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AUTl

SAW

PEARLS AND PEBBLES;

OK,

NOTES OF AN OLD NATURALIST.

CATHARINE PARR TRAILL,

Author ov "Studies of P'.ant Life," "Lost in the Backwoods," "Afar
IN THE Forest," Etc., Etc.

WITH

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

By MARY AGNES FITZGIBBON,
Author of "A Veteran of 1812," "A Trip to Manitoua," Etc., Etc.

LONDON :
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY,

LIMITED.
TORONTO: .v'lLLIAM BRIGGS.

70201

. C<^

[ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.]

PRINTED BY

WILLIAM BRIGGS,

TORONTO, CAN.

--i

CONTUNTS

Iiitroiliu'tnrv Not''

I'liiiK'nipliiciil Sketch

I'rt'facf ........

I'lfiisiiiit Days (if My CliiMlinc.d .

Siinst^t iiiid SiinriHf on Fjiikc ( >ntarii): a Kciiiiiiisci

MciniirieH of a May Ardi'iiing ....

AiiiitliiT May Morning
Mort! Aliiiut My Kcatlicred Friends
Tlif Kn^H'^li 'S|iarrow : a Di'fencH .
Notes from My Old Diary .

Tho Spider

l'ro8])ecting, and What I Kound in My Dijfjfing

The Kobin and tiie Mirror

In the Canadian Woods

Tiie First Death in the Clearing

Alone in the Forest

t)n the Island of Minnewawa .

The Children of the Ff.rest .

Thoughts on Vegetable Instinct

Some Curious Plants .

Some N^arieties of Polien .

The Cranberry Marsh .

Our Native Grasses .

Indian (irass ....

Mosses and Tiicliens ....

The Indian Moss-bag .

Something (lathers Up the J'ragmeuts

iii

X X X V

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71;
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114
121
125
12s

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17.S

17tt

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20--'

20"

21!t

224

232

23;-)

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Portrait of Mrs. Traill .

Gun Hill, Southwold Beach

" Reydon Hall " . . . .

" Westr 7e," Residence of Mn. Traill .

"Polly Cow's Island" .

Frontispiece

vii

. xvi

. 182

INTRODri roRN' NOTIi.

Mils. Traill's liook was ahvady in tin- press wlioii
I was riMHU'stt'il l)y tlic |ml>Iislii'r to write a sliort
liioi^raphical sketeli of the author's lilV' as an intro-
duction.

B!)th tiuu' and space were limited, and I undertook
the task with much anxietv, knowinii' that with sucli
and other limitatiouH I couhl 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 lier lil'e or j)ut the ivcords 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 inlliience hei' later life and direct her literaiy laboi'S,
and becuuse they are also likely to be of greater interest
to the ])ublic and the readei's of her books than a mere
di'tailed reco; 1 of her life.

IXTR()I)rfT( )RY XOTE.

When asked some years ago by the editor of the
Youru/ C(i/aad'mn to write a sketch of Mrs. Traill's life
for its columns, tlie rider to the reijuest was added that
she " wished tiie sketch to be written with a loving
pen — one that would depict the Howers ratlier 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 m^'self or others with my
work, it has not been from lack of love for the honored
and valued authoress of " Pearls and Pehrles."

May we keep her lono- 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 4tli, 1894.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

Altiioi(!II tlu! fmuily from wliich Catharine Parr Strickland
(Mis. Traill) is (lesccndcd was one of consideraVjle note and
standing in the northern counties of Enjj;l!ind, her innnediate
ancestor was born and spent the «,neatei' pait of his life in
London.

The cause of the migration of this bianch of the Strickland
house was the unexpected return of Catharine's great-giand-
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 o'lly established his claim, but, with an ungenerous hand,
grasped all the rents and re\-enues accruing to the property,
and his nephew, then a student at Winchester College, dis-
daining to ask an}' favois 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, smd maternally
descended from one of the honest Penderel brothers, who
protected Charles II. in the oak at Boscftbel, and succeeded,
through their intrepid loyalty to the house of Stuart, in
effecting his escape.

IMOCHArHICAL SKETCH.

Of tills niarriin^t' tlicic wci-c (M;j;lit children : Tlioiiiiis, born
in 17"i''^; Siunucl, in ITliO, iin<l two sisters. The remaining,'
tour tell vietims to the sniull ]io.\, at that date an almost
inevitably fatal <lisease.

Thomas, who was Catharin(-"s father, early olitained eniplov-
inent witli fiie shij^owners, .Messrs. Ilallet cV: Wells, and
thr()U,!.!;h them beeame master and sole manau'er of the (Jreen-
land doeks, a position which threw him in the way of meetinj^
many of t'le i^reat men and explorers of the last century. He
was twice married, tirst to a f,'rand-ni('c<' of Sir l.saac Newton,
and through her he came into possession of anumbei'of books
and other treasures formerly belont^ing to that celebrated
scientist. .Mrs. Sti'ickland died within a few years of her
marriai^c, ha\ in,<,' had only one child, a daughter, who died in
infancy; and in 17i)-5 Mr. Strickland mai'i'ied, as his second
wife. Elizabeth Homer, who was destined to be the mother
of a fannly of nine, li\(' of whom ha\e made a nanie in the
literary annals of the centuiy. Elizabeth and Agni-s, after-
ward joint authoresses of "The Lives of the Queens of Eng-
land," and each the writer of other historical biographies,
poetry and other woi'ks ; Sara and Jane, the latter author of
"Rome, Regal and Republican," and other historical works,
were born in London, Kent. TIhmv, also, on .January !)th,
1S02, Catharin" Pai'r was born, and though named after the
last (pieen of Henry Vlll., who was a Strickland, she has
.always spelt her tirst name with a " C," and was ever known
in the home circle l)y the moic endearing words "the Katie.'"

Mr. Strickland's health being ail'ected by too clo.se applica-
tion to business, he was advised to njtire and take up his
rt'sidence in the more bracing climate of the eastern counties.

After living a few numths at "The Laurels," in Thorpe,
near Norwich, lie rented "Stowe House," an okl j)]ace in the
valley of the Waveney. not far from the town of Rungay.

"The first and happiest days of my life were spent at 'Stowe
House,' in that loveliest of lovely valleys the Waveney," she

HKKJKAl'HICAL SKKTC}!.

i;is, l)()in
■luiiiiunji
II illlllnst

I cniplov-
t'lls, and

;(■ (il'fCIl-

ury. Mr
Nt'wtoii,
• of books
;elebi"it('(l
IS of ht-r
lo (lied in
lis second
10 niothi'V
lie in the
lies, iifter-
is of En,u-
ograpliies,
author of
il works,
uary 9tli,
after the
slu- has
•r known
' Katie.
' appliea-
CO up his
counties.
II Thorpe,
ice in the
ungay.
at 'Stowe
eiiey," she

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

Th(! highroad between Norwich and London passes Itehind
the site of the old house, separated and liidden from it by the
high, close-cro]>ped hedge and noble, wide-spreading oaks.
The hou.se (pulled down only within the last few years) stood
on the slope of the hill, and below, at tlie foot of the old
world gardens and meadows, the lovely river winds its silvery
way to the sea. The green hills, the projecting headland.s,
the tiny hamlets clustered about the ivy-covered church
towers of fifteenth and sixteenth century architecture; the
beauty of the velvet}' meadows and the hawthorn hedge.s ;
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 th(! might and menace
of the " King of all Cockaynie and all his braVerie," altogether
form a scene it would be difficult to eijual in any (juarter 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 tli<n' learned their lessons, waited in tlieir white
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 prettil}^ described by Mrs. Traill in
"Pleasant Day« of my Childhood."

Man}' anecdotes and stories have been told me by the (>lder
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 profjortion as
she loved the SufFolk-born daughters of the house Here
they learned and acted scenes from Shakespean*, poi'ed o^•er
great leather-bound tomes of history, such as a folio erlition of
llapin's " History of England," with Tyndalls notes, and
2

IJIOUKAFUICAT, SKKTCH.

printed in last century tj'pe. Here Aj^nes 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
folhjwer of the "gentle craft," but being a great sufferer from
the gout, re(juired 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 h mdiing his fishing-tackle, while still a very small
child. One of Mrs. Traill's most treasured pt)ssessions 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. Gwillyni) alway.s
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 happy, that we all adored her. She never cried
like otlu'r children — -indeed we used to say that Katie never
saw a sorrowful day — for if anythiiig went wrong she just
shut her eyes and the tears fell from under the long lashes
and rolled down her cheeks like pearls into her lap. My
father idolized her. From her earliest childhood she always
sat at his light iiand, and no mattei* how iri-itable or cross he
might be with the others, or from the gout, to which he was
a maroyr, 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 removed 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

carpenter
pelisse be
as nu'i-ry
my childi
(J rave' to
keep us
Reydon t
A fine

dates back
fipmi, ideal
precious gil
the road b
in the couii
gabled roo
bers anfl lu
fearless na
the la\\'n, j

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

Vll

Elizabeth
's Iliad,"
old them

SI dev()te«l
erer from
ly acconi-
,n-servant

at hand,
xn\e very

ery small
ms now is
•r," which

m) always

lousehold.

always so

ever cried

iitie never

she just

)n,i; lashes

ap. My

le always

cross he

1 he was

when, in

irket, Mr.

lew home

at bitter
it on last
nild's with
d we chil-
vants and

carpenters. Tt 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 ovei-
my childish sallies. We stopped at a place called ' Deaflnian's
Grave' 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 fine old Elizabethan mansion, of which the title-deed

' ^ ; vv ■ ' J ' A.

,. **

■ ".^^0._

■•— ■ i»r-.t^.«».t.-/..rA»'

(il'N HILL, SOUTHWOLD UEACU.

dates back to the reign of Edward VI., "Reydon Hall " was a
fipau idi'al residence for the V>ringing up of a family of such
precious gifts as the Strickland sisters. Ft stands back fi-om
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 plantation " (as a wide

' <^^\ '

Vlll

BIOGRAPH IC A L SKETCH .

t»pen Henii-cii'fular belt of oaks was callerl), and the beautiful
Reydon Woorl to the north, on the Eai'l of Stradbroke's
property, formed a grand envii'onment for the development of
thiMr several characteristics.

Air. Stiickland 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, anfl always
spent some months of the year in tlia,t b(!autiful old cathedral
city, and as the attacks of gout increased in frequency, was
obliged to reside there (hning the winter. He was generally
accompanied by one or two of his daughters, his wife dividing
her time as much as possible betwetm the two houses. During
her absence from Reydcm, the care and educati(;n of the younger
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 daj's in the lonely old house in sewing,
walking in the lanes, sometimes going to see the sick and
carry food or little comforts to the cottagers; bu!" reading was
our chief resource. We ransiicked tlie libraiy for books, we '
dipped into old magazines of the last centui'V, such as Chris-
topher North styles ' Ijottled 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 end)ellished old tome, ' Descartes'
Philosophy.' We read Sir Francis Knolles' 'History of the
Turks,' with its curious wood-cuts and cjuaint old-style English.
We dipped into old Anthimy Hoi-neck's book of 'Divine
Morality,' but it was really too dry. AVe read Ward's ' His-
tory of the Reformation in Rhyme,' a book that had been

4^-r

1!1<)<;hai'Iii(;a[. skktch.

[> l)eautit'ul
triidbr()ke'.s
■li){)ment of

iinself, and
:'ar superiijr
bers of that
md always
cl cathedral
[uenc}', was
s generally
ifc dividing
's. During
the younger
n.

be seen by
ra giving as

le sick and
■eading was

books, we '
1 as Chris-
t bin,' and
led history,
ihei-e was a
an Under-
len, but as
b direction,

Descartes'
tory of the
'le English,
of 'Divine
ard's ' His-
had been

condemned to be burnt by the common hangman. Mow this
co{)y had escaj)ed 1 never learned. 7 remembei" how it began :

" ' I King tlie (IcoiIh (»f good King Harry,
And Ned liis soil and dauglitei- Mary,
And of a nhort-livod inter-rcign
Of one fair (lueen hight Lady Jam.'.'

• "We tuinc.l to t\w Asfro/<)(/i'r'n Mdi/n-inr and so frightened
the cook and hous«'inaid by reading aloud its iiorrible tales of
wit(!hcraft and apparitions that they were afraid to go about
after dark lest they should meet the ghost of old Martin, an
eccentric old bachelor brother of a late proprietoi- of i\w. Halh
who had lived the last twenty yeai's of his life secluded in
the old garret which still bore his name and was said to be
haunted by his unlaid spirit. This garret was a (juaint old
place, clo.seted round and papered with almanacs bearing
dates in the middle of the past century. We childi-en used
to puzzle over the ni3'stical signs of tlu^ Zodiac, and try to
comprehend the wonderful and mysterious predicticjns printed
on the old 3'ellow paper. Thei-e was, too, a tiny iron gratt^
with thin rusted bars, and the hooks that had held up the
hangings of the forlorn recluse's befl. On one of the panes
in the dormer windows there was a rhyme writti>n with a
diamond ring, and p<jssibly of his own competition :

" ' In a cottage we will live,

Hapi)y, tliough of low estate.
Every hour more hliss will bring,

We in goodness shall be great. — M. E.'

"We knew little of his history but what the old servants told
us. He had never associated with the family when alive. His
brother's wife made him live in the garret because she dislikerl
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 Mai-tin. There was also a little old
woman in grey, who was said to 'walk' and to j)lay such

X lUOfiKAPHICAL SKETCH.

faitastic tricks as wen; sutHcient to turn \vhit«» the hair of
those she visited in tlie small hours of the niglit.

" 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 upper 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. No doubt the restless little woman in
grey had been a notable housewife in her time, and could not
remain i lie even after being in her gi'ave for a century or more.

