for  her  some  of  these  grass  chains. 
I  applied  to  an  Indian  woman,  who  readily  set  to  work 
to  supply  them,  seating  herself  under  one  of  the  trees  in 
the  grove  near  my  garden.  On  going  out  to  bring  her 
some  refreshment,  great  was  my  dismay  to  see  a  great 
length  of  the  grass  braid  wound  round  her  by  no  means 
delicately  clean  big  toe. 

When  I  protested  against  this  mode  of  proceeding, 
she  laughed  and  said,  “  Good  way,  hold  it  all  tight,  nice.” 

But  finding  that  I  made  great  objection  to  her  “  nice 
Avay  ”  of  holding  the  braiding,  she  stuck  a  sharp  stick 
into  the  ground,  and  fastened  the  coil  of  braid  round  it, 
and  seemed  convinced  that  this  way  was  “  nicer  ”  than 
tlie  other. 

8he  had  been  perfectly  unconscious  that  there  was 
anything  objectionable  in  her  original  mode  of  weaving 


222 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


tlie  lady’s  chain  until  I  pointed  out  its  impropriety, 
ddien  she  perceived  it,  and  laugliing,  said,  “  Dirty  foot, 
not  nice.” 

The  good-natured  squaw  took  no  offence  with  me 
for  my  disapproval  of  her  primitive  way  of  working. 
Gentle,  patient,  accustomed  to  be  ruled  from  childhood, 
the  Indian  woman  bears,  suffers  and  submits  without 
complaint. 

Many  a  gentle  Christian  character  have  I  known 
among  the  Indian  women  of  the  .  Rice  Lake  and  Mud 
Lake  villages,  not  unworthy  of  the  name  of  the  Master 
whose  teachings  they  so  meekly  followed. 

The  men  die  out,  leaving  widows  and  helpless  children 
to  be  maintained.  No  one  seems  to  care  for  the  wants 
of  the  poor  Indians  beyond  the  officials  whose  part  it  is 
to  carry  out  the  regulations  from  the  Indian  Department 
of  the  Government  in  their  behalf.  But  there  seems  to 
be  a  lack  of  sympathy  shown  to  these  poor  people. 
They  endure  sickness  and  hunger,  and  suffer  many  trials 
in  silence,  never  appealing  for  charity  at  any  of  the 
public  institutions  or  private  societies  so  long  as  they 
can  work.  The  Indian  will  trade  for  bread,  |but  rarely 
ever  asks  for  it ;  he  has  a  pride  of  his  own,  peculiar  to 
his  race. 

He  is  not  ungenerous  by  nature — indeed,  an  Indian 
loves  to  give  little  marks  of  his  gratitude  when  kindly 
treated. 

“  Present  for  you,”  the  squaw  will  say,  laying  beside 


INDIAN  GRASS. 


223 


your  pnrcliase  a  tiny  canoe,  a  basket  of  birch  bark,  or 
some  other  trifle,  and  when  money  is  offered  in  return 
she  says,  “  Xo,  no,  no — for  love  of  kindness  to  me.” 

Tliere  is  something  kindly  in  the  Indian’s  nature.  I 
like  the  woi’ds  they  close  their  letters  with, 

“  I  kiss  you  in  my  heart. 

From  your  Indian  friend.” 

The  Indian  women  outlive  the  men.  Their  quiet, 
peaceful  temper,  .sobriety  and  industrious  habits  may 
account  for  this  fact ;  but  the  men  have  not  the  same 
resources  and  are  not  in  their  natural  state.  Their 
spirit  seems  broken,  and  they  become  slow  and  inactive, 
and  pine  away^  early.  Change  of  habit  from  the  old 
out-of-door  life  of  the  hunter  and  trapper  preying  upon 
them,  they  die  under  the  restrictive  laws  of  civilization, 
and  in  another  century  it  will  be  asked  where  is  the 
remnant  of  the  native  race  ?  and  but  that  the  dark  eve, 
black  hair  and  dusky  skin  may  be  traced  in  a  few 
scattered  individuals,  it  may  be  doubted  if  they  ever 
existed  or  had  left  any  descendants  in  the  land. 


MOSSES  AND  LICHENS. 


I  FEAR  my  readers  may  turn  over  these  few  pages  and 
regard  the  subjects  as  things  of  little  worth — mosses  and 
lichens,  dry,  uninteresting  objects  that  we  tread  under 
our  feet  or  pass  by  without  giving  them  a  second  glance 
— and  place  them  among  the  rough  “  Pebbles,”  not  the 
choice  “  Pearls  ”  of  my  collection. 

Uninviting  and  trivial  as  the  subject  may  be  to  many, 
I  am  confident  that  to  the  true  lover  of  Nature  they 
will  not  be  without  their  interest,  and  may  possibly 
direct  attention  to  a  world  of  beauty  which  has 
hitherto  escaped  his  notice. 

The  lichens,  the  fungi  and  the  mosses  were  probably 
the  earliest  forms  of  vegetable  life.  Before  the  grasses 
and  small  herbs  these  may  have  been  created  as  a 
promise  of  what  should  clothe  the  young  earth  with 
verdure.  The  sea-weeds  {Algoe)  may,  indeed,  have 
preceded  them,  and  we  might  call  them,  not  inaptly,  the 


MOSSES  AND  LICHENS. 


225 


mosses  of  the  seas,  and  place  them  at  the  head  (as  they 
are  by  right  of  priority)  of  this  world  of  vegetation. 

