THE RED-CROSS FLAG.

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POTASH MAKING. THE MELTING SCENE.

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been many attempts to fix the time for a general conflagration, but nothing ever became so general as this of the Millerites. It is said the Scotch were not as a class believers in the doctrine, and had no disposition to scare themselves to death.

During the summer of that memorable year (1843) the Mormons came to the country, in the hope of making converts. At Butterfield’s Corners (Taunton) a man named John G. Cannon held forth for several days, sometimes in the open air and again in the houses of those inhabitants who appeared to have leanings that way.

On one occasion, in the midst of a heated harangue out of doors, he raised his right hand and said, “I ask Heaven if this is not true?” at the same time looking upwards. A moment, and the answer came from above, in a deep bass voice, “It is true,” thus startling the audience almost into belief. Again, on making the assertion that the golden tablets of brother Joseph Smith were inspired, he asked, raising his voice, “Are they?” and again came the deep-voiced reply, “They are.” One of the men, listening, declared there must be a man in a hollow basswood tree standing near, and said he would go for his hired man with his axe and have it cut down. “Don’t you touch it,” the Mormon cried authoritatively; “if you do the Lord will strike you dead.” Perhaps half convinced, theman did not have the tree chopped down, the fraud passed, and the Mormon thus scored what appeared convincing arguments.

Quite near this scene a young girl was very sick with a fever, and lay in a state of coma. That he could raise the dead he now gave out, as in the illustration (page 228) he is represented as doing. And it is only fair to the Mormon to add that after his pressure and manipulations over the girl she did open her eyes and look about.

Several converts were made. Among these a family of the name of McGahan embraced the faith, sold their farm for $4,000, gave the money to the Mormon, and went off to Salt Lake. Another, named Seeleys, also sold all and went, but they could not raise much money.

My father had charged me many times, that if ever I went to Salt Lake I should go and see these people. In 1878 I happened to be in the Mormon centre. From a man cutting stones for the new Mormon tabernacle I enquired for the family. The stone-cutter dropped his mallet as quickly as if shot, and replied that he knew them well, and would get a conveyance and take me to them, twenty-five miles down Salt Lake valley, and assured me of a most hearty welcome.

I did not, however, accept his offer, for, honestly, Iconfess I was afraid of the Mormons. As a “Gentile” I feared to risk my life among them, and preferred not to leave the protection of United States troops at Camp Douglas.

After the Irish rebellion there came to New York State a talented Irishman, who lodged on the United States side of the Niagara River at the Falls. From that point of vantage he daily watched the Canadian shore just across the river. Like the moth and the candle, he could not keep away from Britain after all. But while he remained there this is what he wrote of us:

Beside Niagara’s awful waveHe stood—a ransom’d Irish slave;Self-ransom’d by a woful flight,That robbed his heaven of half its light,And flung him in a nation free—The fettered slave of Memory.

The exile’s eye strove not to restUpon the Cataract’s curling crest,Nor paused it on the brilliant bowWhich hung aslant the gulf below;The banks of adamant to himWere unsubstantial all and dim,But from his gaze a child had guessedThere raged a cataract in his breast.

A flag against the northern skyAlone engaged his eager eye;Upon Canadian soil it stood—Its hue was that of human blood,Its red was crossed with pallid scars—Pale, steely, stiff as prison bars.“Oh, cursed flag!” the exile said,“The hair grows heavy on my head;My blood leaps wilder than this water,On seeing thee, thou sign of slaughter.Oh, may I never meet my deathTill I behold the day of wrath,When on thy squadrons shall be pouredThe vengeance heaven so long has stored.”

Then turning to his friends, who hadDeemed him, from sudden frenzy, mad:“My friends,” he said, “you little knowThe fire yon red rag kindles so;None but an Irish heart can tellThe thought that causes mine to swell,When I behold the fatal signThat blighted the green land once mine;That stripped her of each gallant chief;That scourged her for her bold belief;That would have blotted out her nameCould England buy the Trump of Fame.But, help us, Heaven, she never canWhile lives one constant Irishman.”

He paused. No human voice replied,But with a mighty oath, the tideSeemed swearing as it leaped and ran—“No! no! by Heaven, they never canWhile lives one constant Irishman.”