" To relieve the tedium of tiie dull winter days, Susan and
I formed the brilliant notion of writing a novel and amusing
ourselves by I'eading aloud at night what hafl been written
during the day. But where should we find paper 1 We had
no pocktt-money, and even if we had been amply supplied
there was no place within our reach where we could purchase
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 pa/nrr-machr uliest 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 b-jtween 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

^'!!i!.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

the hair of

ihould have
all with itH
)ors, closed-
'ed a legion
them. The
H stood the
arm of the
sd by itself,
ds unless it
e woman in
d could not
iry or more.
Susan and
nd amusing
;en written
? We had
ly supplied
Id purchase
nthusiastic
lis. In the
uhest with
the ward-
t() England

3s. This
n tlie two
lo cot with
mbroidered
d unfaded,
read. The
aoped with
fi, silks, old

dame of
dia muslin

of great length and breadth, yet of so fine a texture that the
whole width f)f one could be drawn through a lady's finger-
ring. My mother had a' > made the olfl chest a receptacle
for extra stoi-es of house-linen, and underneath all she had
depctsited many reams of paper, blotting-paper, and dozens of
i-cady-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
Ensrland. Here was treasure trove. We pounced on the
pa' er and pens — -their being cut adding much to their value —
and from some cakes of Indian ink we contrived to manu-
facture respectable writing fluid. Among the old V)ooks in
the library there was a fine atlas in two .raarto volumes, full
of maps anfl abounding in the most interesting geograj)hical
hii-tories of the European countries, legends, the truth of
which we nevrr (|uestioned, and flourishing descriptions that
just suited our "omantic ideas of places we had never stjen but
had no difficulty in picturing to ourselves. I chose the period
of my hero William Tell, intending to write an interesting
love tale ; Vjut I soon got my hero and heroine into an inextri-
cable muddle, so fell out of love adventures altogether, anfl
altering my plan ended by writing a juvenile tale, which I
brought to a more satisfactory conclusion. Every day we
wr()t# a porti(m, and at night read it sdoud to 8ara. She
took a lively interest in our stories and gave us her opinion
and advice, of which we took advantage to improve them
the following day. Not feeling quite sure of our mother's
approval, we kept our manuscripts carefully concealed after her
i-eturn, but we were in even greater dread of our eldest sister,
knowing that she would lecture us on the waste of time.

" Que morning I was sitting on the step inside our dressing-
room door, reading the last pages of my story to 8ara, when
the door behind me opened and a small white hand was fjuietly
placed on mine and the papers extracted. T looked at Sara
in dismay. Not a word had been spoken, but I knew my
mother's hand, and the dread of Eliza's criticism became an

1H(HJ|{AI'III('AI, SKKTCII.

I !

instant reality ; and licf ' I tliink you had In-cn Ix-tter
<'ni])l<)yi>d in inipi'ovin;^ youi' ^^i-ainniai- and .spcllin^r than in
.sci'il)l)Hnji( HU(;h trash,' sounded ccuclly siiiritstic to my Hcnni-
tivc cars. I, howcvci', l)('<,'<^e<l t\w restoration of the despised
manuscript, and obtained it under to curl my hair

with it.

" I (hd in trulli tear up tlie iiist pait, hut a liri/^^erinfj; afl'ec-
tion for that portion of it containinfj; the story of tlie 'Swiss
Hei'(l-l)oy and iiis Alpine Marmot," induced me t<» pre.servj' it,
and I have the rouijh copy of that story now in my po.ssession."

F<]arly in the spring,' of tlie foUowinjjf year. May iSth, IJ^IS,
Mr. Sti'ickland dit'd at Noi'wich. 'J"he sudden tidinj^s of the
failure of a tirni in which he had aHowed his luime to remain
as a sleeping partner or guarantor, and the consetpient 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 Eli/a and Agnes
in the town house. Mrs. Strickland was at Heydon, but was
to return the following day to picpare foi' the usual move to
the old Hall for the sunnner.

Mr. Strickland's su<lden death was a great shock to liis
family, and Katie grieved much for him. He had always
been indulgent to iier, and his loss was her hist sorrow, the
first cloud on her young life. Here I may cpiote again from
her own notes :

"We had often heard our father express a wish to be
buried in some (juiet churchyard 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 Lakenliam, 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

HKMJItAlMIK AL SKKTCM.

XIII

l)n)tlicrM wprc attt'iidiii"; Dr. Viiljiy's school, the two rider
sistt'fs anil Kiltie rcinuitK'd tlicie. Klizabetli, liaviii;,' hccn her
tattler's ainaiiueiisis and coiitidaiite, had iiiuch to do in eon-
iiectioii with husiness niatteis. A<,'nes was not stron;,', and
re(|uiriii;i t'iei|U('nt ehanj^e ot' air. was much fiway visiting;
friends. Katie was thus left very nuicli to herself.

*' I had access to the <'ity lihiary, so that I had no lack
of reading' matter, and my needle, vaiied l»y a daily walk to
the j,'arden helow the city wall, occupied a <,'(»od deal of my
lime. The garden was shut in hy a high paling and was (|uite
inivate. I spent many hours in this retreat with my books,
and it was at this time that 1 ventured once more to indulge
the scrihhling fcNcr which had been nipped in the hud by
ad\erse ciiticism the preceding year. \ was a great lover of
the picturescjue, and used to watch with intense inteicst the
Highland drovers as they passed to the great Norwich nwuket.
i admired their blue bonnets and the shej)herd's plaids they
wore so gracefully across breast and shoulder, and the rough
coats of the c»tllie dogs that always accompanied them, and
often listened to the wild notes of the bagpiju's. Scotland
was the dream of my youth. Its history and poetiy had taken
a sti'ong hold on my fancy, and I called the first story T wrote
at this time, ' The liliiid Highland Piper.' 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, fi'om which w(;re 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
story after him, ' The Little Water-Carrier.' Thus I amused
myself until ni}' 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

HMMlKAI'HirAL SKETCH.

1: !

t'uHion and (iisinay, I t'ouiul it had heeti reiiutved. I could
not Huniiiion courage to ((ucHtioii my Mister about it, ho suid
iiotliit\;< of luy Iohh. A few days passed, and \ hej^aii to fear
it had hetMi l)urne(l, hut on the next visit of our guardian,
Mr. Morgan, (»n husiness connect«'d with my fathers estate,
he .said to my ehh'st sister, ' Khza, I did not know that you
had time for story-writing.'

" My sister ioolted up in surprise and asked him what he
meant. Taking my h»st j)roperty out of his pocket he repUed,
' T found this nianuscrij)t open on the tabh*, and, looking over
its pages, became at once interestiid and surprisj'd at your
work.'

" Eliza h)oked inquiringly at me, and though confused and
half frightened, T was obliged to claim the papers as min' .

"Our kind friend then added as he rolled up the manuscri})t
and re])laced it in his [)ocket, ' Well, Katie, I am going to
correct this for you,' and T, glad to escape without a rel)uke
for waste of time or indulging in such idle fancies, thought
no moi'e of my stories. A month afterwards JNIr. Morgan,
with a smiling face, put into my hands five golden guineas,
the price paid for my stoi-y by Hariis the Publisher, in St.
Paul's Chnrchya>-d, London."

Thus was Mrs. Traill the first of the Strickland sisters to
enter the ranks of literature, as she is now the last survivoi-
of that talented coterie. The unex[)ected success of Katie's
first venture no doubt induced her sisters to send their MSS.
to the publishers. How their work has been recognized is
matter of history.

"The Blind Highland Piper, and Other Tales " was so well
received by the public that Katie was employed by Harris to
write another for his House. " Nursery Tales " proved a
greater success, although the remuneration she received was
not increased. She next wrote for the Quaker House of
Messrs. Darton &■ Harvey, "Prejudice Reproved," "The
Young Emigrants," " Sketches from Nature," " Sketch Book

lUOOKAI'HICAL SKK'n II.

ut' a Young Naturalist," and "The St('|tl)r<.th('r.s." This finii
paid her more lilwrally than Harris, and it was with tin*
utmost delight and phmsurc that she sent the jiroceeds of her
[ittn to her mother at Ueydon, grateful that she was able to
lielp everj in so small a way t(» eke out the \u>w reduced
ineome of the home.

>[essrs. Dean it Mundy puhlished "Little T)<wny, the
Kield-mouse," and "Keepsake (Uiinea, and Other Stories," in
\H2'2. Many other short stories were written and }»ul)lishe(l
in the various Annuals issued between that year and Katie's
marriage in \Hl\'2. "Little Downy, the Fi(*ld-mouse " was
the most j)oj)ular, and is, I believe, still in print. None of
the early works of the sisters wen; written over their own
names, and a late edition of this story was issued by the
publishers over Susanna's (Mrs. ^loodie) mime, and though
both the sisters wrote protesting against the blunder and
re<|u<\sting a correction, no notice was taken of their letters.

" Little Downy was a real mouse," said Mrs. Traill recently,
when speaking of hei' early works, "and f well remembei-
how I wi-ote its story. I used to sit undei" tlie great oak tree
near where it lived, and watch the pretty creature's frisky,
frolicing ways, and write about it on my slate When \
had both sides covered 1 ran into the house and transcribed
what I had written in an old copy-book, then I'an out again
to watch the gentle dear and write some more.'

During the years which intervened between the death of
her father and hei- marriage, nothing of Aery great moment
occurred in Katie's life, save the falling in of a small legacy as
her share of a deceased uncle's ])roperty. She made occasioiuil
visits to London, where she stayed with a cousin of her father's
or with other friends — visits full of interest from the people she
met, the glimpses obtained of fashionable 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 lirilliant
complexion, soft beauty and sunny smile won her the love

XVI

BIOGHAI'HICAL SKETCH.

^,1

fin

and fidniiiatioii of all with whom she came in contact, and
she was always a welcome guest with old and young alike.
T The means at Reydon were narrow, and in those days
poverty was regarded almost as a crime, so the\' liv(Ml ([uietly
in the old Hiill, sutticient society for each other, and each
pursuing the line of study in accordance with the particular
bent of her individual genius.

Susanna had married in IS.'Jl, and come with her husliaud*
to live at Southwold, and it was at their house that Katie
met her futui*e 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 IMoodie 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 writers and men of the day among
his acijuaintances, and knew many anecdotes of Scott, Gitt'ard,
Jeffreys and Wilson. He had marrieil first an Orkney lady,
and her health recjuii'ing 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 A'isit to Southwold his wife had lieen
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 otticers to try their fortunes in the New World.

*John W, D. Moodie (yo)iiigest son of Moodie of Me'setter, Orkney),
late Lieut. 21st Fusiliers, and author of "Ten Years in South Afrlcn,"
' ' A Soldier and Settler," etc.

'f>\}

Diitact, and
\<f alike,
those (lays
ved (luietly
, and each
! particular

r husband*
that Katie
iged to one
friend and
lyal Scotch
Traill had
generation.

year with
raill could
day among
»tt, Gift'ard,
•kney lady,

had lived
rt unity of

science at

nt linguist

had been
with their
in for the
juestion of
Ame being
free grants
etired and
^orld.

er. Orkney),
uth Africa,"

Kiltie II
long het'or
Mr. Trail
that he \v;

The gri<
with the
])i"e})ostei'(i
ami iiu en
They wei'f
at Keydui
very quiet
coming pa

"On th
the belove
and, accoii
to the bea
on the Cit
then plied

" It was
cloudlessly
incoming i
the l)each,
from the
were chin:
they seenK

Yet as I
boat that
a mere spi
should ne\
hn-ed shor

HIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

XVll

Katie met him at her sister's house, and it was not very
long l)e£ore 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 believf* so
pieposterous a tale, but " the Katie ' hail made her choice
and no entreaties could prevail upon her to change her mind.
They were married on May 13th, l)^'.i'2, in the parish church
at Reydon, by the vicar, the Reverend H. Birch. It was a
very (juiet wedding, and a sad one, for the shadow of tlie
coming parting was over them all.

" On the 20th of May T bade farewell to my old home and
the beloved mother w4iom I was never again to see on earth,
and, accompanied by my sisters Agnes and Jane, went down
to the beach, from whenct; we were to be rowed out to embark
on the Citi/ of London, one of the first twt) steamers which
then plied between the metropolis and Leith.

" It was 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 church of St. Edmund
were chiming their summons to the morning service, but
they seemed to me to be repeating the sad refrain —

" 'Parting forever,
Parting forever,
Xever again to meet !
Never, O never I '

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 eyes
should never again look upon those dear ones and England's
loved shores. Hope was ever bright. To me there was always

ii'r

XVIU

HIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

!«

'I'.iSIl'

I mV

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 look
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 aiFec tion, although no >Mie could have appeared in worse
plight to captivate unknown relatives than she did that morn-
ing, wet from the sea spray, 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 1 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 house 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 stay of some weeks in the Islands they returned
to Scotland 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
her in my favor, had provided me with a handful of coins to

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

XIX

give her.

Thoush her hand closed over the silver, she con-
tinued to regard nie 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 stay in his ' ain countrie an' amang his ain people
and kin.' Then turning to me she said angrily, • An' It is ye
that are takin' 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 tlie noo wull see
ye nae mair.'

" My husband lifted and tried to soothe her, but she would
not be comforted. Ah, Jean I you spoke truly ; the master
you so loved and honorerl lies in the little churchyaid on
the Ijanks of the Otonabee, far from the Lady Kirk 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 j-laying the grand Highland " March of the Cameron
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 (juite well when we left Inverness by the
little passenger steamer Highland Chieftain, 3'et 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 2)lucking many sweet wild-
Howers by the way. My love for flowers attractecFuie atten-
tion of two of my companicms, a Mr. Allen, of Leith, and a
Mr. Sterling, of (Masgow, both of whom I found were horti-
culturists and well acquainted with the flora of the country.
We entered into conversation, and they added much to the

mOGllAl'HICAL SKETCIf.

pleasure of the journey by pointing out to nie the interesting
objects along our route. At (ilen 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 jiowerful a stroke as any of the fisher
lads of Croniai'ty. [ must have e3'ed the fishing-basket with
a longing glance (it reminded me of my childh(»od days on the
bank of the Waveney), for the old laird noticed me and we
became (piite friendly. He talked of salmon fishing and
Highland U)chs, and pointed out the wild opening of Lochiel's
(j!len. Then wo spoke of the Camerons and the INIacflonells,
the Stewarts and Glencoe, the Highland chiefs and Highland
feuds and emigration, and I tokl him we were bound for the
far west. Before he left tlu; boat at a point leading to
Tnverar}^, he held my hand a few seconds and said : ' If you
should ever be near the Highland settlement of Glengarry,
and need help or shelter, say that you have seen the MaalowU,
and every d»)or will })e oj)ened 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 Ness, the hostess of whicl talked
much of 8ir Walter Scott, whom she had known wed. The
illness I had felt coming on when in Inverness \sas only
stayed, and it now overtook me, robbing me of all the
pleasure of tlie lovely scenery of the Clyde, and by the time
we reached Greenock I was (completely prostrated. Skilful
treatment and careful nursing, however, enabled me to
recover sufticientlj' to be carried on board the brig Laurel, in
which our passage had been taken and paid for, and which it
would have l)een a serious loss to forfeit."