The  most  attractive  of  our  mosses  grow  in  the  shadiest, 
thickest  of  our  woods,  where,  at  the  foot  of  some  huge 
maple,  ash  or  elm,  in  the  rich  damp  vegetable  mould,  you 
will  find  one  of  the  handsomest  and  largest,  the  Hypnum 
splendevs ;  or,  it  may  be,  forming  a  miniature  forest  on 
the  decaying  trunk  of  one  of  the  prostrate  giants  of  the 
wood,  where  it  spreads  its  feathery  fan-shaped  fronds, 
liiranchlets  which  spring  from  a  somewhat  stiff  and  wiry 
stem,  each  set  apparently  denoting  the  product  of  a 
year’s  growth. 

The  foliage  of  these  fan-shaped  fronds  is  soft,  much 
divided,  and  fringed  with  minute  silky  hairs.  The  older 
plants  are  of  a  darker  hue,  with  a  purplish  shade  in  the 
centre.  This  adds  much  to  the  beauty  of  its  appearance, 
and  serves  to  distinguish  this  fine  moss  from  the  other 
species. 

The  Hypnum  splendens  is,  I  think,  of  perennial 
growth,  as  many  specimens  show  the  decayed  fronds  of 
former  years.  I  have  counted  as  many  as  nine  on  the 
same  stem,  besides  the  fresh  green  ones. 

The  capsules  containing  the  sporules  or  seed  appear 
on  long  slender  stems,  not  more  than  two  at  the  base  of 
each  of  the  fronds.  This  moss  extends  by  roots  as  well 
as  by  the  seed. 

The  wood  moss  {Hypnum  trignetram)  is  coarser 
and  more  bushy,  and  though  more  striking  in  appear- 


226 


PEAKLS  A.XD  PEBBLES. 


ance,  is  not  wanting  in  the  peculiar  grace  of  outline 
which  is  so  attractive  in  Hy'pnum  sjylendens. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  the  larger  and  more 
conspicuous  plants  of  the  moss  tribe  are  less  distin¬ 
guished  by  their  fruitage  than  the  smaller  ones,  some  of 
which,  lowly,  tiny,  insignificant  as  to  size,  attract  the 
eye  by  the  bright  array  of  shining  capsules  displaying 
rich  tints  of  red  and  brown,  fawn  or  orange  color.  Very 
lovely  these  tiny  cups  look  contrasted  with  the  various 
shades  of  green,  pale  straw  color,  deep  purplish-bronze, 
grey,  silvery-white,  or  whatever  the  prevailing  color  of 
the  moss  may  be. 

There  seems  to  be  no  end  to  the  number  and  variety 
of  species  of  inosses  that  are  to  be  found,  whether  in  the 
deep  shade  of  the  primeval  forest,  in  swampy  fens  or 
bogs,  in  the  water,  floating  and  waving  as  the  wind 
moves  the  surface,  in  the  crevices  of  rocks  where  a  little 
soil  sustains  them,  or  on  the  rugged  stone  which  tliey 
clothe,  as  if  to  kindly  hide  the  rough,  bare  surface. 

No  soil  so  bari’en,  no  desert  so  dry,  but  some  kind  of 
moss  will  find  a  spot  where,  it  niay  grow  and  flourish, 
take  root  and  display  its  tufts  of  verdure,  its  rosy  stems 
and  capsules. 

Look  at  this  forest  of  red  stalks,  each  crowned  witli  a 
shining  cap.  The  leaf  is  so  minute  you  can  hardly 
distinguish  it,  but  the  fruit  is  bright  and  beautiful.  The 
soil  is  hard  and  arid,  incapable  of  supporting  anything 
save  this  Red  IVIass  (Ceratodon  2>uvpuveus). 


MOSSES  AND  LICHENS, 


227 


“  It  drinks  heaven’s  dew  as  blithe  as  rose 
That  in  the  King’s  own  garden  grows.” 

It  has  indeed  a  oreat  capacity  for  moisture,  rain,  snow 
and  dew,  which  appears  to  be  the  only  food  of  the 
mosses  that  grow  on  desert  lands.  There  is  the  tiny 
Bryum  argenteum,  and  others  of  the  same  genus,  which 
take  possession  of  the  least  inviting  soil,  slate  roofs,  dry 
thatch,  sapless  wood  and  hard  clay  banks  where  nothing 
else  will  grow. 

All  the  species  of  this  family  are  not  so  small.  Some 
are  conspicuous  for  their  fine  coloring,  such  as  the 
Bryum  roseuin,  one  not  uncommonly  met  with  in  the 
forest.  Clusters  of  these  may  be  found  deeply  nested 
in  old  decayed  logs  among  a  variety  of  Hypnums  and 
Dicranums.  Their  deep  green  leafy  rosettes,  in  shape 
like  miniature  roses,  form  a  decided  contrast  to  the 
sister  mosses  and  grey  lichens,  and  if  it  chance  to  be  the 
fruiting  season,  there  is  an  added  charm  in  the  varied 
colors ;  for  rising  from  the  cap-like  centre  of  the  crown 
of  the  plant  are  from  three  to  five  hair- like  stems  about 
an  inch  in  height,  of  a  reddish  color,  almost  semi¬ 
transparent,  bearing  a  capsule  blunt  on  the  apex  and  a 
little  curved  downward  at  the  neck.  This  cap  is  orange- 
red,  and  looks  as  if  it  were  a  chalice  filled  to  the  brim 
with  some  choice  wine  or  andjer-tinted  fluid. 

