Sketches in Canada, and rambles among the red menJameson, Mrs. (Anna)
History
Sketches in Canada, and rambles among the red men
Jameson, Mrs. (Anna)
Indians of North America -- Canada; Ontario -- Description and travel
to his vocation, in which, though a man must labour, he need not surely
starve:--yet starve he must, unless he takes a farm or a store in
addition to his clerical duties. A clergyman in such circumstances could
hardly command the respect of his parishioners: what do _you_ think,
madam?"
When the question was thus put, I could only think the same: it seems to
me that there must be something wrong in the whole of this Canadian
church system, from beginning to end.
With regard to the morals of the population around him, he spoke of two
things as especially lamentable, the prevalence of drunkenness, and the
early severing of parental and family ties; the first, partly owing to
the low price of whisky, the latter to the high price of labour, which
rendered it the interest of the young of both sexes to leave their home,
and look out and provide for themselves as soon as possible. This fact,
and its consequences, struck him the more painfully, from the contrast
it exhibited to the strong family affections, and respect for parental
authority, which even in the midst of squalid, reckless misery and ruin,
he had been accustomed to in poor Ireland. The general morals of the
women he considered infinitely superior to those of the men; and in the
midst of the horrid example and temptation, and one may add,
provocation, round them, their habits were generally sober. He knew
himself but two females abandoned to habits of intoxication, and in both
instances the cause had been the same--an unhappy home and a brutal
husband.
He told me many other interesting circumstances and anecdotes, but being
of a personal nature, and his permission not expressly given, I do not
note them down here.
On the whole, I shall never forget the few days spent with this
excellent family. We bade farewell, after many a cordial entreaty on
their part, many a promise on mine, to visit them again. Charles M.
drove me over to the Credit, where we met the steam-boat, and I returned
to Toronto with my heart full of kindly feelings, my fancy full of
delightful images, and my lap full of flowers, which Charles had
gathered for me along the margin of the forest: flowers such as we
transplant and nurture with care in our gardens and green-houses, most
dazzling and lovely in colour, strange and new to me in their forms, and
names, and uses: unluckily I am no botanist, so will not venture to
particularize farther; but one plant struck me particularly, growing
everywhere in thousands: the stalk is about two feet in height, and at
the top are two large fan-like leaves, one being always larger than the
other; from between the two springs a single flower, in size and shape
somewhat resembling a large wild rose, the petal white, just tinted with
a pale blush. The flower is succeeded by an oval-shaped fruit, which is
eaten, and makes an excellent preserve. They call it here the May-apple.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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