Mrs. Traill speaks of this brig iis being the last of the
season sailing from that port to Quebec. They sailed on the
7th of July, a fact and date which bear interesting compari-
son with the carrying trade of the present time between the
Clyde and Canada.

Ill

:lli

BIOOUAPHICAL SKETCH.

XXI

The passa<^e was a j^ocxi one, unbroken l)y storms or f<Jgs,
and although very ill during the hrst part of the voyage, by
the time the Laurel entered the Gulf Mrs. Traill had (|uite
recovered her health. The trip up the river was a slow cme ;
there was little wind, and they had to depend largely oji the
tide for theii- 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 H<itel until they could have
their baggage passed through the Custom lu)use, always a
tedious business, and particularly so at that date. The
weather was intensely hot. Cholera was raging in the city, <^
and before the two days of delay had expired Mr.s. 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 hii4
untiring efforts among the cholera patients, this devoted
physician fell a victim to the disease about a month later.

Athough ixarrowiy escaping death, the recuperative vitality
which has ever been the characteristic feature of the family,
enabled her to recover (juickly, and on the ^Oth, 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 Jiritaiii,
then the largest and best steamer on the route.

In the sketch, "Sunset and Sunrise on Ijake Ontario," Mrs.
Traill gives an account of the journey from J3rockville to
Cobourg. On Septeml)er 9th, they left Cobourg in a light
waggon for the shores of Rice Lake, there to take the steamer
for Peterborough, in the neighborhood of which place Mrs.
Traill's brother, who had emigrated to Canada some years
before, had lately settled.
3

ll il

!!Mr

xxn

HIOGHAI'HICAL SKKTCH.

" A motley group of emigrants shart'd the only available
room in the log-house which did duty as tavern on the shores
of Hice 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 m^ weary limbs. The broad
rays of the full moon, streaming in through the panes of the
smiiU window, revealed our companicms of the Cobourg stage,
talking, smoking, or stretched at full length sleeping. On a
I'ude couch at the othei- 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, we 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 I Men in all sorts of ragged coats and
brimless hats and huge wrinkled brogues ; women with red
handkerchiefs tied over their dishevelled locks, and wearing
jackets that had once done duty as pfirt of a regimental uni-
form. There was many a pretty foot coquettishly peeping
from beneath a quilted petticoat to be hastily hidden by the
Vjlack-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 or a Hoe the
plank ' — a feat which was performed by two men dancing a
wild sort of horn-pipe with a wonderful variety of turnings
and twist'ngs, capers and wrestlings, as trials of skill and
strength, on a board or door laid on the ground, until one
was forced to yield 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

^o named fro

iu()(;raphic.\l skktch.

XXllI

tlicii iiiiulo its rounds t'ur the whiskey tliat was not in it, l)ut
hoped for. One old crone noticed my husl))ind"s forei<,'n hiihit
of takin;,' snufT, and hobbling U}) to hitn presented iier own
siiutt-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 th(>re were
many sad and anxious faces, while the younger ones wei'e
bright and evidently hopeful for the future. Two nice-look-
ing girls interested me, they were so neat and (piiet in com-
parison with the others. One had a piect^ of \«'ry l)eautiful
work in her hand, which slie hastily concealed in the bosom
of her dress. ' Tt is only a bit of our Frish lace,' she said, in
answer to my in(|uiry, 'and it is not nice, it is not clean!'
Poor thing, how could she keej) her thnjad and pretty work
clean amid such surroundings 1

" The little steamer I*em-o-dnsh, the Indian word for
'fire-boat,' which was to convey us across the lake and up
the i-iver 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 abimt
iialf way, T seized the opportunity' tt) land and gather some
of the sj)lendid cardinal ilowers that grew along the shores.
Here, t(K), 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 Cockspui- liawthorn.
It had fruit as large as cherries, pulpy and of a pleasant
tlavoi-, not unlike tamarind. The thorns were of great length
and strength. Among the grasses of the meadow land T
found spearmint, and, nearer to the bank, quantities of
peppermint. Owing to the rapids and the shallowness of the
liver, the steamboat was unable to go up the whole way to
Peterborough, so a large, unwieldl3f-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

UIOdRAPHK'AL SKETCH.

the Yiiiikees. The steamer, however, ran af^fround some four
miles below the rendezvous. This caused a considerable
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 l)rilliantly 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 spii-its, and I leaned back
against my husband's supporting arm and looked from sky
to star-lighted river, from the river u{) 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 raj)ids that night. We
were two miles distant from the town, the dark forest lay
gloomy and dense before us, and I was weak from illness and
want of food. To pass the night on an open sc(jw, 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 ?

" One of our fellow-passengers, whose house lay on the
opj site 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 through
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 if sympathy for the
' English ledtly who looked so tired.' He told us of how he
had lost both fathei- and mother from cholera at Montreal,
and was alone in the world without anyone to care for him.
Our way was crossed by a little stream, over which the only

bridge was
liad made il
dizzy and .
more to my
opened out
t't'W scatterp
populous cit

" ' Now,
' here is tht
furder beka;
call u[) Mr.
" Mr Ro^
in a wond(
hotel, whici
lodging. H
still oi)en, b
available sp
ari'ived emi^
a disastrous
Stewart's— t
Montreal-
VVe then asl
that he livi
there would
't lien a worn
led into the
McFafiv'len
.Stewart and
her to make
me in a chai
a stout Irisl
my wet feet
taking it.
being thus ci
"Trulv th

BlOORAPniCAL SKETCH.

XXV

ue four
durable
ineii at
»at wan
I before
ad now
> water,
tude of

might
}d back
•om sky
y, with
jrie was
nst the
) rowing
It. We
jrest lay
ness and
exposed
was ten
were we
own '\

on tlie
e of the
utreaties
; enough
ured the

through
from the
' for the
y for the
f how he
liontreal,

for him.

the only

Itiidge was the rough trunk of a fallen tree. The heavy dew
lifid made it wet aiul slippery, and in crossing my head turned
diz/y and I sli{){)ed, wetting ray feet, thereby adding (me
more to my other discomff>rts. Beycmd the stream the forest
opened out intt) a wifle grassy plain, and the lights fnmi a
t't'w scattered houses tokl us we were on the site of the ju»w
|iopulous city of Peterborough.

" ' Now, mistress, and yer honor,' said our little guide,
' here is the (xovernment }[ouse, an' I cannot show ye any
furder hekase f don't know any of the town beyant, but I'll
call u[) Mr. llosebeny, an' shure he'll guide ye to the hotel.

" Mr Rdsfberiy's man obeyed the summons, and appearing
in a wonflcrful dfuhalnlle, directed us to Mr. McFadden's
hotel, whicli, if not shut up, would afford us a night's
lodging. Hurrying down the steep hill we found the house
still open, but only to learn that there was no room, every
available space being occupied l)y a recent influx of newly-
arrived emigrants. This .seemed the crowning misfortune to
a disastrous day. We iiKpiired how far we wen; from Mr.
Stewart's — friends to whom we had brought letters from
Montreal — and were told his house was a long two miles off.
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,
'.iien a woman's kindly hand was laid on my arm, and I was
led into the house by the misti'ess of the little inn. Mrs.
McFaciden had been listening to our inquiries, and the names
Stewart and Strickland attracting her attention, had induced
her to make an efTort on our behalf. The kind woman put
nie in a chair by the blazing log tire, and giving diiections to
a stout Irish girl to bring some warm water and attend to
my wet feet, she mixed a hot drink and insisted u[)on my
taking it. The warmth was most grateful, and v.hile T was
being thus cared for I could look about me.

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

XXVI

ISKHIKAI'MKAI, SKKTCII.

I! I

fire illumiiifil I lit- i-ouiii, sliowin;,' cvitv ;i\!iilabl(^ spiic*'
()ccu|)it'(l Jilniost to tin- very ver;,'*' of llic licartli. Men,
wonu'ii iui«l cliiMifii were slccpin;^ (Ui iinpnivisfd 1«'(1m,
Idiiidlcs (if fill sizes uii»i sliii|)<'s t'oriniii;,' |iilli>us t'oi" their
Hli!i<,'jL,'y lu'iuls. SoiiK- liiy on the N'lij; dn'ssci', some on the
Ixire fjooi- iM'iiciitli it —nil Hlccpiii^' the sleep of the weary.

" As soon as she saw I was warm and more comfortahh-,
my liostcss showed me to the only jilaee in the house that
they luul to j^'ive us. It was a tiny donnitoiy, moic like ii
hiid-eaye than anvthin'' else. The walls were lathe<l, hut
without i>lastei', and Itoth air and li^ht were freely admitted.
However, it had a clean l)ed in it, and I was ^lad to lie down
and watch the rivei- dancinj^ in the moonli;,dit and listen to
the rush of the rapids until 1 fell asleep.

"The following' morning a messaj,'e was sent to my brother
to l(>t him know of our ai-rival, and that evening,' he ran the
rapids in his canoe, and we met again after seven hmg years
of sepai'ation."'

Mrs. Traill remained in Petei'boruu<:ch with their kind friends,
JNIi'. Stcnvart and his family, while her husband returned with
Mr. Stiiekland to his clearinj^ on the shores of Lak«' Katche-
wanook, the first of th.r chain of lakes of which the Ottmabee
is the outlet. Mr. Strickland had taken uj) lanri there for the
ninny advantages the locality offered. There wa.s good soil,
fine timber, tsxcellent water-power, rich mineral depijsits, and
the pi'obability or remote certainty that at some future dat(^
the lakes would ho. connected by canals, the river made navi-
gable by the construction of locks, and f water highway be
obtained from Lake Huron via Lake Rimcoe to the Bay of
Quinte and the St. Lawrence, an expectation which appears
about to have the tir.st steps taken towards its accomplishment.

Mr. Traill drew his Government grant of land in the neigh-
borhood, the principal portiim 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

ni(UiitAi'iiir.\i- sKirnii.

x Wll

lived with Mr. Strickland, duriiij; wliidi tiiiif Mrs, Tniiil
Ix'ciimc initiated intc. ihe ways of lite in the hush. In her
" Hackwdods of Canada," there is a \eiy pretty deseri|tti<m ot"
these lirst few months of life in ('anada, and of her aei|uainl-
aiice with the natural histoiy suri-oiindinj,' her new home.

<'ii the ilth of Deeemlier, IX'.V.), they moved into the new
house, which was duly named " We.stove." Ilert' tliey lived
seven happy years, foi' thon;,'h they had to endure all the hard
ships and trials insepai'al)le from the early settlement of the
husli, tliey yet were Itu.sy and hopeful, happy iti the society of
each other and the nei<,'hl)orhood of her brother and his family.
Mr. Moodie had also moved up from his first location near
Cohour;;, in Fehruary, lf<."U, and l)ou<,'ht hind on the Douro
side of the lake, about a mile beyond Mr. Strickland's
hiiincslead.

The erection of a good .saw-mill and a biidge over the river
'Mso j^ave them readier access to a market at Peterboiouf.;!'
and to their friends, and tended to lessen the loneliness of the
situation. Tlu^y all had suffered at times from the low fever
and aj^ue, and the various vicissitudes of farm-life, but were
always ready to help each other or their hs.ss fortunate

In 1S.S5, Mrs. Traill again took up lu*r pen. The " Hack-
wowls of Canada" was written, and in IS.'ili was published in
London by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, for the "Libiary
of Entertaining Knowledge " Series. This volume contained
niucli valuable information for intending emigrants, and had
a wide rirculation. Though all the lun'dships and discomforts
of life in the bush were told with graphic fidelity, they were
described with a cheerful and optimistic pen, as of i>ne 'vho
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 Vjetter
home for themselves and their children in the New World, but

XXVlll

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

rather the reverse. The author';* cheerful, happy spirit had
robbed the backwoods of its terrors.

When the rebellion of 1837 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. No 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 fiie. 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 g»jing until a neighbor came to help us."

Mr. Traill, however, only went as far as Cobourg, for by
the time the men there weie enrolled, ordei-s c(juntermanding
their march came from Toronto, and, after some weeks of
vexatious delay and uncertainty, tliey were disbanded and
returned to their homes. Mr. Moodie had, however, gone
direct to Toronto, and, being conunissioned in ime of the I'egi-
ments serving on the Niagara frontier, his return was delayed
for months. During this long winter Mrs. Traill was 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 soriow or sickness, and reading between the
lines one can 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 honnie ; 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
recovery 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 subsetjuently pur-
cliased "Oaklands."

Meanwhile Mrs. Traill had not been idle. They were very
poor, as all settlers of Mr. Traill's class and education were
in those days, unfitted for the rough life and to cope with the
(lirticulties which the work entailed, and his wife's pen was
fre([uently the means of keeping the wolf from the door. She
wrote many short stories and sketches for the magazines both
in England and the States, the Anylo-American being one of
those in the latter country; and, in 18.50, " Lady Mary and
her Nurse," 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 Mr. Bridges, which attained
some celebrity ; from there they went to live in a small log-
house on a rise called Mount Ararat, above a deep ravine on
tiie sliores of Rice Lake, and it was here, among the actual
surroundings, so well depicted on its pages, that Mrs. Traill
wrote " The Canadian Crusoes." It was published by Messrs.
Hall it Vertue, London, and later the copyright of both it
and " Lady Mary and her Nurse " were bought by Messrs.
Nelson it Sons, Edinburgh. These books have gone through
many editions and been issued under more than one title.