This  curious  vessel  is  closely  sealed  by  a  lid  which, 
when  the  contents  are  ripe,  is  lifted  and  the  fine  seed  or 
sporules  are,  poured  out.  This  fruitful  Bryum  is  sexsile 


228 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


grows  close  to  the  ground,  and  extends  largely  by  means- 
of  its  root-stalk,  which  sends  up  many  shoots,  each  bud 
forming  a  little  leafy  deep  green  cup. 

A  singularly  handsome,  tree-like  variety  is  the  Palm- 
Tree  Moss  {Climacium  Americanum),  but  it  is  not  a 
member  of  the  Bryum  family,  being  distinct  from  it  both 
in  habit  and  appeai'ance. 

The  appropriate  name  of  Palm  Tree  Moss  is  derived 
from  its  plumy  head ;  the  stem  is  often  more  than  an 
inch  high,  bearing  on  its  summit  a  drooping  crown  of 
elegant  feathery  fronds,  from  the  midst  of  which  ascend 
slender  thready  stalks  bearing  the  long  cylindrical  pale- 
red  capsules. 

When  growing  in  the  rich  damp  soil  of  the  shady 
woods  the  full-grown  specimens  are  bright  green,  but  in 
wet  spongy  places,  exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  the- 
plants  take  a  bronze  color,  are  stunted  and  thick-set,, 
and  have  not  the  graceful  appearance  of  those  nurtured 
in  the  forest. 

One  of  the  most  elegant  of  the  somewhat  stilSy  gi’ow- 
ing  mosses  is  the  Dicranum  secundum,  which  is  of  a 
slenderer  habit  than  the  Dicranum  scoparium.  In  it 
the  hair-like  leafage  is  more  scattered  and  borne  on  one 
side  only.  There  are  many  species,  and  they  are  to  be 
found  in  many  places:  some  in  damp  woodlands,  on  logs^ 
or  on  the  ground;  some  on  gneiss  rocks  and  hillsides, 
forming  thick  level  beds  of  velvety  green,  very  bright 
and  lovely,  the  dark  capsules  giving  a  fringe-like  grace- 


MOSSES  AND  LICHENS. 


229 


to  the  moss,  relieving  its  nnifoi'inity  and  adding  to  the 
general  effect. 

On  bare  rugged  rocks,  dead  wood  and  barren  soil,  a 
patch  of  silvery  brightness  catches  the  eye,  and  involun¬ 
tarily  we  stop  a  moment  to  inspect  one  of  the  hardy 
little  mosses  of  the  wayside,  the  Bryum  argenteum.  It 
is  so  named  from  its  silvery  sheen,  the  brightness  of  its 
tiny  capsules  and  the  minuteness  of  its  very  inconspicu¬ 
ous  foliage.  It  is  the  very  least  of  the  Bryums,  yet  the 
most  fruitful ;  the  little  silvery  caps  are  so  close  together 
that  they  form  a  shining  host,  and  many  a  rugged  spot 
is  adorned  and  made  attractive  by  them. 

Perhaps  it  was  some  such  insignificant  moss  as  our 
Bryum  argenteum  that  brought  strength  and  comfort 
to  the  weary  heart  of  the  lonely  African  missionary, 
Mungo  Park.  Alone  in  the  desert,  despairing  of  all 
human  aid,  he  had  sunk  down,  and  like  the  Hebrew 
prophet  of  old  Avas  ready  to  cry  out,  “  It  is  better  to  die 
than  to  live!”  when  his  eye  chanced  to  rest  upon  a  little 
plant  beside  him,  and  attracted  by  its  beauty,  he  argued 
thus  within  himself :  “  If  the  great  Creator  has  thus 
preserved  and  nourished  this  little  plant  with  the  dew 
from  heaven,  and  protected  its  helpless  form  so  frail 
from  injury,  will  He  not  also  care  for  one  for  whom 
Christ  died  ?  ”  and  rising  from  the  arid  desert  he  once 
more  pui’sued  his  journey,  strengthened  by  the  sight  of 
that  simple  desert  plant. 

When  these  hardy  little  Hypnums  and  Bryums^ 
16 


230 


PEARLS  AXD  PEBBLES. 


■decay,  they  leave  to  their  successors  a  sandy  soil,  pai't 
of  which  has  been  won  from  the  hard  rock  on  which 
they  had  found  an  abiding-place,  their  tiny,  wedge-like 
Toots  having  forced  apart  the  surface  of  the  limestone 
or  gneiss  rock,  taking  to  themselves  minute  particles  of 
the  sterner  material,  thus  foi’cing  its  strength  to  yield  to 
their  weakness.  This  is  another  proof  of  the  wisdom  of 
the  Almighty  God,  who  “  willeth  the  weak  things  of  the 
world  and  those  that  have  no  power  to  overcome  the 
strong,  and  the  base  things  of  the  world  and  the  things 
that  are  despised  hath  He  chosen  to  bidng  to  nought 
things  that  are.” 

Look  now  at  this  beautiful  Feather  Moss  {Hypnum 
tamariscinum).  Each  frond  is  like  a  green  plume, 
hence  its  descriptive  name.  Like  Hypnum  splendens 
it  seems  to  be  perennial,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the 
rather  wiry  stem  bearing  many  divisions  in  the  form  of 
branchlets. 