Extravagant as is the tenor of this poem, yet as a literary production it is good, and points unmistakably to the man’s genius.

Time in its whirligig works wonders, especially in America. A few years after, that poet and refugee came to Canada, sought election to Parliament, succeeded, and afterwards became a member of the Dominion Government. Comment is unnecessary.

Canadian laws—Cases of justifiable homicide—Ineffectual attempt to discipline a church member—Major Wilmot—Asa Wallbridge—“Uncle Ned”—Cows and matrimony—A humorous dialogue—A witty retort—An amusing duel.

“The autumnal glories all have passed away!The forest leaves no more in hectic redGive glowing tokens of their brief decay,But scattered lie, or rustle to the tread,Like whisper’d warning from the mouldering dead;The naked trees stretch out their arms all day,And each bald hill-top lifts its reverent headAs if for some new covering to pray.”

DURING the early days in the newly settled townships many odd characters were to be found among the sparsely scattered population, and curious scenes were frequently enacted—scenes that it would be difficult to reproduce from the annals of other lands. The following might be taken as a specimen of at least one phase:

A more law-abiding people than the Canadians are not to be found in any land. The laws they abide by are those enacted by the will of the people throughtheir elected representatives, and are based upon the constitutional laws of Great Britain. Occasionally incidents occur which show how truly these laws are the will of the people. The following will illustrate my meaning:

At the time when the Home Government kept a small body of troops stationed in the Canadas, a dissipated young subaltern of the regiment then quartered at old Quebec deceived a daughter of one of its citizens by a promise of marriage, and ruined her. Her brother, a lad of eighteen, upon discovering her trouble, attended a social function held in the skating rink, at Quebec, where the betrayer was expected to be present. He met the lieutenant in the passage leading to the rink, and demanded if he “intended to marry his sister.” A contemptuous derisive laugh and insulting remark was the only reply, to which the lad responded by drawing a revolver from his pocket and shooting the man dead on the spot.

The avenger of his sister’s betrayal at once gave himself up to the authorities. The trial, as well as the crime, caused a great sensation, and though the case was a strong one for the Crown, the jury would not convict him of murder, and the lad went out from the court-house a free man.

A somewhat similar case occurred in Upper Canada. Some time before the railway era, when asteamer conveyed the mails and passengers to and from the towns on the lake front, a resident of one of these towns took passage west on the steamer, inducing the wife of one of his neighbors to accompany him. The round trip up the lake, calling at all the western and southern ports, occupied about a week. Upon the return of the boat the injured husband, waiting on the wharf, saw the evil-doer in one of the cabins, and sent a bullet through the window with deadly aim. As in the case just related, arrest and trial followed, but no jury could be got to convict him of murder, such a crime being justified in the eyes of the people by the more heinous one which provoked it.

In one of the counties fronting on Lake Ontario there lived one W—B—, a descendant of one of our earliest settlers in this locality, a man who bore an honored name. Among his possessions was a farm, a homestead of about two hundred and fifty acres, situated upon the shore of Lake Ontario. He was a most exemplary man and a member of the Disciples’ church at B——, where he usually went to worship. A son of this man, having a liking for the water, induced his father to buy him a large well-found schooner, at a cost of about $9,000, which he sailed as captain on Lake Ontario. For several seasons he

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HAULING CANNON. WAR OF 1812.

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plied this vessel conveying general merchandise as freight. He was not successful, but, on the contrary, continued at ever increasing loss. Finally his ship was sold for debt, and he came back to his father’s farm, where he built a second house and lived with his family. Being without occupation or friends, he asked his father (now an old man) for a deed of the home farm. This time the father refused, telling him he had “sailed away $9,000 in a ship, and he would sail away the farm, too, if he had a chance.” Then the son went to the leaders and elders of the Disciples’ church, of which his father was a member, and told his story and his desire for a deed of the farm.

A general special meeting of the church was called, and it was filled with both sexes, all being members. J—S—, merchant and agent of a bank doing business in B——, and afterwards a senator, arose. He spoke earnestly and pointedly about it being Brother B—’s duty to deed his farm to his son, and for quite twenty minutes urged upon the assembly the justice, desirability and reasonableness of the act, advocating it as a matter of duty, and a proof of fatherly love for the son. One L—, a resident, and a member and leader of the church as well, followed in the same strain. His words were listened to with rapt attention, and after speaking some fifteen minutes he too-sat down.