XXX

HIOOHAI'HICAL SKETCH.

given them by the puljlisher, but the authoress has not
received any further remuneration than the j£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 u.seful little book.

Mrs. Traill's family now numbered nine, four sons and five
daughters (of whom only two sons and two daughters survive),
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 Howers and for
natural history in general was a continual source of pleasure
and .'ventually of profit. She lost no opportunity of studj'ing
the botany of the country, and was ever seeking for new
specimens '"o 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 'J6th oi August, 1857, owing to some cause or acci-
dent never ascertained, the crowning misfortune of all the
losses in the bush happened. They 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. Mr. 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 world. Their eldest son was married ;
the youngest was only a child of ten years. Mr. Strickland
and other friends were most kind, helpful and sympathetic,
but the loss could never be recovered.

They stayed for some time with Mrs. Traill's brother, Mr.

mOGRAPHK.'AL SKETCH.

XXXI

Strickland, and then removed to a house jilaced at their
service by their iriend 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 ttld neighborhood of their first settle-
ment, now a thriving village, and hei- daughter Mary 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 Lady Charlotte Greville, who succeeded in so interesting
Lord Palmerston in Mrs. Traill's literary work as to obtain
for her a grant 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
"We.stove."

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

In 1869, her botanical notes were utilized iu supplying the
letter-press for her niece, M rs. FitzGibbon's " Canadian Wild
Flowers," end 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.

xxxn

BIOORAPHICAL SKETCH.

itij|»fl

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 happy as the youngest among us, and
winning 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 facsimile 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. Tt 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 price.

Mrs. Traill had always received kindly presents from her
sisters 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 copyright 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, where a poor Indian girl was buried,
Mrs. Traill wrote to the Department at Ottawa to ask that
it should be granted lier. It was but a tin}' island, and her
anxiety to preserve the Indian girl's grave from desecra-
tion induced her to take this step. 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
(juoting it :

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

HIOORAPHICAL SKETCH.

xxxin

vou will receive a patent for 'Polly Cow's Island,' in the
fiver Otonabee, township of Douro.

" It has been a great pleasure to everyone here, from the
liiLfhest to the lowest official, to do everything 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 you for
your life-long devotion to Canada."

The patent is beautifully engros,sed by hand and is highly
\ alued by the owner.

Another honor paid Mrs. Traill was the compliment of
calling a remarkable form of the fern Aspidinrn marginali',
which she found growing near the village of Lakefield, on a
\acant town lot that was only partially cleared from the
forest trees, Mrs. Traill's Shield Fern — A. mnrginn/e (Su/.)
\ ar : Traillae — is not the least valued by 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
(laughter Mary — trials patiently borne and sorrows suffered
that had overwhelmed her but for her trust in Providence
and her unf.uling reliance on His will. I have passed them
l)y, not because they are without interest, but because it
would be turning back a cloud of sorrow to dim the dear old
eves 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
tiow in the pretty sitting-room, busy 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 visit to the island of Minnewawa, 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

lUOCaiAPHlCAJ. SKETCH.

versation, sparkling with well-told anecdotes and incidents of
men and things garnered during her long life anrl 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 futurs where
a happy reunion with the loved ones awaits her.

The following Hues, written on her mother's eightieth birth-
day by Mrs. Traill's third (laughter, Mary (the late Mra.
Muchall), though faulty in metre, are so descriptive that I
cannot end my brief sketch better than by quoting them :

" Eighty to-day is oxir mother,
A picture so peaceful and fair,
The lilies of fourscore summers
Anleep in her silvered hair.

" Eiglity to-day, yet the love-light

Shines as soft in ' sweet blue eyes,
As touched with a y from heaven
Of the peace that never dies.

" The happy spirit of childhood.

That with some is too quickly past.
Caught by some magic eacliiintment,
Is flooding her life to tlie last.

" Eighty to-day, and her children,
Near or far in a distant laml,
Are strong sons and happy daughters,
A loved and a loving hand.

" In our hearts she'll live forever ;

When she leaves for a world more fair.
Her smile will be still more radiant
As she welcomes each dear one there. "

PREFACE

Although I lived the first few years of my childhood
at Stowe House, near Bungay, in the lovely valley of
the Waveney, most of my young life was spent at
Reydon Hall, an old Elizabethan mansion in the eastern
l)art of the county of Suffolk, and within easy walk of
tlie sea-coast town of Southwold, now a much more
fre(iuented seaside resort than in former days.

Business or pleasure often led us to the town, and the
bcacli was a great attraction and source of pleasure to
my sisters and myself. We loved to watch the advance
and recoil of the waves, the busy fishermen among their
nets and boats, and the groups of happy children on
the sands; but there was a greater fascination still to
ns 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

PREFACE.

hope waH 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 deposited in ba(j or basket,
would send us home jubilant to add to the hoarded
store of fossils and other {jjarneretl treasures, or to show
to the dear mother, who would turn the treasures over
and say with a smile, " Let me see what precious pearls
my Katie has found among her many pebbles hardly
worth bringing home."

Still the time was not wholly 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 had been well content.

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

"Westove," Lakefield,

September 20th, 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 I
The orchard, the meadow, tlie 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 thttt 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, and the violets

I'EAULS AM) PEHULES.

hidden amonjjf tlio ^ras.s, and till our hands with blue-
bull.s and cowHlips.

But we have in Canada few such May days as
Sliakespeare, Milton and Herrick descrihe; here too
often it may be said that " Winter, lin^eriny, chills the
lap of May."

The inborn sense of the beautiful springs to life in
the soul of the babe when it stretches forth ;in eaj^tr
hand to grasp the riowirs in its nurse's l)Osoni. It is the
birtli 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 Suftblk
rivers, the Waveney, that the first happy years of my
childhood 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 ancestors, and
May Day was looked forward to with eager anticipation
by my sisters and myself.

The flowers — the sweet May blossoms of the haw-
thorn hedge and tlie oirly spring flowers — must be

I»LEASANT DAVS OF MY CHILDHOOf).

(gathered while the dew was .still upon them, or the rites
lost half their virtue.

We were always up before the sun, and so eajjerly
(lid we watch for the day that even our dreams were
liiiiuited by the anticipated pleasure, for I remember my
mother telling of beinj^ startled in the nij^lit by seeing
the door softly open and a small wh'* j-rolied figure j^flide
up to the bedside. It was Sara, her eyes wide open,
H.Ked and 8tarin<;, but the child was fast aslei^p. Two
tiny hands held up the full folds of her ni<fht-dress as
sill! said, " Flowers, more flowers, Lila." Even in her
sleep .she iiad gathered dream-flowers for the May Day
y,!irlands.

T was the youngest bui/ one, and being an especial p t
in till' household, on my happy head was conferred the
May crown, and I was dx\\y greeted as Queen of May.

Surely no ([Ueen could iiave been more joyous or
pioud of her honors : my crown a circlet oi Ilowers, my
sceptre a flower-wreathed wand of ha/.el, and my throne
jv mound of daisy-sprinkled turf iu the meadow by the
clear flowing river ; my loyal .subjects, the dearest and
most loving of sLsters.

The crown so coveted was woi*n till night, and then
cast aside to wither in the dust. Sic ti'dnsit 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 t ran

J'hAULS AND I'EHIU.KS.

paiviUiil, by a (|uick-set hod^e; on the othor side were
hi^fh slopiii^^ banks, the unFenced boundary ol" upland
pusturt'H.

(Jn the i^ruHMy slopeH f^rew tall oak trees and a tan^ded
jungle of wild bushes, among which woodbine and
swe(;t bi'ivir entwined, t'orniin^^ luxuriant bowers, beneath
which all sorts ol' flowers j^rew in rich ])roi"usioii.

On tiie other, or lower side of the hmo, a little tinkl'nj^
rill, that a child niij^ht step across, ran down, its water
chjiir and bright. From this slender streandet we chil-
dren drank the most delicious draughts from Nature's
own chalice, the hollow of our hands, or sipped its pure
waters, liko the fairies we read of, from the acorn cups
that strewed the gi'ass.

The banks of tlu; stream were lined witli sweet
purple violets, ])rimro.sos, and the little sun-bright
celandine : and later on there was good store of wild
strawberries, which \ve gathered and strung upon a stalk
of grass to carry home to our mother an a peace-cjfl'ering
for torn frocks and soiled pinafores, oi- leave out-stayed.

This cliarming spot was our Eden. In it we laid o.it
beds and planted a gai-den for ourselves. Like Canadian
scjuatters, we took to ourselves right of soil, and made a
free .settlement shun ceremonie. The garden was laid
out right daintily. The beds were planted with double
dai.sies 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 with

•■'J,:;

I'LKASANT DAYS OK MY ( UlIJlMOOI).

moss iixul (lucoriited with dry strijUMl snuil-slu'lls uud
hri^dit stones.

Our ;,'anhMi tools wer.' <jt' the rudest — our trowd a
rusty iron ladle, our spade a l)r()ki'M-l<lade«l carviuj,'-
kuil'e, and we <laily watered the llowers fiom a hattered
tin tea-pot and a leaky japanned niu;;-. l>ut in spite of
tliese unhandy implements, the ;;arden thi'ove and
blossomed in the vvilderness.

There, sheltered from sun and shower amonj; the
iiowery honeysuekles, we reclined on the {.jreen turf,
happy as children could he, and listened to the oft-
repeated stori(!S and old ballads that were recited by our
two elder sisters. How we delighted in those tales and
(|uaint old rhymes, and how little we dreamed that the
time would come when the sistei's who re<;ale(l 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 mavenir of my childhood. Often in
after years have the memories of those May days among
the cowslips and daisied meads of the Waveney come
l)ack to my wearied soul to cheer and soothe the exile
in her far distant forest home.

* Klizabeth and Affiios Strirklaiui.

...Aiir'

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 h>wly hiid,

And thou art Queen no more.

Fling down, Hing 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 b'nd her hair with chaplets fair

Torn from the blossomed thorn.

i\'o lark shall spring on dewy wing

Thy matin hynni to j)our.
No cuckoo's voice shall shout " Rejoice I '

For thou art Queen no more.

Beneath thy flower-encircled wand

No peasant trains advance ;
N'l .nore they lead with sportive tread

Tiie sjiarry, merry dance.

The violet blooms with modest grace

Beneath its crest of leaves ;
The prinu'ose shows her gentle face.

Her wreaths the woodbine weaves.

The cowslip bends her golden head,
And daisies deck the lea ;

But ah I 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 Wilfrid Canipbell.

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
i'roin 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 the Union Jack in friendly unison with
the Stara and Stripes.

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

PEARLS AND PEBB'.ES.

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 tlie landing of such as had been
forwarded to Brock ville, 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
entt-'red 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

i:':^!iilill

SUNSET AND SUNRISE ON LAKE ONTARIO.

irolden licliens and deep ^reen velvet mosses, or inland
coves half hidden by drooping ferns and native willows
oi- red with the changeful crimson of the glossy-leafed
American Creeper (Aiiipelo^ms Virginica), which was
ah'cady wreathing in gorgeous autumnal colors the
silvfny hark of tlie graceful birches and elms.

What tufts of golden rod and pale bluebells, what
starry asters were Uiirrored in the calm waters ! What
^dorious spikes of cardinal lobelias and azure-fringed
i;eiitians were growing wild and free on many a rugged
spot where possibly no foot of man had ever trodden !

The captain said it would be midnight ere we
'•eached Kingston, the " Limestone City," and dawn
Ijefore we could be at Cobourg, where our voyage was
to terminate. Thence our way would lie northward to
what was at that time the iiliivut iliide of civilization
a forest wilderness beyond the infant settlement of the
MOW village of Peterborough,* then but a cluster of
log houses and S(|uatters' shanties.

Charmed by the romantic natuvfd beauties of the
surrounding scene, no dread of che future rose up to
oppress me. Truly <listance lei;t its enchantment to
cheer and animate my ,sj)irits.

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 importanco in Ontario.

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 end hencefoi-th our home.

The after-glow of rose tints faded only to give place
to the tremulous rays of lie now risen moon, g ^ing a
yet greater charm to the scenery, deepening the shadows
or throwing objects intj sti'onger 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 the 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 the 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 OX LAKE ONTARIO.

the motionless figure of a heron standing on a fallen
cedar overhanging the margin of the water. When
our approach disturbed her night-waich 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, mysteiious 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 no\/ bearing in nearer to the shores of what
appeared to be a rolling country, all clothed with forest
green. Hill rising above hill eame out from the clouds
of morning mist, far away io 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 higher, anon taking the appear-

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 c'.ianged. 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 OF A MAY MORNING.*

'•' 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 sweet May morning. But what a change
since yesterday in the temperature of the air! Then
cliilling 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.

PEARLS AM) PEBBLES.

li!!!

not unfolded. I lie upon the couch on the veranda
biiHkinj^ in the delicious warmth of the sun's rays as
they reach uie through the half-clothed branches of
the maple and beech trees in the grove beyond my
garden. I recall last year at tiiis 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 they come to us and be
thankful — the leaves and buds and l^loasoms are all
before us. It is a pleasure to lie here and watch the
birds as they flit to and fro so gaily among the trees
and garden shrubs, carolling and iwittering in the
inialloyed glaJness of their natui'e ((uite heedless of my
preserce. Let me see who of my old aciiuaintances are
auiong thom. There are the neat little snow sparrows
(Junco hyemalw), 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 tliey 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
crossbdls (Loxia citrvirutitrti), and the tom-tits or
black-caps,* and many others, delay their coming till
April or even Maj^ I used to call the pretty snow

* Chickadee of the Americans— Parus atricapillua.

