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
About sunset I arrived at Blandford, dreadfully weary, and fevered, and
bruised, having been more than nine hours travelling twenty-five miles;
and I must needs own that not all my _savoir faire_ could prevent me
from feeling rather dejected and shy, as I drove up to the residence of
a gentleman, to whom, indeed, I had not a letter, but whose family, as I
had been assured, were prepared to receive me. It was rather formidable
to arrive thus, at fall of night, a wayfaring lonely woman, spiritless,
half-dead with fatigue, among entire strangers; but my reception set me
at ease in a moment. The words "We have been long expecting you!"
uttered in a kind, cordial voice, sounded "like sweetest music to
attending ears." A handsome, elegant-looking woman, blending French ease
and politeness with English cordiality, and a whole brood of lively
children of all sizes and ages, stood beneath the porch to welcome me
with smiles and outstretched hands. Can you imagine my bliss, my
gratitude?--no!--impossible, unless you had travelled for three days
through the wilds of Canada. In a few hours I felt quite at home, and my
day of rest was insensibly prolonged to a week, spent with this amiable
and interesting family--a week, ever while I live, to be remembered
with pleasurable and grateful feelings.
WOODSTOCK.
The region of Canada in which I now find myself, is called the London
District; you will see its situation at once by a glance on the map. It
lies between the Gore District and the Western District, having to the
south a large extent of the coast of Lake Erie; and on the north the
Indian territories, and part of the southern shore of Lake Huron. It is
watered by rivers flowing into both lakes, but chiefly by the river
Thames, which is here (about one hundred miles from its mouth) a small
but most beautiful stream, winding like the Isis at Oxford. Woodstock,
the nearest _village_, as I suppose I must in modesty call it, is fast
rising into an important town, and the whole district is, for its
scenery, fertility, and advantages of every kind, perhaps the finest in
Upper Canada.[9]
The society in this immediate neighbourhood is particularly good;
several gentlemen of family, superior education, and large capital,
(among whom is the brother of an English and the son of an Irish peer, a
colonel and a major in the army,) have made very extensive purchases of
land, and their estates are in flourishing progress.
One day we drove over to the settlement of one of these magnificos,
Admiral Vansittart, who has already expended upwards of twenty thousand
pounds in purchases and improvements. His house is really a curiosity,
and at the first glance reminded me of an African village--a sort of
Timbuctoo set down in the woods; it is two or three miles from the high
road, in the midst of the forest, and looked as if a number of log-huts
had jostled against each other by accident, and there stuck fast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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