No one arose to speak on the other side of the question. No one cared to be opposed to S—, for he was very powerful at that time. Though they keenly felt the undesirableness of acceding to such a demand, they had not the courage to express it publicly. The stillness became painful, and for a moment it seemed there could no way be found to break it.

The aged father, at the time stiff with rheumatism, was present. He grasped the seat before him. It creaked as the strain of his weight came upon it, and slowly and laboriously the old man arose. Once on his feet he stood somewhat bent, but, being a large man, towered majestically above the rest, and in a clear audible voice said, “I’m not going to take off my coat and throw it down and ask the Church or anyone else whether or not I shall put it on again.” The strain was broken, adjournment followed, and the son did not get the deed he coveted.

Jesse Trull, of Darlington, whose father, Captain Trull, was present as a member at that meeting, related the anecdote to me. This memorable church meeting took place about the year 1848. To-day it is hard to conceive any such state of society as would ask a church to try to compel a man to deed away his farm.

The transition stage was approaching in Upper Canada. Many of the old pioneers found it hard to trim their sails to meet the new order of things, and many of them in fact did not, but followed the old way until they died and were laid to rest under the sod.

Major Wilmot was one of the early settlers, and lived near Newcastle, Durham County. He married the daughter of John Steigman, a surveyor. From him he learned field surveying, and did many years’ work for the Government. A relative of mine lived for years with Wilmot, and was to have been his heir, but left him too soon. He told me Wilmot was implicitly trusted by the Government, and often he had gone out surveying with him, and many times to York to make reports to the Government. During these years of surveying Wilmot picked out many desirable lots for himself, and ultimately got a title to them all. Consequently, as you may easily understand, he became a very rich man. Asa Wallbridge lived near him, upon a large farm. This neighbor was the forefather of all the Wallbridges in this part of Upper Canada, a most influential family. Both of these farm homesteads were overflowing with abundance—great houses, many cattle, sheep, hogs and horses, and everything which then represented a rich and prosperous home; yet, my relative said, Wilmotwould pack provisions in a one-horse waggon, stow in his compass (the theodolite had not come into use at that time), tripod and chain, sit down in the bottom, and take the young man, my relative, with him to spend a whole week in surveying, perfectly happy and contented.

One day they were passing Wallbridge’s, about the usual pig-killing time, and Wilmot accosted Wallbridge thus: “Good morning, Mr. Wallbridge; would you like to buy some pork?” “No, Mr. Wilmot,” was the reply, “I have as much pork as you have.” Then Wilmot added facetiously, “Well, I thought perhaps you wanted some grease to fry your pork in,” thus intimating that Wallbridge’s hogs had not a reputation for fatness.

These men with their families led most enjoyable lives, happy, free and contented, with the greatest of plenty of homely fare. But as Wilmot grew older Newcastle grew, and the forest was cleared; the settlers became more and more prosperous; well-built houses replaced the log houses, carriages the pioneer-cart, and other luxuries of civilization became the daily portion of the people. Yet on a fine morning Wilmot would hitch a yoke of oxen to a cart, bestride the axle, and having secured a long gad, would drive in to the village post-office at Newcastle and homeagain. Carriages and fine horses he could not take to, although then a very wealthy man.

Another old man, but lately deceased, was a continual source of amusement to the settlers. He died as he had lived, an enigma from the first to the very last. As nearly as I can learn he was born in Quebec Province, in the year 1782, and removed to this Province with his parents some time about the beginning of this century. Upon the death of his father he inherited some of the choicest lands in Ontario and for many years of his life passed for a rich man. A character he was in the neighborhood, and so recognized by all who knew or had ever heard of him, far or near. Perhaps the prime causes of his noted peculiarities were in his continually avowed interest in cows and matrimony. In those days the struggling settler was glad enough to get a cow in any honest way he could, and our friend was the man to accommodate all those in his locality in need of one. His system was to let the farmers take a cow from him for three years, and at the end of that time the farmer must return to Uncle Ned (for so he was called) the identical cow lent and another—the other to be generally a calf from the cow lent, grown to be a young cow itself. During this time the farmer had free use of the cow, and all the other increase there might be from her. The arrangement seemedto be quite advantageous to the farmer as well as to Uncle Ned. It enabled the former to get his first nucleus of a stock without cost to himself of anything more than the feed of the cow; and it equally paid Uncle Ned, for on his capital outlay of, say, $20 (for a cow), in three years he had it doubled, or about 33⅓ per cent. per annum, barring accidents of course. He seems never to have farmed his lands, but thought of nothing else, and talked of nothing else at any and all times, but cows—save and always excepting matrimony. Yet though he lived to be seventy-five years of age, he never attained the consummation of his connubial ambitions.