MEMORIES OF A MAY MORNING.

sparrows my " (juaker birds," when first I saw them and
dill not know their name. I admired their ^ sccjuisitely
neat phimaj^e of shite-grey, white breast, darker head,
llesli-colored bills and legs and feet, with some snow-
white feathers at the tail, and the ed<^es of the long
shaft- feathers of their win^s also tipped with white.
'I'hey looked so tidy and delicate, as if no speck or spot
coidd sully thei" (jiiakerly neat dress.

These birds iisnally appear in company with the small
l»iown and the chestnut-crowned sparrows,* with whiclx
they seem to be on the most friendly terms, mixing with
them as they flit about the garden seeking for seeds
juiiong the dry amaranths and other weeds.

The snow-birds and their friends, the chipi)ing 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 liead,
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.

Ves, there they are, the bright little couph*. They
look down shyly at me from their coigne of vantage
altove; and then, as if quite sure it is an old and trusted
friend they burst out with a joyous .'horus of greeting,
as if to say :

" Here we are again ; glad to see you alive and well,

'■Chipping sparrttw — Spizella socialii.

■

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 couplr, 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 connnence to build a
rudely-constructed nest of birch twigs ; no moss, nor
hair nor any soft materials are employed for the cradles
of the tiny little brood.

Wiiat brings these tiny birds back to the old summer
haunts ? Is it memor^^ ? 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 i*

Is it this that draws the fledglings of last year back to
the nest in which they were 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 wrenri do
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.

'I'he first 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
tlieir 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 br(X)ds can only be obtained ?

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

All day long, from sunrise to sunset, these birds are on
the wing, as soon as the little ones are hatched, going
and coming unweariedly, with a love for their offspring
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
5

I'EAKLS AND PEHBLES.

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 lingcj.' with us till the end of
August, but soine 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 same
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

canaries." 1

MEMOKIKS OF A MAY MORNINO.

liciit on important business. Thvy an? probably seeking
u convenient bush where to connnence the building of
11 nest for the reception of their unknown family.

[ can fancy the Hvely discussion that is beinj^ curried
on between the Httle pair, v/^her ) to make choice of the
l)est anil safest situation for the nest.

'i'liat syringa opposite tlie 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 blo.s.soms. It is the favorite res(jrt of the
little yellow bird.s.* Some call these birds " wihl
canaries," but there is a great difference between the
species, the true wild canary being larger, of a pale
lemon color, and the head marked in the niale bird
with a spot of black, also the wing feathers. It is a true
finch, feeding on seeds, especially tho.se 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 th? old syringa
and are going to work at once.

CJood-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 — Dendroica (estiva.

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

Some two years a^o a gi'eat event liappened to a pair
of my yellow birds, which ended in a serious disappoint-
ment. One waiiii May morning, as my daughter and I
sat sewing on the veranda, a little passing putf of wind
blew away some snips of the white material that we
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 slie came from her perch in the bush and
carrieil oti' the pi'ize 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 boldin-, 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 slu; had constructed a most delicate

and dainty looking snow-white nest, and the pair took

possession of this novel-looking house with festal song.

Bat ah me ! their joy was destined to be of but short

duration.

"The best laid Hchemes o' wiice and men
Gang aft a-gley,"

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

o a pair
ippoint-
31* and I
of wind
that we
lie grass
:ion of a
J. Her
■ muslin,
ush and
ick and
Noticing
building
; tufts of
ler good
ventured
o scatter

at in the
i delicate
mir took
^tal song,
jut short

iir pair of

A lieaA

(lay. I

fairv-liki

and, "liki

wivck Ix

" Xever 8i

by ox per

lilac busli

finery she

.such of tl

as she fou

oF the nev

the more t

her work

The nev

the bits so

ornamentai

her work v

fied praise.

The ruin

bird.* She

and ^(ay sci

work very (

witii the ad

and all sorfci

wrought up

receptacle f

MEMORIES OF A MAY MOUNINU.

A heavy thunder-shower came on at noon of the next
(lay. I leave my readers to imagine the result. The
fjiiry-lilvo palace, like all castles in the air, had collapsed,
and, " liki! the baseless fabric of a vision, left but a
w Ti'ck behind." However, our brave little birdie cried,
" Never say die !" and set to work once more, made wiser
hy experience, building a more substantial nest in a
lilfic 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
a.s 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
lier work.

The new nest was an excellent sp(!cimen of skill, and
the bits so judiciously woven in this time proved highly
ornamental. I fancied the little builder felt proud of
\nn' work when it was finished, and we gave it un([uali-
fieil 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 the now dilapidated nest
w itli the addition of dried fibrous roots, and grass, moss
and all sorts of trash, which, with the rags, were soon
wrought up into a sub-stantial nest which formed the
rtceptacle for five bluish-green eggs. But misfortune

* Oaleo$eopte$ earolineti it (Linn.).

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

seemed to cling to tlie coveted nest, for an accident,
which might have ended fatally to the cat-bird, befel
her one day. When about to leave the ne.st 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 antl 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 approach she ceased her cries, and I truly
believe the poor captive looked to me for help. I (juickly
perceived the cause of her discjuiet, and with my scissors
soon set her free. With a Joyful cry she flew awav, 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 Ave 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 tlie 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 nesG with outspread
wings uttering strange angry cries, as if resenting the
impertinent attemjit to pry into her family att'airs, and

MEMORIES OF A MAY MORNINO.

sliould 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 is
most discordant, li'ce the mewing of an angry cat ; but
this is, I think, a mistake. The true song of the cat-
l)ird 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 hai*sn, wild
sijualling cry attributed to the parent birds is that of
the young birds when the mother has foi*saken 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.

* Mimu» polyglottos.

+ Turdu» mefitdiouM,

ANOTHER MAY MORNING.

" The birds around me hopped and played ;
Their thoughts I cannot measuie ;
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 there."

— Wordaworth.

nJ 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-

* Ruhy-throated Humming-bird — Troehilut Colubris (Linn.). Hah.—
Eastern North America to the Plains, north to the fur countries, and
south, in winter, tu Cuba and Veragiia. Nent, & beautiful specimen of
bird architecture, usually placed on the horizontal branch of a tree in the
orchard, coTntK)sed of grey lichens, lined with the softest plant-down.
Eggt, two, ^ are white, blushed with pink while fresh.— McIlwraith,
" Bird» of Ontario."

ANOTHER MAY MORXINO.

iiii; in the sunlight. The rapidity of its flight is greater
than that of any other bird. A dart and it is gone ; wo
scarce' can follow it with the eye. Sometimes it will fly
ill through an open window, hover a moment over the
tlowers, cut or in pots, which have attracted it, then
ilart 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
tlie grove outside my garden.

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

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

" Fiithor of eiirth and heaven, all, all are Thine!
The b >undleHS tribes in ocean, air and plain ;
And nothing lives, ai>d moves, and breathes in vain ;
Thou art their miuI — the impulse is divine! —

PEAULS ANI) I'EBBLLS.

Nature lifts louel to Thee her happy voice, •
And callH her caveriiH to reHound Thy praise ;
Thy name is heard amid her pathless ways,

And e'en her senseless tilings in Thue rejoice.

O Clod I what homage shall he pour to Thee,

Whom Thou hast stamped with immortality!"

— Jane Roscoe.

This is a sweet, iiuiet spot. The river, the bright,
rapid Otonabc>— the Itidiun word for " flashintj water
running fast"- "^h at the foot of the grassy slope and
open grove of fv.- t ti e h which divide my garden from
its shores. From olie opj oc "*e 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 below the \nill-dam, blended and softened to one
harmonious n:onoione, ever .singing the same tuneless
song which "cothe:-! 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 T 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 were not

ANOTHER MAY MORNING.

afraid of man, but rejoiced in his presence: that Adam
understood their language, and they knew his will,
obeying the voice of their master. Now, all is changed.
The timid and ilefenceless 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 proniise 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 moi'e than
six feet from the ground, so that she was easily seen as
she sat within it.

I was attracted in pa„ssing 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 shall jw saucer-.shaped nest was not large enough
to contain the long tail, and it hung out beyond the
edge.

* Black-billed Cuckoo — Coccttzux Erythrophthnlmu* (Wils.). Hub.—
EuRtem North America, from Labrador and Manitoba south to the West
IndicR and the valley of the Ama/.on ; west to the Kocky Mountains.
Accidental in the Britinh IsIandH and Italy. Ntut, loosely constructed of
twigs, grass, strips of bark, leaves, etc., and placed in a bush. AV/r/s, two to
five, light greenish-blue.— McIlwkaith, " Bird* of Ontario."

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

;

'i;

I had never been ho near to the cuckoo before, and was
struck by tho 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 ott" 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 !
kow ! kow ! " — repeating them many times, as if to say
in thi'eatening 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 thb 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 discov^^jd 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.

^J'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 belonging to the Cuckoo family

ANOTHER MAY MORNINO.

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

May 'Blsl. — Another lovely day. The air is full of
sweet soundK and lovely sights. The young leaves are
bursting on every spray of bush and tree.

Many of our wild-flowers that did n.t 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 bordei-s of my
garden they are late, very late. B .t why (juarrcl with
the delay, since I now see the milk-white stars of the
Blooil-root, so large and tine, gleaming brightly in the
gay sunshine this May morning.

The.se beautiful flowei*s improve under cultivation,
and are double the size of those in tiie grove close by.

The flowei-s of the sweet Liver-leaf {Ifepntlca triloba
and Ilepatica rotundijioni) 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

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

and Hhaded with a purpliHh cloud in the centre. They
are ah'eady liidin^ the old withered and persiHtently
clinjifinj^ foliaj^e of last year, throwing it off as a worn-
out jjarinent.

Here, late al.so, is the Sprinjj Beauty {Cliiyionia Vii -
(jinica), a trail 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 we should have seen
the graceful Dog-tooth Violet {Lilium erithronium)
showing its yellow drooping bells ere this date.

There is a large bed of these flowei's just outside my
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-l)orn 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, anil need the
warm coverlet of scarlet and orange leaves the autumn
winds spread over them ; and perhaps — who shall deny
it i — 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

ANOTHER MAY MOUN'INf}.

«)7

(Itrivetl from the white pointed bulb, which in color aiul
shape is like the sliarp canine tooth of a tlojj. " Dog-
t<K)th Lily " we might tolerate as more correct or appro-
priate.

The wood ferns are all unrollin;; their fronds. The
sji'iuler, delicate Maiden-hair we call the " Fairv Fern "
will soon be fluttering its tender leaflets like the young
birds in the wood si't free of the parent nest.

Just now a flash of glorious color darted pjist me, and
I recognized at a glance the gorgeous plumage of the
Baltimore Oriole — gold, searlet-orange an<l purply black
in varied contrasts. Beautiful is it beyond compare with
any of our summer visitors, atid 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 I 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
sobt;r, 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
scttlera call it " Hang Bird,' from its pendent nest, a
name more fitting to its habits, but less poetical and
descriptive of the bird it 'df than the Indian name.

I'EARLS AND PEBHLES.

The nest of the Oriole is a curious piece of workman-
ship, eoinpoHC'd 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
front of a dry j^oods store in a busy, populous town.
The nest is made of a nuiss of strings, pack thread,
whip cord, cotton warp and woollen yarn. All these
materials are most skilfully woven together in a regular
network, and form a lar^e soft elastic pui-se-shaped
bajjf with a round opening in one side. The nest was
suspended from the end of the liouyh by strings care-
fully fjistened to it, and dan^linj; from this curious
hanj^inj; cradle is a lon^ piece of string, to which is
attached a lar^e somewhat rusted packinjj needle,
threailed, as if it had been used by the ingenious little
wor' er in the manufacture of the baj^, and there left.
All the materials had been j^athered up from the sweep-
ings of the store, collected bit by bit, but at what time
is a (juestion unanswere«l.

So splendid a bird as the Baltimore Oriole pickinj^ up
rags and odds ajid ends in a public thoroughfare one
would think could hardly have escaped the eyes of men
and Itoys, if done in noon-day ; but there is a hidden
wisdom possessed l)y God's little ones, and it strikes me
that the work was done, and well done, too, in the earlv

ANOTHER MAY MORNING.

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

The Baltimore is not the only bird that might be
I'lilled a weaver. There are many foreign birds remark-
!il>le for their ingenuity in such work. The little Taylor
Hird, wiiich sews two leaves together as with a needle
jind thread, is one of these wonderful bird architects.

Here at my door is another of my little friends, the
Chestnut-crownetl Sparrow, of which 1 have already
spoken in the preceding chapter. This familiar, social
little bird is one of the earliest to make its appearance
iiliout our homes and gardens, and is always welconte.
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
nre at hand.

It is the very smallest of our birds — the smallest, I
think, of all the many species of the sparrow family —
nil' I is so harndess and useful that it has many friends.
A gentle, kindly little creatun?, it hops conHdiiigly about
our pathways and on the verandas, evidently in full
contidt'uce of being welcome at all times.

Tiie name " ('hi[)j)ing Sparrow.' wliieli is often applied
to it, arises from its weak note, " Chip, chip." Sometimes
it rai.ses a cheerful littli; attempt at a song, Imt the effort
does not amount to nnicli.

The nMldi.sh spot on its head is an unmistakable mark
6

lll;f

lilfi

I'EAHLS AND PEHHLES.

of the Species. Its ramiliar, friendly haliits diHtiiif^uisli
tliis imuM't'iit little l»ir<l from any of the rest of the many
sparrows that visit us during the hreedin^ season, and
we hail its arrival as aniont: the earliest harl)in^erH of

Hprinj;.

TIk'V tt'll IIS timt winter, cold winter, i>* pHHt,
An<l s|irin<^, jnvuly Hpring, is nrriving lU liiHt.