The  plants  of  the  first  3"ear’s  growth  are  single  fronds, 
not  branched,  and  it  is  the  older  and  more  matured 
that  bear  the  long  slender  fruit-stalk  and  fine  capsules 
containing  the  seed.  There  ai-e  seldom  more  than  two 
to  each  of  the  lower  pairs  of  leafy  divisions.  This 
species  increases  more  b}^  roots  than  by  seed,  as  is  the 
case  with  man}''  of  the  larger  mosses,  and  retains  its 
color  well  when  pressed  and  mounted  in  the  herbarium. 

I  consider  the  most  satisfactory  method  of  preserving 
the  mosses  is  ta  wash  them  thoroughly,  no  matter  how 


I 


MOSSES  AND  LICHENS.  231 

you  do  it — squeeze  them  well  (they  are  very  elastic  and 
come  all  right  however  I’oughly  you  handle  them);  then 
pick  out  such  pieces  as  you  wish  to  preserve,  press  the 
moisture  from  them  with  rag  or  blotting  paper,  old 
towel  or  any  soft  thing  of  the  kind,  and  when  pretty 
well  dried,  with  a  small  brush  and  a  little  paste  arrange 
them  in  a  blank  book  or  album  of  good  stout  paper. 
Always  obtain  the  seed  vessels,  if  possible,  as  it  is  by 
this  particular  organ  of  fructification  that  the  family 
and  ditterent  species  are  recognized. 

A  well-arranged  book  of  mosses  becomes  a  charming 
thing  to  inspect,  and  if  the  collector  is  fortunate  in 
having  a  friend  who  is  a  botanist  and  who  will  help 
him  to  name  his  specimens,  he  will  have  a  treasure-book 
of  very  lovely  objects  to  remind  him  of  pleasant  times 
spent  in  forest,  swamp  or  field — a  memento  of  wayside 
wanderings  of  days  gone  by,  when  the  discovery  of  some 
new  plant  or  moss  or  lichen  was  a  source  of  pure  and 
innocent  delight,  unalloyed  by  the  experiences  and  cares 
of  after-life  among  his  fellowmen  in  the  hurry  and 
strife  of  the  busy  world. 


THE  INDIAN  MOSS-BAG. 


Besides  the  use  which  is  made  of  the  white  peat  moss 
by  the  nurserymen  and  the  gardeners,  there  is  one  which 
I  will  describe,  as  it  will  be  new  to  those  of  my  readers 
who  are  not  acquainted  with  the  interior  of  the  North- 
West  Indians’  wigwams,  and  the  way  the  Indian  mothers 
nurse  and  care  for  their  babies. 

The  Indian  moss-bag  takes  the  place  of  the  cot  or 
cradle — I  might  add,  of  the  rocking-chair,  also,  so 
indispensable  in  our  nurseries.  It  is  simply  formed  of 
a  piece  of  cloth,  or  more  usually  of  dressed  doe-skin, 
about  two  feet  in  length,  shaped  wider  at  the  upper  part 
and  narrower  below.  The  sides  are  pierced  with  holes 
in  order  that  they  may  be  laced  together  with  a  leather 
thong.  On  this  skin  is  laid  a  soft  bed  of  the  dried  moss, 
and  the  papoose  (the  Indian  name  for  baby)  is  placed 
upon  it,  its  hands  and  arms  carefully  disposed  at  its 
sides  and  the  little  legs  and  feet  sti’aight  down  and 
wrapped  .n  a  bit  of  fur,  so  that  the  tiny  toes  can  feel  no 
cold.  The  end  of  the  bag  is  then  folded  over  at  the 
other  end,  turned  up  and  the  sides  laced  together.. 


THE  INDIAN  MOSS-BAi». 


233 


Nothing  of  baby  is  seen  but  its  face  and  head.  The 
black  head  and  bead-like  black  eyes  look  veiy  funny 
peering  out  of  the  moss-bag.  I  forgot  to  mention  that 
;are  is  taken  to  support  the  back  of  the  babe’s  head  by 
a  pillow  of  the  moss,  the  back  portion  of  the  bag  being 
left  a  little  higher  than  the  front  for  that  purpose. 

A  strong  loop  of  braided  bark  or  of  finely-cut  stidps 
of  doe-skin  is  attached  to  the  moss-bag,  by  which  the 
primitive  cradle  may  be  suspended  to  the  branch  of  a 
tree  or  to  a  peg  in  the  wall  of  the.  lodge  or  house,  or  be 
passed  over  the  mother’s  forehead  when  travelling  or 
moving  from  place  to  place  with  Mie  child  on  her  back. 

The  infant  seems  perfectly  at  ease  and  contented. 
Of  course,  it  is  released  at  times  during  the  day  and 
allowed  to  stretch  its  limbs  on  its  mother’s  lap  or  on  the 
floor  of  the  lodge,  where  a  blanket  or  skin  of  some  wild 
animal  is  spread  for  it  to  lie  upon. 

So  accustomed  are  the  children  to  this  original  cradle- 
bed  that  when  able  to  creep  they  will  voluntarily 
seek  for  it  and  dispose  themselves  to  sleep,  fretting  if 
debarred  from  being  put  to  rest  in  it. 

Not  only  is  this  papoose  cradle  in  use  among  the 
Indians,  but  in  the  nurseries  of  the  white  settlers  as 
well,  and  gi-eat  taste  and  skill  is  shown  in  the  material 
of  which  they  are  made.  Beautiful  patterns  in  needle¬ 
work  are  wrought  with  silk,  moose  hair  and  beads  ly 
the  ladies  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  to  ornament 
their  moss-bags. 