But not to leave the cows too quickly, it is as well to say that Uncle Ned used generally to take in those days what were called “notes” for the cows. They were termed notes, but since the short document went on to enumerate that the signer should return two cows at the end of three years, etc., it would almost appear that such “notes” were short contracts. However, be that as it may, sometimes our friend had as many as one hundred cows out at a time, and consequently one hundred notes on hand for them. The curiosity in this particular was, that although Uncle Ned could not read or write a letter, he could and would at any time pick out from the one hundred notes any one asked for.

His ideas of matrimony were early developed. At the age of twenty-two he is reported as wandering about the neighborhood in search of any eligible single ladies who were supposed to be in the matrimonial market. By so going about from house to house he became acquainted with the wants of each household in any special particular. Was a family out of cats, at the next visit in his capacious pocket a kitten was found nicely and snugly curled up. Would some farmer like a dog, Uncle Ned brought along a puppy on the occasion of his next hunt in the matrimonial line. Had the family spinning wheel worn out its spindle and become useless for the want of one, Uncle Ned did not fail to bring one next time. Did the good housewife need some saleratus from the store at the distant corners, in these days before soda became known, Uncle Ned brought the desired pound package of saleratus, that the family cake should rise in the dough and be toothsome and pleasant. In fact, Uncle Ned gradually became, with his obliging attentions to the wants of his neighbors, and by his quaint idiosyncrasies, the darling of the neighborhood. And he never ceased, from the time he was twenty-two years of age up to his seventy-fifth year, to go the rounds of his neighbors, always careful to supply their little wants, and always in search of a wife. Did he at one time thinkof breaking the route, and of stopping at another and a new farmer’s house for dinner, he would approach the man of the house, out in the field, and without a word of apology or preface, ask, “Does your wife make strong tea?” “Well, I never heard of any complaint on that point,” he is answered. “Ah! I thought I would stay to dinner with you, but if your wife don’t make strong tea I won’t stop.” He decides to stop, and earnestly enquires about a maiden lady living in an adjoining township, who is known to the farmer, he having removed from the township and locality of the maiden. On his tip-toes, and as silently as an Indian, Uncle Ned approaches the farmer, who is about his work in the field, and whispers in his ear:

“Has she got a farm?”

“Oh, yes; she has three hundred acres.”

Uncle Ned retreats some rods, to the point from which he so noiselessly advanced, exploding with loud and jovial laughter. Up again he comes on tip-toe, and whispers,

“Is she engaged?”

“No, I think not.” And away he backs off again amid another burst of laughter.

Again he steals up, and whispers, “Can she spin flax and make her own shifts?”

“Oh, yes; she can spin as well as any woman inthe county.” And he backs away, with the laughter louder than before.

Now he comes again: “Has she got red hair?”

“Yes; she has red hair.”

No laughter this time, but he hangs his head and backs away, muttering to himself, “Well, that’s too bad. I do hate red hair. But then, since she has three hundred acres, that will make one overlook the red hair after all.”

And he comes on again, more cautiously than ever before, and whispers, “I have as good a new suit of clothes at home in my trunk as any man has, and they are paid for, too. Now, do you think I had better wear this new suit the first time I go to see her?”

“Yes, I think I would the first time; but since the people are plain people they might think you too extravagant if you wore it the next time; and then I think I would wear the common suit on all visits after the first one.”

Ned backs away. “Ha! ha!! ha!!!” and bawls out to the farmer, “Don’t be in a hurry to go to work; you’re not working by the month.”

He steals up again: “Don’t you think Sam Green would be a good man for me to take with me the first time to introduce me?”