This tiny visitoi eomes heforethe swallow ventures to
try her Mirowy winLfs in the capricious air of our April
weather. III liriiiht sniniy March davs, while the snow
is yet on the nroim,]. its j)leasant little note is heard,
and it is ol'li-n sei-n in company with the juncos, with
which it iissiieiiites in n friendly manner, th«' llocUs
min;jlin;.i' to;;i'tlier in cniiinion, pieUinjf np seeds that lie
scattered t>n the snifnec of tin- snow.

'riie\- ;ire <il wide dist riI)ntion, l)eintr found all throuirh
eastern North .Vinerien. Iieyond the Hocky .Moinitains
westwjtiil iind ''\iii lis I'jir northerly as the (ii-eat Slave
L;d<e. lt> nist is sim|ily constrncted of tine drietl
^rass, a few ntnt tihres, ct»w s hair, jind maylu' a featln'r
oi- two. Iinilt in suinc low Im.sh near the j^round. The
(•<r<rs are a I'ale liinisli jjfeen, three or foin- in nnmher.

Another wileoiiie friend is the Canadian llohin,* as
he is coiiimiiiiK <'iilled : Imt he is onl\- an innni;;rant. A
few Venture t > winter with us, hidden, as we su])pose,
under the eoveit of the thick fortist, hut they are seldom
seen.

* Till' Am rlciii Itoliiii M(fitlii Afliinitoflii (Iauu.).

ANOTHEK MAY MOKXINO.

Though he hears the familiar name of nihin, he in not
u n;al repre.sentati\'e of the " hoiisehoM hinl with the
Vi'A HtonuichiT," JUS one of our old divines calls the
Kn^^dish redbreast, yet the name serves to recall to the
Canadian innni;^rant, in his far-ofi' wilderness, the
lioniely little bird that so fearlessly entered open <l(ior
or window as a familial- ;;uest, loved and chei'ishe«l by
man, woman and child alike. The little liird that hops
iiltoiit their path and carols ;jaily at their sid<' when
nil the othei- sonj^st«'rs are silent or Imve left for fairer
tlinies and fniittul Helds, holds a warm place in every
heart.

The retlbreast is held saered ; even the villa;;e boy,

when ont bird-nestin;j in ^roxf or fit-Id, woidd not touch

till' iit'st of the sittinj; bird nor hui-t tin- tinv lli-dirlin"s.

llnw often, as a child, ha\c I heard the SiiHblk distich

linni till- li|is of the country peasant boy :

•-'I'lic ruliiii .nul (111! tliiity vvivii
.\jt! (tod .Miiii^'hly's cmk liiid liuii " —

n nidf rhyme, but spokt-u with ifM-ri-nce by the simple
lad, and j^ood in its teacliin;,'' I'ur lli- hariidess birds
saf.'ty.

The American Koliin is not a tt-Uf thrush, lait is a
iir.n- relative to those sweet suny;sl(.'rs, the Mcrlf and tin-
Mavis. He is one of the first of our early visitants,
hii'ore tin* snows of midwintf,- Iia\e (|uitc melted, lie
eniiK's across the St. I.,awrent'e at dillerent points, and
spreads throuf^h the country on tin- lodkout f<»i- a favor-

FEAKLS AND PEBBLES.

able seltleniMiit wl)ore he aud his future spouse unci
family may make themselves a comfortable houic for
the loujj 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 tlie domestic hai'inony of their lives, this look-
ing out for the future comfort of their partners, and a
good example for our y«>ung men to follow before taking
to theuiselves wives. Commend me to the wisdom of
Mister Robin.

TluTc is great rejoicing when the Ixjvy of young
female^, come osi'V tluj iiordei'-land, followed i»y, 1 am
sorry U) say, a gcMxl deal of Hg'»ting before nuitrimonial
arrangements are completed.

1 rather think that our uiale robin.'- iielp to construct
the large unsightly nest, or at any rate a.ssist in bring-
ing the materials — sticks, roots, drie<l grass-stalks, .straw
and other such coai'se matter. 'I'he walls insidt; ar"
jdastered with day, not very neatly — in fact, it isalnjut
as tine as a chopper's shanty, rough and ready, l)ut serves
its |)urpo.se as a nursery /ni> (on. fy *hv young bird.s.

If we examine the ne^.ts of some nf tlie smaller birds —
th«^ linches, for instance — and notice the beauty of sti'uc-
ture, the smoothne.s,s of linish, the synnnetry of form,
the softne.ss and delicacy of tin; interior— no rouglnie.ss
nor hardness in the material, all loose threads tucked in
80 neatly — and then think of the tools the little builders

ANOTHEU MAY MOHNINO.

have* had tt) work with, well may we Ikj filled with
adiniration ami astoiUHhinent.

'lake the nest of the {goldfinch, and then Hee what the
little creature lias at her coniniand. Oidy a tiny awl-
like l)ill, which must answer for knife or scissors to cut
and clii) her l»uildin<; material ; the claws on two tin}'
lect, for thout,'h we do not know how she us«'s them, a
^'reat deal of the work must fall to their share ; a soft
n)Uiide<l hreast with which to mould and shape and
smooth the cu[)like structure till it ae(|uircs the exact
cii'cund'erence and size lUMMJcd for the aceonnno<lat(m
of five little e^j^^s, and later on tivc^ little birds that are
to l)e fed and cjired for until such time as the parents
jud;;e they may l)e safely left to shift for themselves.

This nest is as perfect as if the most skilful Inunls
and the most delicate finders had j»ut the finishinj^
touches to it and the most criti(!al artistic eyes had
overl(M)ked the Iniildiuf^ — if, indeed, any Inunan skill
could construct it, even with all the apj)liance8 of
modern knowledge.

In most instimees it is the female hird who takes upon
licrself the lahor of Ituildintj the nest. This is a lalK)r
of love, and the bird puts forth all the rner<;ies (tf her
iiattUH! and all the skill with which she is inspired, to
apcon»plish her work well.

Having the .stereotyped pattern rea<ly, she .se«'ks a
suitable place and lays the foundation as any builder
would do. She leathers materia! bit by bit, the stron^oHt

I'EAUI-S AND I'KHULFX

ami inoHt suhstantijil first. Sin* st'lcctH or rrjcct.s this
(tr tlmt, uccordiii,;' to ln'r |iliiii aiwl thi' order to he oh-
HtTvod — wool that the thorns and hiishrs have i'au};;ht
from the sht'cp ami laiiil)s: hair that cow or hoi'sr has
h't Tall: i^wy liclu'iis iiichrd from a wall, ami tfndc)'
j^rrt'ii moss from a fallcii trt'c. Takiii;; here a hit and
thrri' a morsfl. to j;ivc str<'n;,'th or elasticity, m-cdful
wai'mth oi" softness, she weaves all to^^ether a<!cordinj^
to tin- family pattern. Ilirds are very conservative, and
deviate very little from the ancestral form or ty])e of
architecture.

Ah, here is one of Nature's mysteries! Who tau;;ht
the little hird huilder and upholstej'ei' to u.se the .sjime
materials, to shaiie her nest (|»ossil»ly the vei-y tii'stone)
to the exact si/e and |tatteiii, to line it iiisidi' just like
the out- her mother and all the in'oMfiuch family had
ma«h^ centuries hefore she came into the world ^ So like
JH it thai* no coiuitry lad seein<; it woiijd, ever mistake it
for that of a rohin or a hlackhii'd or a yellow-hannuer,
hearing, as it does, in its construction, the unniistakable
tnule-mark of this pariicular little architect.

Are not thcc thin^is. simi)Ie as they may aj»|)ear,
worthy of i)ur attt-ntion ^ .May they not lead us from
the nesK t)f the little liin! and her ways to the throuo
of the ^reat All-wise (lod. who has implanted in llis
Hmallest cH'atnres a wisdom that hattles the reason of
tho v» itv At of I'll i; to tniderstar. 1 and exj)lain i* Truly

" Tlmru 11 tfiirhiiij^H in oco'id, wirth and iiir;
Thp iieftvi'11.4 thu 1(1' iPy "f < iinl lUolaro."

ANtnilEll MAV Mtmxixj;.

|)i(l not our Lord, in whom the IuIiichh of wisdom
dwelt, point out to His di.scij>lfs Irssons !(» Ix- loirncd
iVom the HowtTH ol' t\\v. titdil and tin- liirds of tlu* air ^
Wf It'll!'!! f!'0!H thfiii |t('i-f('et olM'<li('nn' to His will and
dt'|uu>d('nc»' on His ear»' : u!iHcltisli dt-votion, fiwan ilicii-
(•ai'«^ for tlu'ir ort's|)i'in;^' : |M'i'st'\t'!'aiic<'. t'oi-ftlioiitflit a!id
indiisti'V, fi'om their (•tro!'t.s i!i olttainiii;; food fo!' the
Hustenance of their helpless family ; unity of pui-pose.
IVo!ii tli<' ;;i'enai-i(ins hii'ds who !iiovr in l!o<'ks aetuated
liy one will in their tli;;ht to distant ilimes; oj-dei-. dis-
cipline, and obedience to their lejider. us in a well-di-ilh'd
army on th(! !March. Watch the moMineiits (»f a Hock
of wild-fowl o!i the winj^ to s«r,iie fai-awav l)ri'edin;;
;,fround : there is discipli!ie a!id pi'o!iipt nlu'dience. an
e\ ide!it plan and conti'ollinji; pown W i- lieai !iot the
\vo!'d of comma!id, we Unow lot the siy^nals ;;:i\en, hut
we can see thei'e is a I'ldiii;; pdwei ic;^qilati!i^' every
(•ha!i;;e i!i the host, and that there a!'e !io !-elielM in the
H!iiiy.

MORI-: AIK)L:T MY FICATHI-RED
FRir^NDS.

** N<»\v out III u'liuilliiiid cii|isu and fnvur,
Dius till* Hiiiiiinor hh died tliti s|ii'iiif{,
Ami diiys of dfli^lit for lovur luiil lovur,

And IiuiIn tliat liloHHiini and liirds tliat Hin^;
And Mciiitliwai'd nvcr nur inland hvhh
llavL' vaiuMliud tliu liinninin«-liird and the Iiuuh ;
Fli)ft on tilt' lilaHt tint duiid luavoH liovor;
liCind in tlm fmust tlm axi'-sirnkoH riiig."

(\ r. Midianey.

Tin; I'INK fiKosMKAK.

AmoN(i the lew sjM'cit's ol" l)ir<l,s that lin^'or ii» our cold
cUnmtc in tin- shfltcr of the pine rort'sts and cetlur
Hwaiii|i.s, is the I'iiir (JroHhcak {l^cnicoLa Knxtclexitor).

Ijiki! tlio ('nwshill ((hirvivstnt) ho is a hnivc, hardy
tVllow, ami of a sociahlc natm-t'. lie is asually met
witli ill parties uf from live or nix to oij^ht ; probably

MORE ABOUT MV FEATHERED FRIENfDS.

it is the ixiicrfamil'uta who leads tlie flock, tho spring or
HUiniiior hatch.

Ill our winter ^aniens, and in groves whore there are
evergreens, halsani-Hrs, spruce and cedars, the pine
grosbeaks may be seen busily searching for seeils and
insects, scattering showers from the dry cones they tear
asunder, it may be, lor the seeds or for the hiddtin larvne
of the pine-destroying Ha/itrslinnH with which many
species of the cone-l)earing trees are infested. The larch
and spruce are destroyetl by the larvje of the Saw-Hy,
and tho spruce particularly by the Bud- moth.

Tho groslKjak is a handsome bird when in full
phnnage. The rich cinnamon-brown, varying in shades,
of the f(!males and young birds, though fine, is not com-
parable to the dark crim.son, shaded to black, of the
older male birds. In si/e the full-grown birds are as
large, or nearly as large, as an English blackbird or
thrush.

The thick bill murks the family of the grosbeaks, of
which tlu! Knglish bulltinch also is one. This form of
the bill is very well stiited to the food of the bird,
consisting MS it does of hard luitty berries, juniper and
red cedar, and the seeds of the cone-lxjaring trees. This
seems to Ixs more esj)ecially his winter billof-fare, for in
the autumn the berries of the mountain ash are eagerly
sought anti i-vidently enjoyed.

I'EAKLS AND I'KHMLES.

TIIK. SCAULKT TAN'ACJKIt.

'I'lio Scarlet 'riiiiii;;*'!' {PiranffK Ki'i/tl.rovu'las) is
anotlici- lii'iliiaiit liiivl. Tlir [ikUuiih and the (>I<1 srttld'H
ill ( 'aiuulii call it the " War Hir<l," ln'cauH*', they say, it
was not seen <in tliis side oi' Lakr Ontai'iu, nor on tlu3
St jjiwrcnee, till attt-r the closf of the war l«'tw«'<'n
(Jri'at Britain an<l the Tnitcd Stati's, in IMI'2-14, not
nntil jM'acL' was fstaiilisluMJ.

Till' country, liowcNcr, was hut spar.sdy inhabited
ln't'orc that date, and it is proliahlc there were not many
aiuon;,j the settlers who wotild take nnich n<jte of, or any
particidar interest in, theconiiny; and p>in;^' of the hirds.
'rho\iu;h much reliance cannot he placed on such trmli-
tions, yet one often chances to <;lean intei'cstinj; facts
from theui. The old settlers in tlu^ hush and the

Ind

lans were niv only sources ol

iid'orniation ahout the

hirds when I lirst came to the Colony. The natural
liistory of the Dominion had not then attracted the
attention of writers to any extent.

To ,si'e this now rai'i; hir<l. the Scarlet Tana;;er, one
niust ;,;o hack into the lonely forest settlementH, as he
(loe.s not atl'ect the vicinity of towns and villa;,n's, hut
L'cluHion of tlm ipiiet wootis, far from the

oves the He

noisy ImuntH of men. In the silent depths of the for<!Ht
hJH nest is Hccure from the acquisitive hoy and the
prowling cat.