234 


PEARLS  AXD  PEBBLES. 


When  older,  the  arms  of  the  children  are  allowed 
to  he  free,  and  great  care  is  taken  to  keep  the  little 
ones  bright  and  happy. 

The  North-West  papoose  cradles  are  much  better 
than  those  of  our  Ontario  Indians,  which  ai-e  generally 
made  of  thin  board  or  bark*  while  any  sort  of  rags  or 
blanket  forms  the  bed  for  the  babe.  The  squaw,  when 
entering  a  house,  will  just  slip  the  loop  from  her  head 
and  stick  the  cradle  up  against  the  wall,  with  very  little 
care  for  the  poor  prisoner,  who  rarely  cries,  but  peeps 
out  from  its  shock  of  black  hair  perfectly  contented  to 
remain  a  silent  spectator  of  the  novelties  by  which  it 
may  be  surrounded. 

The  mother  often  has  a  pad  attached  to  the  strap  of, 
the  cradle,  to  prevent  its  sharp  edges  hurting  her  fore¬ 
head  when  carrying  the  child  in  this  way. 

Now,  it  strikes  me  that  our  British  ancestry  may 
have  been  nursed  in  just  such  a  fashion  as  that  of 
the  North-West  Indian  moss-bag.  You  know  the  old 
nursery  lullaby  song : 

“  Rock-a-by,  baby,  on  the  tree  top. 

When  the  wind  blows  the  cradle  will  rock. 

When  the  bough  breaks  the  cradle  will  fall. 

Then  down  conies  cradle  and  baby  and  all.” 

This  ditty  is  as  old  as  any  of  the  ancient  chronicles, 
handed  down  from  age  to  age  verbatim  by  nursing 
mothers  of  ancient  days,  a  history  in  rhyme  of  how  our 
ancestors  were  cradled. 


SOMETHING  GATHERS  UP  THE 
FRAGMENTS. 


“  Something  gathers  up  the  fragments,  and  nothing  is  lost.” 

— -Fourcrois’  Chemistry . 

These  striking  words,  so  suggestive  of  the  wise  economy 
of  the  great  Creator  of  the  uni\'erse,  are  simply  a  para¬ 
phrase  of  the  words  of  the  Lord  Jesus  given  to  His 
disciples  after  the  miraculous  feast  of  the  hungry 
multitude  on  the  grassy  slopes  of  Palestine,  “  Gather  up 
the  broken  pieces  which  remain  over  and  above,  that 
nothing  be  lost”  (.John  vi.  13,  Revised  Version) — words 
which  we  are  apt  to  read  without  entering  fully  into 
their  meaning. 

We  think  only  of  their  obvious  import  that  no  waste 
of  provisions  should  be  allowed,  that  even  the  fragments 
should  be  gathered  up  and  made  use  of  for  ourselves  or 
for  the  poor,  but  the  old  French  chemist’s  eyes  were 
opened  to  see  a  wider  and  deeper  meaning  in  the  Lord’s 
words. 


236 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


He  saw  that  in  Nature,  from  the  greatest  to  the 
smallest  thing,  there  is  no  waste.  Unseen  and  unnoticed 
by  us,  every  atom  has  its  place  and  its  part  to  fulfil. 
Nothing  is  lost.  In  God’s  economy  we  trace  this  fact 
everywhere. 

The  waves  of  the  mighty  ocean  are  kept  back  by  the 
atoms  of  sand  worn  down  from  the  lofty  hills  and  rocks 
by  the  action  of  the  winds  and  rains  and  frosts  of  past 
ages.  The  minute  particles  are  brought  down  by  melted 
snows  of  the  avalanche  to  the  rivers,  and  by  the  rivers 
to  the  seas.  The  ocean  waves  bear  these  sands,  mingled 
with  their  waters,  to  lay  them  softly  down  on  the  shore, 
there  to  form  a  barrier  ag-ainst  their  own  encroachments, 
unconsciously  fulfilling  the  dictates  of  their  mighty 
Creator’s  command,  “  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  but  no 
further;  and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed.” 

Atom  by  atom  were  the  lofty  hills  built  up  ;  atom  by 
atom  are  they  laid  low.  By  slow  but  constant  action 
they  perform  the  great  work  of  keeping  back  the 
advance  of  the  mighty  waves  of  the  ocean  and  forming- 
new  land. 

Chemistry  presents  many  wonderful  examples  of  the 
changes  effected  by  certain  combinations  known  to  the 
scientific  searchers  into  the  mysteries  of  Nature,  but  such 
things  are  out  of  the  sphere  of  my  limited  knowledge. 

Let  us  rather  go  into  the  forests,  where  we  may  realize, 
not  less  fox-cibly,  the  truth  of  the  words,  “  Something- 
gathers  up  the  fra'gments,  and  nothing-  is  lost.” 


SOMETHING  GATHERS  UP  THE  FRAGMENTS.  237 


The  depths  of  the  forest  present  to  the  eye  of  the 
traveller  a  scene  of  tangled  confusion.  Here  fallen 
trees,  with  upturned  roots,  lie  prosti’ate  on  the  ground  ; 
branchless,  leafless,  decaying  trunks,  unsightly  to  the 
eye ;  beds  of  blackened  leaves ;  shattei’ed  boughs, 
whitened  and  grey  with  fungous  growth  ;  naked  stems 
ready  to  fall,  their  barkless  wood  graven  with  many 
fantastic  traceries,  the  work  of  the  various  insect  larvie 
that  have  sheltered  therein  their  nurseries  while  the 
tree  was  yet  living  and  strong.  A  thousand  forms  of 
vegetable  life  are  below,  filling  up  the  vacant  places  of 
the  soil. 