“Yes, he’s just the man.”

“Ho! ho!! ho!!!”

Forward he comes again, and whispers, “You tell Sam Green to tell her that I’ll stock the land with cows. Tell her that I’ll hire a girl to nurse the baby. Tell her that I’ll wear my good suit the first time I come to see her, but during all the rest of our courting I’ll only wear my working suit.”

At this juncture the good wife calls from the door “Dinner!” and Uncle Ned has to cease this courting by proxy to go in and see if the tea be really strong enough for him. Courting thus by double proxy it was in this instance, as his courting generally was done. That is, this farmer must tell Sam Green, and Sam Green must tell the red-haired maiden in the adjoining township. It is more than likely the maiden never heard of Uncle Ned either before or after his resolve to court her, unless it be through the lone intermediary of Sam Green. It is probable for a year of his life this red-haired maiden was the subject of Uncle Ned’s matrimonial thoughts; then at the expiration of the year another lady comes to take her place—or rather, another lady comes to take the place which the red-haired lady was supposed to take, but never did.

Along the road again, some eight or ten miles away from his home, on foot (always on foot, for he was never known to ride), Uncle Ned approachesFarmer G—, and whispers, “Do you know the widow T—?” “Yes, what about her?” “Is she smart?” “No, she’s like her husband was, rather lazy.” “Oh, that’s bad.” No laugh this time; he whispers, “Has she any land?” “Yes, she has fifty acres.” “Well, I must overlook her laziness.”

For the space of another year the widow T—engrosses the current of his thoughts, and becomes the constant theme of his talk. And yet it is not at all probable that he ever met her, either before her husband’s death or after, when she was supposed to be in the matrimonial market. As he journeyed along down life, always on the same themes of cows and matrimony, some of the neighbors at whose house he used to stop would deem him crazy. Well, if he were so, it was madness always with a method to it, and in his bargains about his cows he frequently displayed considerable shrewdness and business ability. A distant farmer came to him one day to make a bargain to get two cows to double as already described. It so happened that the cattle were out in the field, and they together went out to see them. In talking over the details of the bargain the farmer sat down upon a convenient stump. During the weariness of a lengthened conversation he, as he sat, happened to begin trotting his foot and contracting the fingersof his left hand, which the quick eye of Uncle Ned noticed.

“Are you a fiddler?”

“Yes, I fiddle sometimes.”

“You can’t have any of my cows, for I never knew a fiddler to be worth anything in my life,” and he wouldn’t let him have the cows at all.

So far as I know he was never known to actually address himself to the object of his affections for the time being, and likewise the theme of his talk, but the once. This time he called upon a farmer and asked him if he knew of Mr. E.—’s girls. The farmer told him he did, but that he (Uncle Ned) was crazy. Said he in reply, “Do you know, Ezra, why there is no danger of your ever going crazy?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Well, you don’t know enough. It’s only bright men who go crazy.”

In this instance the farmer takes Uncle Ned to Mr. E—’s and gives him a kind of general introduction to the father, mother and two daughters assembled, in this wise: “See here, folks, this is Mr. S—in search of a wife.”

“Come in, sir, come in.” The girls, seeing a huge chance for fun, lent themselves to the joke, and so kept it up for the space of a couple of years. At the termination of each visit, as he was about to set out,one of the girls would put in a plea for a new dress, which Uncle Ned would promise faithfully to bring, and he was generally as good as his promise. At the next visit the other girl would ask for a piece of cloth, and again, as before, he brought it. For the whole two years the girls did not discover which one of them was the object of his affections or regard. Still his visits continued during the intervals spared from his dealings about his cows, and the idea of matrimony never for a moment left his brain.

There are not many records extant of duels having been fought in Canada. The following was possibly one of the last, and perhaps the most amusing instance of such “honorable combat”:

It was during the closing days of the Canadian rebellion, when the troops were about to be disbanded. A ball had been given in Whitby, at which many of the officers of the troops, as well as society people of the sparsely settled country, attended. Among the guests at this ball were two young men, one in later years a public official in Newcastle, the other a resident of Oshawa, lately deceased. Both of these men were well mounted, as most persons were who travelled the bad roads in the early days of April of the year 1838.