During; my tirst year's residence in the Douro hack-

MOUK AIUH T MY TKATHKUKh IRIKNDS.

woods, I UHt'd to wiitch t'ii;j[«']"ly for the appi'iiraiic*' of

UTH O

f th

these hfjiutiful scarlet hinls. The l)hu-k featl
\viii}^s aii<l tail form a tine contrast to the Itrij^ht phnna^e
of the neck and hack. As the woods are cleareij away
\\r lose Mianv of oin- snmnier visitors from tlie otiier
side of the lakes.

The tana;^er s nest is ma<le of strips of hass and fine
id(»tlets woven to;,'etlier and fastened seoirely to a
liianch where no rude winds can shake it There tlie\-
hatch their little hroods, and, as soon as the youn^ Itirds
!ire fitted for the chMn;,;e, (piietly depart, tlii'ii' dazzling
lultes l»ein<; no more seen ;^dancin;^ amony^ the <lark
shades of the forest. So peacefully do our " war liirds '
coiiie and ^o.

One day, some years a^'o, I met an Indian with a
deiid liird in his hand, which l»y its thick short hill 1
reeo;;ni/ed as one of tin; i^rosheak family, hut nidike
any of those hirds 1 had hefore .seen, tju; pale whitish
plnma;;!! of its hrea-st hein^^ dashed with crim.son spots,
Just as if its throat liad l»een cut and the drops of hlood
had fallen in an inv^ulai' shower on the hi'east.

I asked fndian Peter the nanie of tlie hird. With the
custom. iry j)rolo<^ue of " IVh!" a ^(nttural .sort of
expres'ion, he replied, "Indian call hird cut-throat';
see him hreast!" thus calling; my attention to the sinjfular
red marks I jiad noticed, and at the same
me that they wi-re not hlood-stains causec
of the liii'd. He was taking it to a youn;; },'entleman

tiim> showing
1 in the killing

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

^9)

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. 1 have, however, since found in a
lately published work, " The Birds of Ontario," by
Thomas Mcllwraith, already quoted, that the dress of
i/he 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 by 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 mai'ched 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 Hawk-owl— SwrHtn Ulula.

MORE ABOUT MY FEATHERED FRIENDS.

" 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.
Xo partridge, no scjuirrel, 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
(lead, him get alive again — stick him beak and cla^^s 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 oft',' and it hard work then to get
him beak out of my back. I swear, I never shoot
liawk-owl, no, nor eagle, no more."

Poor Peter, I do not think he (juite approved at first
of tlie peals of laughter Avith which his story was
received. It certainly was very droll and greatly
• liverted his unsympathetic auditors.

However, Peter was comforted by a small gift and a

[)lug of tobacco from the Major.

THE BLt'EBIRD.

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

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

" Wilson's Bluebird," becauSe of that ornitholoifist's par-
tiality for it, and it is ever clierished and protected from
wanton injury. It is, however, less frequently seen
now in the inland settlements north of tlie 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 witli us and is not very care-
fully concealed — so kindly is this sweet bird treated in
its American home that it is unsuspicious of danger
when paying its summer visits to us.

Mr. Mcllwraith savs tliat the immitxrant Eiip-lish
sparrows are to hiam > I'or tlu.' increasing rarity of the
bluebirds' visits to tlii'ir old haunts, and closes liis
charming book with a (|Uotati()ii from Wilson's lines in
praise of his favorite bird.

THE CAXAD.V ,I.\Y.*

If an Indian hound intrudes into the house, his
master dismisses him with the woi'ds, " Wis-ka-geen,"
which mean, " Get out, lazy fellow," and the Indian
name for that bold, troublesome liird, the Canada Jay,
the pest of the lumberer's camp in the North-West, is
very similar, " Wu^-ka-Tjav." This the Hud.,on Baj'

•'I'll' i', i.nn'\i\. ,)ny~Pi'ri^orciis Canadcnuis. Iiulian name, " TVis-ka
TJc'.n. " ■" Wliiskcy .lat-k."

MORE ABOUT MY FEATHERED FRIEN'DS.

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, crovvs, magpies and some
other noisy and not altogether reputable characters, and
is himself a sort of free])Ooter, not famed for his strict
regard for the rights of ineitni and tuum. In the words
oF an old Hnda'm Bay trapper, lie is " a nateral-born
tliief."

He is, indeed, a free-and-easy sort of fellow. Wiien
iKjt stealing he is as full of idle mi.schiel" as a school-
boy, nor has he any beauty ol' appearance to make u[)
for his bad qualities.

My first acijuaintance with these, to me, strange l»irds
commenced at the house of my hospitable friends, the
Stewarts, of Auburn, where I was always a welc<Jine
guest.

On one occasion my liusbaud and 1 were detainrd
there for two days by a very heavy snow-storm iind
subsecjuent 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
I o rest.

lunnediately on a signal whistle being giv^en, a paii" 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 tlui

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
t|uickly ; bones were dexterously picked, nothing seemed
to r ~ amiss, and as soon as the feast was over away
flew the " whiskey jacks," back to the shelter of the
v/oods 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 arc 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 WHS 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 bird, as he
walked, flirting it up and down with a would-be careless

MOKE ABOUT MV FEATHERED KR[E\DS.

air, wliicli, to<fether with the (juick f^^aiicinji^, mischit'vous
(■x{)i'es.sion of the eye, ^ave a peculiar character to his
coiinterr.i.'te, and marked him as a l)ol<l, (hirinjj, yet sly,
uiiscruriil(-ns fellow, caring for nobody but his own
audacious self.

I was so ii 'ich anuised by the sauciness of tiie pair of
North-Westers >' sitors from the far-ofi' fur country of
the Hudson Ba_\ . rrit(jries, or the northern parts of the
Rocky Mountain!-, that I said to our host, " I wish these
droll birds would pay our clearing; a \isit."

Mr. Stewart lauo-hed, and said, " 1 11 send them up.
Look out tor tliem."'

And, strangle to say, the day after our return home, as
if the cunning" fellows had heard and understood what
had j)assed, there they were hopping about at the back
duor, wagging their tails and ])icking among the newly
swept snow and debris in their usual free and easy style.

Of coui'se every attention was paid to our visitors in
giving them food. They made many trips to the stable
and barnyard, antl having fully satisfieil their curio.sity
and ac(iuired a knowledge of the establishment, they
came to the garden and there anuised themsfhfs with a.
pii'ce of rag they had discovei'ed somewhere about the
|)i'enuses, of which they made a line plaything. They
tore it into shreds, and carrviim' them to the uai'den
fence, hung them on the pickets, turning and twisting
them, tossine; them to and Fro, (^'Xtiui'" them fi-om t'\ fiv
point of view, with head on one side and tlicir bi'ight
7

ill

I'EAULS AM) J'EHmXS.

eyes twinkliiijn' as it' with the very spirit of i'un .'iikI
iiiisciiier.

JF the " whiskey jacks " did not enjoy their |>lay, my
little l)oy did. He hiui^hed and chipped his hands witli
f^lee as lie stood ou a ehair by the window and watched
their praid;s.

Wiietlier o'.ir \isitnrs [)ret'erred the abnndant and
varied fare they were accustomed to ivceive daily at the
hos])italilc table at Auburn, or whether they weiv onl\-
on a \isit, is a (piestion we never solved, but they
certainly <lisa[)))eared early the followin;;' niornini;' and
returned U) us no more.

Possilily our eat Noi\i had kept too watchful an eye
on their ukjn emi'uts. oi' the <i'i'eat doii' Nero had alarmed
them, oi' it may l)e tliey prefei'red their favorite perch
on the old oak tiv'e l)y the rivei'.

The fur trapjiers of the North-West rei^'ard these Jays
as a ;^'reat miisane's as when pressed by hun>;'er they
dama^i'e the furs that are suspended in their tents or
wigwams, as well as devour the jerked meat hun<j U{)
to dry.

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

" Nor is their flesh worth eatinjij ; it is mean stufl^', and
net worth powder and shot," said my informant, who
evidently held tht (^amo in no small contempt.

Moke Aiiorx my featiikiu:!) iimkxds.

THE 1{EF)-WIX(;ED I5LACKI5IRI).*

ThcHc birils aiv nbnnilant in Caiuidji, especifilly liauiit-
\ivj: the shorus of the la'Kes aii'l rivci's, tlioii;"'!! tln'v aic
not watoi' birds. Tlicy livo ehit-'Hy on wild rice and the
sfciis of a(iuatic phmts and insects, l)ut are very troul)le-
soniL' to the farmer, as they make great licvoc ol" liis
yruin fields.

At nijflit they roost on the trees and among tlie Inishes
at the borders of marshv places. About sundown thev
;;atlii r in great tiocks and retire to their leafy lodgings,
tilling the air with tlie noise of their wings, chattering
jiiid calling to each other.

They have their sentinels in the daj'-time to warn the
lldck of approaching <langer. The.se utter a note which
sounds like the words " Geek I geek!" often repeated.
There is also another note uttered slowly like the twang
of the string of a harp.

1 us<id to listen for this vibrant note and try to dis-
co\er its meaning. No doubt it was a signal to its
comrades, as the flock woi 'd rise on the wirig at once
ujiou hearing it.

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

* A(/claius Phcenicevi (Linn.).

I'KAIU.S ASM* I'KUHLES.

the birds vvliuol iibout, and ^^ivin;,^ a flash of color Hcarcoly
vi.silile when they are at rest.

Nearly allied to our red-Hliouldered blackbird is the
yellow-headed blackbird, a larj^e handsome fellow with
the whole head and in)[)er portion of the breast and
neck of a bri<;ht vellow.

This fine sj)ecies is not connnon with us, iiut is sonic-
tinies met with in Ontai'lo. He is the XanthoccpJuduH
of Bonaparte, and belonj;s rather to the Western States
of Anierica : eastward he is oidy an occasional visitor.

* I

Tin; FISII-HAWK.*

" Tliii os])i'ey sails ubove tliu Sound ;

Tlio yeose aru gone, tlio gulls are Hying ;
Tliu herring shoals swarm thick arounil,

The nuts aro launchud, thu boats aro plying.
Yo ho I ni}' hearts I let's seek thu duup,

Raise high thu s(»ng and ohoerily wish hor,
Still as the bending net wo sweu]>,

'(iod bless the tish-hawk and thu fisher.'"

— WIIh(»i,

A bold lisher and a successful one is the Osprey,
second only in his ^lowei' of winn; and keenness of vision
to the rapacious Bald-headed Ea<,de, 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 thest' l)irds are thieves and tyrants.

" The American O^prey Pnndion Ilitlid'tus Carolinennis.

MOKE AHOI'T MV I'KATIIKIuJ) FUIKNDS.

we need not waste .synipatliy U[)()n the Fish-liiiwk, eHj»e-
c'ially as lie in turn lias none for the jtoor defenceless
water-t'owl. He [)uunees upon them while they are
lianalesHly disporting themselves on the pools of water
just openeil (JUt hetween the nuisses (if Hoatin;^ ice in the
Inke this warm April <lay. Happy creatures! They are
heedless of the watchful eye of their enemy hovering
iiliove them, ready to descend with hooked heak and
sharj) tal(jns u[)on the fairest and [)lumpest of the flock.

Silly birds ! Why don't they look up instead of
eiijoy'nj^ their hath, or standing' in j4i'ou])s on tlu; odjj^e
of the ice, preenin*; thiar feathers and indul^inif in idle
odssip with their neij^'hbors, or preparinj^ themselves
l'(ir a fresh plunge in the water, a luxury so long
denied them 1)V the rimjrs of winter^

There! What a wild connnotion ensues when at last
they become aware of the proximity of their enemy, as
he makes a sudden descent and bears oft' a duck or a
young goose in his terrible talons ! How they rise en
masse on clamorous wing, and wheel and fly from his
(head presence !

Possibly ho might have preferred a bass or a perch, or
a l)ig sucker, had such a prize been more available, but
" all is tish or fowl that comes to his net," and a delicate
(luck or gosling is not to lie despised ; so he is content
with what he has taken, and flies oft' to some quieter
spot, out of sight and hearing of the noisy crew lie has
outraged, to take his meal in thankfulness. The water-

I'KARI-S AND I'EHHI.ES.

fowl, iiicanwhilt', poj) down once iiion^ upon tlic hoHoiii
of the lake, ami arc .soon tlirtin;,' and HpliiHliin<f thf
sparklinj^ watci' ovar l»ack an<l win^^^H as if no ononiy
had ever disturbed tliuui or roblxMl tliein of one of their
nnniher.

THE MELTED KI\(il'ISllEI{.*

This bird visits Ontario in April or May, and may be
seen on the banks oi" all the lonely lakes and rivers. It
lias not the brilliant pluina;^e of the European bird, and
is by no means as "graceful in form. Its note is a very
tmpleasant one, a loud quiek rattlin^^ cry uttered as it
skims mIou;^ the borders of lake or stream, a solitai'v
object seekiii*;' its sustenance from the waters, or, it
may be, prcjcurin*,^ food for its younj^ brood or the
motluir bird on the nest.

The dusky white rin<^ about the neck is a markeil
feature in the bird. The l)luish j^rey of the feathers is
barred with black on the winj^s and tail; hence its name,
" Belted Kin<(lisher." It builds no nest, but the female
bird deposits her en-c^s in the enlarged end of a tunnel
dujjj in a sand-'t.ank.

It sto.ys late with us and does not seem to feel the
cold. It is oidy when the fro.st lias driven the fish to
seek shelter in the deeper waters, and the belted bird
can no longer obtain the re(iui8ite food, that he flies
south.

Ccryle Alcyon (liinn.).

MoKL AJKILT MY I'I:ATIIKH1;I> I'ltlKNDS.

Ill

KING lUlU).*

The habits ol" tho Kinj^ Bird arc lii<;hly aiiiUHiiif; to
ujitcli. Ho is about the size ol" a l)lafl<l)ir(l, of (hisky
phimage. but witli a wiiite l)or(k'i' to his tail and some
white ill the e<l^'eH ol" the \viii<; feathers. Ills iioti- in
\<iy harsh and ^ratin<;', and his favorite position th(! top
of ariy upri;,'ht stick or bare pole, from which point of
vantage he can survey the "limit " he has chosen to
reign over. Here he sits turning hi^- head until the
'•right glancing eye lights on some miwary insret, when
lie darts ofi'and rai'i'ly misses his aim. His prey secured,
he returns to his perch and awaits another chance.