In  the  silence  of  that  lonely  leafy  wilderness  there  is 
active,  sentient  life — nothing  is  idle,  nothing  stands  still ; 
instead  of  waste  and  confusion  we  shall  find  all  these 
things  are  working  out  the  will  of  the  Creator. 

“  Disorder — order  unperceived  by  thee ; 

All  chance — direction  which  thou  can.st  not  see.” 

Here  lies  one  of  the  old  giants  of  the  forest  at  our 
feet.  Take  heed  how  you  step  upon  it.  By  its  huge 
size  and  the  pile  of  rifted  bark  beside  it  one  judges  it 
must  have  had  a  growth  of  two  hundred  years,  drinking 
in  the  rain  and  the  dews,  and  being  fed  by  the  gases 
that  float  unseen  in  the  atmosphere.  The  earth  had 
sustained  it  year  after  year,  giving  strength  and  support 
to  the  mighty  trunk  from  its  store  of  mineral  substance 
thi-ouo-h  the  network  of  cable-like  roots  and  fibres. 


238 


PEAELS  AND  PEBBLES. 


Never  idle  were  those  vegetable  miners,  always  digging 
materials  from  the  dark  earth  to  add  power  and  sub¬ 
stance  to  the  tree,  hour  by  hour  building  up  its  wonder¬ 
ful  structure,  taking  and  selecting  only  such  particles  as 
were  suited  to  increase  the  woody  fibre  and  add  to  the 
particular  qualities  of  the  tree,  whether  it  be  oak,  or  ash, 
or  maple,  or  the  majestic  pine. 

But  while  the  tree  had  been  receiving,  it  had  also 
year  by  year  been  giving  back  to  earth  and  air,  in  an 
altered  state,  something  that  it  did  not  require  for  itself. 
It  had  given  back  to  the  earth  fresh  matter,  in  the  form 
of  leaves,  decayed  branches  and  effete  bark  and  fruitful 
seed.  It  had  purified  and  changed  the  gases  that  it  had 
first  inhaled,  and  deprived  them  of  the  properties  that 
were  injurious  to  animal  life.  Something  had  gathered 
up  the  fragments  that  had  been  thrown  off ;  thei*e  had 
been  change,  but  not  loss. 

Now,  let  us  look  more  closely  at  the  surface  of  this 
fallen  tree  as  it  lies  before  us,  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground. 

It  is  covered  with  variegated  mosses,  soft  as  piled 
velvet,  but  far  moi*e  lovely.  Here  on  the  mouldering 
old  wood  are  miniature  forests,  Hypnums,  Dicranmns, 
Bryums,  with  many  lichens  of  the  tenderest  hues,  grey, 
yellow  or  brown  deepening  to  red,  and,  it  may  be,  some 
brilliant  fungus  of  goi’geous  scarlet  or  cardinal  red,  fawn 
or  gold,  exquisite  in  form  or  in  coloring,  contrasting 
richly  with  the  green  of  the  mosses. 


SOMETHING  GATHEKS  UP  THE  FRAGMENTS. 


239 


Possibly  some  reader  will  raise  the  question,  Of 
what  service  can  all  these  decavincr  trees  and  their  cov- 
erings  of  mosses,  lichens  and  fungi  be  to  man  ?  They 
have  their  uses,  as  we  shall  find  if  we  examine  the  sub¬ 
ject  more  closely,  and  notice  the  effects  produced. 

The  floating  germs  of  vegetable  life,  the  seeds  or 
spores  of  the  lichens  and  mosses,  falling  on  the  surface 
of  the  fallen  timber,  find  a  soil  suited  to  the  peculiar 
reijuirements  and  development  of  their  organisms. 
These  minute  vegetable  growths  are  similar  to  those 
seen  growing  upon  old  rails  and  stumps  and  dry  walls, 
and  which  anyone  ignorant  of  their  nature  might  think 
part  of  the  substance  to  which  they  adhere,  instead 
of  living  plants  as  the  cryptograms  all  are.  Simple 
plants,  I'epresenting  the  earlier  forms  of  vegetation  in 
the  world’s  history,  worthy  are  they  of  reverence  and 
adoration.  These  and  others  like  them  might  be  called 
the  grey  fathers  of  the  vegetable  kingdom. 

As  the  lichens  decay  they  give  place  to  the  mosses, 
and  these,  as  they  increase,  send  down  their  wedge¬ 
like  roots  between  the  fifssures  of  the  bark,  penetrating 
into  the  tissue  of  the  wood,  already  softened  by  the 
decomposition  of  the  former  occupants.  The  dew,  the 
showers,  the  frosts  and  snows  of  winter,  falling  upon 
the  sponge -like  mosses,  fill  them  with  moisture,  in¬ 
vigorate  them  and  increase  them  till  they  form  thick 
mats  that  hide  the  surface  of  tlie  wood. 

Some  of  these  mosses,  as  we  have  seen,  are  not  mere 


240 


PEARLS  AND  PEBBLES. 


annuals,  but,  like  the  Hypnuvi  splendens  and  others 
among  the  hair-cap  mosses,  are  perennial. 