Tradition tells us that the ball was both gay andstylish, and many of the young ladies of the gathering were ambitiously gotten up for the occasion. Indeed, a gentleman now among the living, who was present, describes a lady’s head-dress of ostrich plumes which extended quite two feet above her head, and nodded with every motion, involuntary or otherwise, of the wearer. The supper, too, was the best that the day could give, mainly substantial perhaps, but of the lighter culinary art there were some cakes, and very attractive ones too—so much so, that one of the young men whom we have mentioned accused the other of pocketing some of them. This accusation could only be wiped out with blood, and was most indignantly denied. The accused purloiner of cakes mounted his steed and made his way to Richard Wood’s tavern, then kept by him in a story-and-a-half wooden building on the south-west corner of Oshawa “four corners.” The old tavern stood about one hundred feet back from the road, just south from where Morgan’s grocery store now is. A circular stage road led to its hospitable doors, and a low veranda or “stoop” extended along the whole north side of the hotel.

By the time the accuser arrived the accused had possessed himself of an immense old horse-pistol, and challenged his antagonist to fight a duel. The latter declined to fight with such a crude weapon,but insisted on getting proper duelling pistols, if his antagonist really must fight. The late Capt. Trull, of Darlington, then had command of the few troops stationed in Oshawa. He tried to break up the duel and prevent bloodshed, but without success. At each end of the “stoop” of the hotel, just as it was becoming daylight, April, 1838, the principals took stations ready for the word. Capt. Trull actually placed his own person between the men, so anxious was he to stop the fray. But the word was given, and one of the duellists, proving himself game to the last, managed to dodge out of the way of Capt. Trull’s person and fired deliberately. The other, unhurt, threw down his pistol and ran as fast as his legs could carry him around the hotel. And now Capt. Trull, who had been so anxious to prevent the fight, became so disgusted at the man’s cowardice that he picked up the pistol where it had been thrown by the fugitive and made the best gait possible after him to fire at him for being so great a coward. So laughably ended Oshawa’s only duel.

Paring bees—Mirth and jollity—Dancing and games—Playing “forfeits”—Anti-Slavery Act—Canada’s proud distinction—Refugee slaves—“Uncle Tom”—Old Jeff—Story of a slave.

“It came from Heaven—it reigned in Eden shades;It roves on earth, and every crack invades;Childhood and age alike its influence own;It haunts the beggar’s nook, the monarch’s throne;Hangs o’er the cradle, leans above the bier,Gazed on old Babel’s tower—and lingers here.”

APARING bee is still an ordinary occurrence in the autumn in the rural districts of this Province, though less frequent than when the process of preserving apples by evaporation was unknown. There is almost a superfluous abundance of apples in the fall, especially of the softer kinds, and those which will not keep are utilized by being dried for use after the hardier varieties are gone. These dried apples form a staple article of diet among Canadians, especially in the North-West and in the lumber camps.

There is much fun and jollity at these paring bees. After the apples are gathered in the fall, and sweet cider has been pressed out, one of the house-holders of a group will send out invitations for a paring bee. These invitations are invariably given verbally, and extend to all young lads and lasses, as well as to the married people in the vicinity, not forgetting the school-master. On the night appointed, those living at greater distances come in carriages, but never on horseback; the nearer ones on foot. Horses are put away, and all gather in the kitchen. This is generally one of the largest rooms in the farm-house, and for this occasion it has been cleared of its every-dayimpedimenta, and a long table placed in the middle of the room.

The young men do the paring with paring machines. This machine as at first used, before the patented iron article came into use, was of home construction. It consisted of a wooden pulley, about eight inches in diameter, over which a belt ran on a smaller pulley of about three inches. By turning the large pulley great speed was given to the smaller one, to which the fork for holding the apple was attached. The knife for the paring of the apple was held in the hand of the operator. Some of the young men became very skilful in manipulating the knife, and their reputation kept them in requisition at every bee. It is almost incredible how quick one of these experts wasat paring an apple. With his home-made machine he could very quickly empty a bushel basket as he deftly and smoothly divested the apples of their skins.