Let  us  raise  the  thick  mat  of  velvety  mosses  that  are 
so  minute  and  so  closely  packed.  It  presents  a  uniform 
smooth  surface,  and  it  seems  a  pity  to  disturb  it  in  its 
beauty,  but  we  would  look  beneath  and  see  what  its 
work  has  been  during  the  past  years. 

A  bed  of  rich  black  friable  mould,  the  residue  of  the 
annual  decomposition  of  these  tiny  mosses,  meets  the 
eye  ;  below  that  mould  we  find  layers  of  decaying  wood, 
a  loose  network  of  fibrous  matter.  The  cellular  tissues 
have  disappeared,  and  with  the  least  pressure  of  hand 
or  foot  the  whole  fabric  falls  into  a  powdery  mass. 

The  very  heart  of  the  wood  has  yielded  up  its  strength 
and  hardness  under  the  influences  of  the  agencies  brought 
to  bear  upon  it.  A  few  more  years  and  that  fallen  tree 
will  be  no  more  seen.  The  once  mighty  tree,  with  the 
mosses  and  lichens  alike,  will  have  returned  their  sub¬ 
stance  to  Mother  Earth.  “Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.” 

The  little  plants  that  penetrated  to  the  heart  of  the 
vegetable  giant  of  the  woods  have  done  their  work,  and 
are  no  more  needed.  The  gases  have  been  set  free  and 
restored  to  the  atmosphere. 

Let  us  sum  up  the  work  and  see  its  results.  The 
elements  and  the  wood  of  the  tree  have  fed  the  lichens 
and  mosses.  The  mosses  have  been  a  warm  shelterinsr 
home  for  myriads  of  insect  larvm,  which  have  gathered 
up  many  fragments  during  their  infant  state,  all  tending 


SOMETHING  GATHERS  UP  THE  FRAGMENTS. 


241 


to  reduce  the  wood  to  the  earthy  condition  which 
should  enter  into  other  forms.  Then  comes  man,  a 
settler  in  the  forest  wilderness,  a  stranger  and  an 
emigrant  from  a  far-off  land.  Coming  to  make  himself 
a  home,  he  must  cut  down  the  living  trees  and  clear  the 
ground  with  axe  and  fire.  He  sows  the  wheat  and  corn 
upon  the  rich  black  vegetable  mould,  but  he  may  not 
think  that  he  owes  much  of  its  fertility  to  the  unseen, 
insignificant  agents  that  for  unnumbered  ages,  under 
the  direction  of  the  infinite  God,  have  been  preparing 
the  ground  to  receive  the  grain  for  the  life-sustaining 
bread  for  himself  and  his  children. 

Thus  we  see  that  by  the  heavenly  Father’s  order, 
“  Something  gathers  up  the  fragments,  and  nothing  is 
lost.” 

“  Whoso  is  wise,  and  will  observe  these  things,  even 
they  shall  understand  the  lovingkindness  of  the  Lord.”^ 
(Psa.  cvii.  43.) 


THE  END. 


'•/■  .*  V.V  -  ,''■;-  '  t,  ^  •'  . 

'.‘Vv  '■  \  -  '  >■''  ■  ■>  S'  '■'■  ^  J  •  ■■  /  1  '"i  ’  * 

■V.v  .,■  J, .  .A-  y  s  '  1.  .  .  '  ■'-  .‘'.J'' 

■-  ■  ■  :■  '  rr;''  '■  >  : ' ' 

A'  . . 


.(V  V' 

>  ■'  ii 


H.  ■:  *'■ '  '■■  '  ■« .  •  * 

W;-  '  S:;’  ^ 

V  .'  ■*<•  .t  '  •.  ,-  i  ■  •  ii 

.  ,  An  i  ‘  . 


I 


•-  ,  '.  M 


"V  '  .  ■  iii 


'■  ♦’i. 


,.-  / 


--  •  .  *  /•  ..  V  .  S  1.^ 

■/■  '.  '_  •  -  -.^  ■  ( 

'  ■  '.t  .*  jr-- '  '  •  «  ,4*' t  S  - 


*  _^v  --•  '-.  '  -'y 

y \  ~  r**  *' 

* 

.1  ■'> 


\ftJ-  , . 


^  A’  > '  • 


I 


-v 

V  If 


/.,■,/  ■  ,.  •/.  ’  ■  i;' 

'/AS'...','  .  ■  !V'  ■•  ;  .•■V,.  .  '■  /  •, 


''•  '  •  •  '\~ i  .  •/  ‘  ’  ^  • 

I:'  •>'  I  - 


,  *V  1^  *  .  .  " 


•I  « 
« 

‘  4 


T  \ 


.-rA'  .  ■•>.;  o  :■■  I 


. .'  -■*  ./■  '>. 


I. 


;.;V '  '•''' 


•< 


•.  ^  */n 


•■?••■  •> 


’’s. 


■  sV  I  ■ '  * 


t  •*-  ' 


- .  ■  'A, 


*.  ‘  I-. 


,  V 


.-'1 


■  •  ■;  ■>■  ' 

/vi.V  v',  V  „■  .  :  • 

>  A  •’  .j  ^  'V'  •  ' 

“  ■  '  '■ .'  7 


/ 

I 

w  » 


Vo 


( 


'•  .  / 


i,y  • 

\ 


,,AV  ,  .-.  .,•,•.•  •  ,  .. 