Three or four parers were usually employed during the evening. Along the table the young lasses were seated, and before them were heaped the pared fruit. As a division of labor, the first in order only quartered the apples, and pushed them on to her next neighbor, who, in turn, did the coring; and thus many bushels were pared, quartered and cored in the one evening. They were then strung upon linen thread by the younger persons of the party, who were not supposed to be sufficiently skilful to pare, quarter or core the fruit. Long darning needles with strong linen thread, cut in long lengths, were used. These were driven through the apple quarters, and a string so formed. It did not usually take long for the lads and lasses to be promiscuously inter-mixed, for no quaker-meeting formality was permitted at a paring bee.

Sallies of wit never went unheeded by the willing ears. Should one be too sober, he or she would be quickly brought to a sense of duty by a light blow from a quarter of an apple discharged from a neighbor’s dexterous hand.

It was the duty of the older members of the party to hang the strings of apples, as fast as they were ready,

MOODE FAREWELLS’ TAVERN, NEAR OSHAWA, 1812.BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO

MOODE FAREWELLS’ TAVERN, NEAR OSHAWA, 1812.

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upon poles near the kitchen ceiling. From fifteen to twenty bushels of closely pared, cored and strung apples was not an uncommon result of an evening’s work. Thus in a single evening the household was provided with dried fruit for a year’s use.

Paring, quartering, coring and stringing at last done, the company rise. A great heap of apple skins, seeds, and cores remain. The next step is to wash the hands in the apple litter, for this is supposed to be a means of preventing the apple juice pressed into the wrinkles of the hands from staining them when they become dry. And so all must thoroughly rub the hands in the apple litter. The lasses scarcely need the caution, for they do not want their hands stained. All “take hold” and clear the room, and in a few minutes it is put to rights, and the company sit upon benches and chairs around the room. The good housewife has prepared her lunch, and each one receives a plate, most likely laden with a slice of pumpkin pie, a bit of cheese and some cakes. Then someone comes around with a pitcher of sweet cider. There is no stint to the amount of food or drink anyone might partake of, and slice after slice of savory pumpkin pie disappears.

Enough at last, and the room is again cleared. The table is now removed, and according to the religious scruples of the company, they divide. Thosewho dance take a large room to themselves, someone produces from a green bag a well-worn violin, and it is a matter of only a few minutes before a voice is calling off: “Salute your partners,” “All promenade down the centre,” “All join hands,” etc., and such calls so familiar to many of us now in Ontario. I am not going to say there was as much style about the dance as nowadays, nor were there any long trains to the ladies’ dresses to get entangled under the gentlemen’s feet, but for genuine fun I am free to say the dignified dances of the present day are at a discount. As quickly as one set gets through an eight-hand reel there is another ready to take its place, and so the dance goes on.

But we must turn to the other party, still out in the capacious kitchen, whose religious scruples do not permit them to dance. Even if so, they do not fail to glance furtively through the door now and again at the graceful dancers, and almost wish their theology would allow them to join in! A feature peculiar to America is now to be enacted in the kitchen, and it is simply a play among the boys and girls. A “kissing bee” it finally came to be called, and, as time went on, grew less fashionable, though it lingers yet. In those days it was one of our institutions, and must not pass away without a remark. Someone is chosen as judge, and blindfolded and placed in achair. Two are chosen to lead the victims to the judge, and the hands of the former are held over the judge’s head with the words, “Heavy, heavy, what hangs over?” The judge asks “Fine, or superfine?”—fine, of course, being for the lads, and the superfine for the lasses. Gravely the judge proceeds to pronounce the sentence. We will take one sentence from the judge, at random, among many from memory, which will give an idea of the general tenor of the judicial decisions. Allow the hand above his head to be superfine in this particular case. Sentence: “She must make a double-twisted lord-o’-massy with John Jones.” Now, John Jones knows what this means, and is not averse to kissing a pretty girl, for the judge generally knows his company, and the run of the sweethearts, and usually sends such together. Jones seizes the girl’s hands, elevates her arms to one side, and kisses her on one cheek, turns the hands over and elevates them again to the other side this time, and kisses her again through their arms on the other cheek. Then the next one comes up for sentence. Various sentences were of course given, but they invariably ended in kissing, much to the delight of the young men present.