^ '  ,  ••  '  .■  '.Vs-.' •‘.'i  '  ,'  -m  sA." 


i 

'  i-  ' 


■  tiA  ,  |A  . .  .  4 


» '  1 

*  *  .1 


'  ^  J . 


I 


•  .  ^  ^.r  ^ 


5  A 


--  V's 


‘  V 'f  '  *’■ 
^  vii'/  -  •'*•%. 

I  ■i.\\  /i  ’ 


\ 


‘  n'  .  •  t  /  J  <  ' 

A  1  ■».»■';•  -  ,  N  • 


’  .i;  ...  ".An  ..  "  .  ■ 

ii 


^  r. 


s.  ..,■>■,•  ,Vns 

•'•'  'i  '"'-S-  ':■.>•>< 

k  **;•  4.  .  t  ' 

,  ■'.  •,.  ;'•  *■  *‘  '  ' 

s  r-  i'  ■  '.}■  ■'<  / 

*■  ■  ■/'■  j'i*  ' 

•V.*.-'-  •.  4.'' 


‘  -k  •.  :  J 


'  V- 


f 


•N. 


i  ‘ 


/  *. 


4^  I 

■'.  '*  ■‘.  '' 

A 


t* 


.  I 


'/■r  '  ■  k 


■ »-  ^-.1 


,"■,1  .  r  ■  .  '■  ■  '  ■ '•  •  -4  ,k ,  '.,  'll  , -N  -  ,  .  . 

Ifv.  j  •-  '■'  V  •  ■  '.!  .4*--.  \J  /..  I  ■  *■  .'  4  N  '  l‘.  y  ii  .  A/yEE 


fe:-:  ;■■  ^':.v  "•'. : "  -.^f:;^  ;:>■ 

l  ■  -.1?*  ■;  '  ■ 

-K'  '  '* 


'*''  • '  '^V'  '■  r*'"'  ''•’ ' '  ' ' 

.•■  ■  r’  ••  1  'n<^,;  V  ■  ■>■•  ', 

Vv«.'>.4;,L>;fc‘.'‘" 

>v>>'C  "^r  /j  •  •  >"  •  ,  ‘  ,  . 

^C;  :.  ■•■  ^  ~  ^ 

r’  v?‘  •  •  :  ■•-^  ■Ty  ^ 

tA'  ,r  .  . 


:  ^  : '  'v  1  • 


!. 


>'v4 

^  A  4  ■;« 


^•r  V  r*  '' 


/  ‘  • 


• ,  > 


>'  tS 


/■  4  »*  «; 


. .  *'>•  .  ^  •.. 


-I 


Ai''.'  ,  . 

Ak*  -  ;*- 


'  >  ^''‘ W  >  •*  '-4" 

s  .■ 

S  »  4|  r  -  ■' 


V’ 


1±lW  *•  t  -■-*  A 

.  nF  '».  .  .,  ■  . 

.k/r,^ .'f  ,  <  'i  '• 

VI  V  •->  •  '  r  ..,  ■.  , 

'y  i.  /•  ■  ■..  .  '..*f  ■,•*  ,,M.‘ 


/ 


:  -s  V 


'v.  A  V.  ■•: 

1 


<1 

.  ,•  V  '.  --  ^  : 


-  S.  .  : 

t_, 


*  ^ 

1 


,v 

r  A  j  • 


,  V' 


j  ' 


^  M 


t 


- 1 .  'p 
■\  •  • 


■'i 


•U  .•  >  • 


.  .  V' 


/  •  ^  » 


r;;'- 


t  ' 


■**-^/  .  / 
-‘-^rV 


^  /•'  ^ 


:  -jv- 


f,*  ^  -•- 


,  /  • 

'  4  k  '  V 


N-- 
/  - 


i  .  / 


44 

-':■•  ■  ^  v-i'-v  ^ 

■••  >'v '  ^  i 
. : '’  ‘‘  ^  •« 


,■■'  ’  ,  >  k  V  ,  ■  '  '  r  «  ! 


:.-■  vl 

^  .J 


y 

> ' 


v-7'  ■ 


■  .  tt  ^  r  ■  I 

if 


V 


.'  / 


■*'4 ' 


V  '  ^ 


.  •*  > 


■4 

■  r- 

1 


I  I 

’  /  ./ 


'■.  ,  .<•  •: 
.•*'>»  ‘X 

«.'  >  '  ■. 


■•  *  ^4- 

■  -  ■!  s»>.  ..  .i 

■  /  :■  ,.^Vl 


■f  / 


^v.  i  • 

.  f- 


•4 


'4v  ’  '■ 


«  >  ■ '  ‘  :•' 


\  ■ 


-  *  •-*•  ■{  \' 
'•  .  V  ’ 


v^;.'  ._. 

iV  .  ',  >,  .  .  I  .  ■ 


.  •  / 

*'  M  ' 


I'^yvX: 


'  v’ 


\  . 

■  \- 

k  ^ 


Iflj 

'  -.:*.  ■;  <oV>-'. ,  ' 


'-,fl 

’■-Sj 

1  f 


V  <  .\  *^  *  .  ,  « 

I  J  '■  li '  ' ''  '"  ^  ■  ■>  ‘‘I  '■"  *.  .J 

'  ‘^'Vt  •*■  ■.  ''i  '  •-•  k 

•  •  ^  “44^  ..  ••?  •/  ^ 


1 


f  A 


DATE  DUE 


#/. 


\  "•  '  V  ' 


Wf*  ^  ''  \  "7 


! 


4