Thus the jollity and fun went on, but even so with this peculiarity of American kissing I wish to unequivocally record the fact that no impropriety wasever indulged in or thought of. Perhaps kissing in this general and public way cannot commend itself, but to the participants in those days it was fun, and no harm came from it, and, so far as I can see, it had just about as many arguments to sustain it as the mazy dance has, where they all go “promenading down the centre.”

The blindfolded judge has at last pronounced upon everyone in the room, and a change of the play is sought. Charlie is present and has brought his guitar. Now this Charlie is a wealthy farmer’s son (a farmer who owns his two hundred and fifty acres and stock, and is worth $30,000 at least), who, becoming rather proficient at the school, has been away a term to the old Normal School at Toronto. It must have been at the Normal he learned the guitar and began cultivating the incipient moustache which appears upon his upper lip like a streak of soft down. Still it is a moustache, and as such it is worth cultivating. And Charlie crosses his legs and proceeds to tune his guitar, amidst the good-humored gibes of the young ladies intently looking on. He gets the tune after all, and commences to hum an air and now and again give the instrument another turn of the screws. Boldly Charlie strikes out, and it is all about “Mrs. Fogarty’s Christmas cake.” At the termination of eachverse the applause of handclapping follows, and Charlie is spurred on to renewed efforts. The chorus comes in from this distance of years in my memory:

“There were plums and prunes and cherries,And nuts and candies and cinnamon too;There were caraway seeds in abundance,And the crust it was nailed on with glue,And it would kill a man twiceIf he ate him a sliceOf Mrs. Fogarty’s Christmas cake.”

Well done, Charlie! and he’s free to go home with the prettiest girl in the group, and said prettiest girl is not at all averse to accept of Charlie’s company.

This is a faithful picture of one of the scenes of the days of my boyhood. From out of the assemblage of those paring bees have sprung much of the bone and sinew of our glorious Province (the freest and best under heaven). The lads have become our M.P.’s, our wealthy merchants and staunch landowners, and many, I am sorry to say, have gone to the United States and given that country the benefit of their untamable Canadian energies and sturdy physique, while others fill the professional walks in our own land.

The first Act which passed the Legislature ofUpper Canada in 1792 was an Anti-slavery Act. Canadians can therefore claim the proud distinction for their flag—the Union Jack of 1801—that it has never floated over legalized slavery. There are numerous instances in our records of negroes brought with the U. E. Loyalists to Canada, or who came of their own freewill, remaining as devoted servants with their masters and one-time owners until their death—not a few of these freed slaves devoting all their earnings to support their beloved masters or provide them with comforts and luxuries in their old age; and others, to secure themselves from being separated from their old masters during their lives, binding themselves by indentures to serve them for life.

Canada is truly a land of freedom. Once within her borders the hunted slave, who had committed no crime, could claim the protection of its laws and know that he was a free man. Therefore when ill-treated it is obvious that slaves would escape from slavery and come to Canada—crossing at any part of the three-thousand-mile line boundary between the United States and Canada, and here finding security and freedom.

About Chatham, in the western part of Ontario, there were many such escaped slaves, who had reached there by what was known as the “underground railway.” These men made very good citizens andsettlers. They were usually quiet, self-respecting, respectable, law-abiding, religious people—excellent servants, and often devoted to those whom they served.

Winters in the northern States and Canada east of Toronto are not conducive to their pleasure, for the negro is really and truly a child of the sun. Thus the more western townships, which are sunny and have milder winters, suit them best.

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom, in her great book, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” lived for some years in Chatham. Several, however, have settled and left kindly memories behind them in the neighborhood of Oshawa. One of these was

About 1865 there came to this locality an intensely black negro. He had been a cotton-picker in Alabama, and had run away from slavery.

How he got away he never would tell, but said he followed the north star. Without permission from anyone he went into the woods, just south of Cedar Dale shop, and in a thicket built himself a hut by inclining poles together like the letter A, covering them with dirt and using one unstopped end as a door. In this hut he dwelt by himself with his big dog for about seven years, when he died. Charitablydisposed persons used to give him food and clothes, for he was too old to work. He was very polite and harmless, and indeed became quite a favorite in the neighborhood.

There seemed to be some hidden romance in his history which he never would tell, and during his latter days, although he had been anxious to get away from the South, he pined to go back. In the words of the old song:

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