Both names given him arc descriptive, the latter
apparently with good cause, if one may judge by the
enmity shown him by all the smaller t)iriis. They show
this dislike! by uniting together and making common
cause against the enemy, attacking him. not in fair tight
with beak and claws, Imt by keeping a certain distance
above him and darting down and striking him on the
liead. then rising again swiftly to be rea<ly 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
ti.'ld.

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

Tyrant Flycatcher— Ti/ran ii k.s

I'KAKLS AN'n l'i;ilHLES.

a \n<^vyi)W Ix-in;;' \'()\va'(\ to fl<M! bd'orc tin; uttackH of Hiiiall
Ijirds. I^\cii the hcii-liuwk or luiiTicr Iihh hcfii tli-ivcii
away by the unitcfl atta(;k,s of a|»j)an(ntly iiiHif^nificant
hut <l<ft<,'i'iniiir(i pMitifs ol" two, tliif'c of I'onr l)ra\'<! littl*;
ci'oatuiTs, whose [ilMti was .simply to keep aliovc tlic licjid
ol' tliini' ('iH'iiiy, aii<l out of liis riracli al'ti-'r .strikiii/^r tli(.'ir
blows.

Tlir- swallow iiixl iiiMiiiii ai'c rciiownci! for these feats
of ItniAcrw Thev nfc nlwavs xictoi's, and iiii<dit he,
ci'owiicd ;is ('hfniij)ioiis ol' tln^ helph^ss litt'e .soii<^-])irds
who so often f;dl \i('tiiiis to th<' crow, (he l<i"K ''''''' '""'
th(! hawk.

Tin; i'.OllKMIAN W\X-WIN(;.

Atiotlier noisy crew ;ire, tho.se ]tr(!tty, wild pilferers of
the ^^Jirden ;inil oi'dianls, th(( cedfir birds, oi- cherry
birds, ;ind names connnon to th(; smaller speciits of
A iii/icI n/(i\ ())■ \\';ix -wines.

The l;i,p;;er, handsomer and more; njmai'kable of the
family is known ;is thi' ISohemijiii \\'a.\-\\in^, oi' Arti,/>fli,s
(fdrridiis^ n\\i\ he is indcsed a noisy, chattei'ine' fellow.
These ai'e not so common as the smallei' ced;U' birds, but
they occasionally \isit us in larj^'e parties, and doubtless
i-<'('ei\-e scant welcome from the market eardener, who
does not approve of their bri;^aiidish a,.4saults on his
ri|)<'ninL,f chei'ries and othei- fruits. We, how(!Ver, ar(i
more tolei'ant, and ov(!rlor)k their pj'c.datory hal»its in
C)ur annisement at their wild ineri'V' wa\'s.

MOHK AHOI'T my I'KATIIKKKI) FIMKNDS.

f>3

Tlii.s moniiiij,^ tli<;r<! is a (lock (jF Home (l(i/<;ii iiidividiinlH
ill my ^fiinlcii. Ilify art' full ol" frolic ain] i'uii, and it'

one m;iy jud^^c hy tin; nois(! tliey art; ma

til

ikin;:

H'V

lly liitlH;!" and tliitlicr Iroiii hoiit^li to bouirli ami tree to
tree, tlicy arc liaviiij^ a ;^a_y time cliatt«3i'in;^ and wliis-
pciin;^ to ori(^ anotln r, and one mi^iit almost say, l!ni;_di-
inl^^ like a party ol" li;^lit-li('art('d cliildr(!n at pliiy.

Oik; wondcrH what it is all about. I really tliink it
muHt he a \V(!ddiii;4' ))Mi'ty, and a joyous one. too - a
iriJitch of which hoth t'amiliifs appi'ove. See how impor-
tant HoiiK! of the older hirds look, setting up thc^ir sol't-
crestcid Injads and ])uHin^ out their breasts. /vs they
dart past me I catch si;4lit of the hri^lit scarlet orna-
UKiiits, like hits ol" retl stialiii^-vva.x, on tin; win;^' Feathers.
Tliesfi j(!wels ar(i tin; distinj^uishin<^ marks of th<! Full-
j^rown male hird, and no douht hut the little Feathereil

Uandy is as )»roU(l ol these i)its ol linery as any ;;iil i

hit?-

ol h(!i" l)roo(;lies and haiiLfles

I h

Tilt ''ohemian \\'a.\-wine' is oF Foreif^'ii extraction. He
is a little aristocrat, soiiKiwhat e.xclusivM-, and vain oF the
Family oF which he is the liea<l. He do(!S not mix liiiii-

Up With the coiiimoii lolk, hut k<'eps ntli^iousiy to

himselF, For you iH^ver find him and his pai'ty with the

smaller speci(;H, the ced;ir hirds, nati\e in the ciMintry.

The Bohemian is a threat trav(,'ller, and H<'(inis to spend

liis time in visitinii' stran<re lands, lie is Found in iiiaii\-

countri(!s, ami it is not eas\' to locate his home

ll<

ami

his Family do not settle down soherly, as sonic other

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

birds do, but go where they please, stay awhile and then
disappear, and you do not 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 1 he 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 affords 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 tn ;8. but in all probability this is a mistake.
It may be only the hidden larvfe 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 cloth the ravens feed,

Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,

Be comfort to my age."

-Shakespeare.

Harmless, persecuted, despised, reviled sparrows, wlio
is brave eiiougli 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 nouoht the torrent of invec-
ti\e Avhich is sure to fall on my <lefenceless 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 Fenning's Spell-
ing Book, an ancient volume out of which I learned my
first lessons, and where villainous t\'pe, hideous pictures,
l)ad paper, and the use of f 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

vm^

PEARLS AXD I'EHHLES.

have my nay about those poor sparrows, remeinbering
tlie words of tlie gracious Lord, " Not one of them shall
fall on the ground witliout 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 Cn.'ator,

" Who sees with lmjikiI oye, as God of all,
A hero jjorish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systoius into ruin hurlod,
And now a buljble l)urst, and now a world."

Theri is a war of extermination against these birds
going on in the North-West, an<l among the farmers and
gardeners in country places. A regular hue-and-cry is
l)eing raised for tlieir destruction., and nowhere are they
to be shown mercy.

Now, I woultl fain take their case in hand and en-
deavor to prove that this wholesale persecution is both
unjust and unreasonal)le.

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 o^' them ^

Were they not intro<luced 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 EN(;LISH SPARROW: A DEFEN'CE.

jjfranivorous, and indeed an onniivorous, bird. He is not
dainty; he will take anythinj^ and everything tliat falls
ill his way. As /xitcrfaruilidsha is a good provider for
his numerous offspring. Small blame to him ! Sparrows
find their young must live, they will not starve.

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

But stop a minute. When do they eat the wheat ?
Only in the season, and that a very short one, o!r 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 ids loss is laia on the inuni-
grant sparrows. He forgets that the sparrows have been
cultivating tlie crop, too, in eating and destroying the
numerous insects that infest it while it has been in the
hhide and in flower, and does not stop to consider that
the laborer is worthy of his lure. The sparrow but
takes his due for service unseen and unrecognized by
the master of the field. Then when the crop is garnered,
lie is but one of the many gleaners wlio are busy for
awhile in picking up the fallen wheat kernels scattered
))y the reapers.

The harvest and the gleaning season over, let us follow
the sparrows to the villages and toM'ns. 'J'liere are here
no fields of ripe grain to make havoc of, no farmers to
otiend, but the birds must be fed. How /

PEARLS AND PEUHLES.

Look flown on \'oui; streets and thorou<;li faros. On
every lieaj) oi' refuse, e\'ery scrap of garbage, in every
dirty gutter oi- droppingiin the roadway, about the sweep-
ings from yard or store, are groups of tliese despised
birds, busy, liard-working and unpaid scavengers.

Wlio knows wliat evils tliey prevent, what they devour
that otherwise would become decayed vegetable! matter,
decomposed and typhoid-breeding filth ; the larv;e of
beetles and other noxioiTs insects, half-digested grain
that if left would shortly breed corruption and disease
hurtful alike to n)an and beast.

True, the birds ai-e bold. The sparrow takes [)Osses-
sion of the eaves and cornices of your buildings, yoiu-
sign-boards and your window sills. Any projecting
beam or odd anu'le lie makes his coigne of vantage
from whence to spy out what Iil- wants. Biit in tliis he
really interferes with no one, and it is on]y the Ijraggart
assurance of his manner that excites our aversion. His
riigged 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 doai-
little song-birds.

Wait a l>it, my good friend. Did the other birds
never fight ov attack strangers ? The l)ill and claws of
the sparrow are not those of the Raptores. He may
be pugnacious, but so is our dear pet the redljreast.

THE ENGF.ISH Sl'AUUOW : A DEFENXE.

!t9

' Fair ti<i;'ht aiul no favor," say 1. Fight i Yes,
tlioy all tight 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 tliey are all his equals.

1 cannot help thinking, however, that it is a fact yet
lacking confirmation. There is an oh I 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-
[KiptT .scandal got \\\) for " copy," and endorsed by the
farmers who first intrudaced and then tnuluced the
poor sparrows; used them fir.st to get rid of the pests
that blighted their grain, then abused them for lu-ljjing
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 never
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 larvfe
of insacts that they of)tain 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 1»K BULKS.

sparrow is more suited for picking worms than taking
\ip hard grain."

To wum up, the sparrow, an invited guest, an assisted
immigrant, was at first welcomed ; then, wlien he had
done the work recjuired of him, we find he has other
(|nalities 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 scatters 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 lal>ors under the imputation of driving
away other birds of more value in our eves, but is known
to be possessed of no more superior powers than they
are provided witli.

Thus the two hea\iest counts in the indictment are :
First, the destruction of grain ; 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 cily an old woman 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 atiiiii forms of insect life apix'ar I
And wlio can follow Nature's pencil here ?
Their wings with azure, green and purple gkiss'd.
Studded with colored eyes, with gems embossed;
Inlaid with pearl, and marked witli varicus stains
Of lovely crimson, through their dusky veins."

— Aiti(<i Lvtitid B<(rbiiiilil.

Ox looking over my old diary oF a I'ar-oti" date, 1881), I
tir.d notes of many thini;s that struck nie in the first
years of my sojou/n in my forest home — objects that then
were new and interesting to me, but wliicli now I seldom
or never see.

There is a change in the country : many of the plants
and birds and wild creatures, cotninon once, have dis-
appeared entirely before the niarch of civilization. As
the woods which .shelter them are cleared away, they
retire to the lonely forest haunts still left, where they
may rcnuain unmolested and unseen till again driven
back hy the advance of man upon the scene.
8

102

I'K.VItLS AND I'KltlU-KS.

It is i-jircly now that I ciiteh u j)asHiM;4- ^fliii»|isf (if tlu«
lovely pluiiinl cTosshiil.or tilt! scark't taiuit^cr; si-Moiii do
I hear the cry ol' tlit; bobolink, or \vat"l« *'■' sailinj;' of
tin; baM-liwn It'll caylc or the tish-hawk tne lake, as

I <li(l i'oriiifrly in fear I'or tiic saiV;t\ of my little <;'Ofilin;,fs.
Even the ;;ay, cheerful note of the chickadee is rarely
lieanl, oi- the sonorous rai)i)in^ of the red-headeil wood-
peckei', {)y the plaintive, oft-repeuted monosyllable of the
wood pJKebe.

1 think these birds dislike the appearance of the red
brick houses of the modern villages and towns, with
their ^reen Ijlinds und fancy work in wood and paint.
Perhaps they look ujton them as possible traps to cajjje
them, aii<l find the old familiar rude shanty or log-house
more to theii' taste in architecture.

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

A very solenni, formidable-looking bird is this big
long-eared owl. One was shot and brought into the
house for ni}' inspection. It was still living, having
only been winged, and evidently was very 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 Ijrown 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 l)ird.

NOTES FROM MY (»I,I) DIAKV.

108

Wlio is tluTf iiiiioni;' tin- cjirly si'ttlcr.s tliiit liiis not
licfU'd ill the <le('j) stilliK'ss of iii^lit, iVoiii souw old oak
ill tlu' woods or out-huildin^' near tlu' liouso, tlic di't'))
soporous voice ol" the cat-owl calling" to its mate :" 'llw
hollow notes souikI like " Ho — ho — ho — iio," rejH-ated
with a i)aus(^ between each Hyllable, as if to prolong the
echo.

Tlui Indian notes of lamentation over the dead, " Wo-
lio-hd-ao-iniii," seem an imitation of the moiu'nfnl cry
of this nif^ht bird.

An old Irish settler in the backwoods once jt^ravely
assured me tliat tlie " Banshee," the warninj^ spirit of
death or trouble which, he said, belonged to his family
wiien he lived in Ireland, had followed him and his house
to Canada. I looked a little doubtful. The old man
j^a-ew an<^ry because I aske<l :

" 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 slie 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
" Ci'y-b3''-night," or " Banshee " to a cat-owl.

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

104

I'KAItLS ANI» PF.Iini.ES.

ti<)iu'(l uiy i'aitli in tlit^ " little people,'' or the fairies.
When 1 .su^'i;eHte<l it wiis a jon^ way For them t(j come
across th(! Atlantic, he took <,qvat pain.s to convince me
that it' they care<l for the family when they lived in Ire-
land, they woiiM not mind how Ion;,' the voyage or tlie
distance, so tiiat they could watch over them here.

On the hoi'ders of tlit; lake 1 se(! many heautiliil
(lra;;'on-Hies of all colors — reil, hlue, e-reen, hronze, and
some rare hu'ec Hies with Jet-hlack ^'auzy wings.

()n(( kind, that I have tried in vain to capture, had a
scarlet crescent mark on each lowei' pair of wings.
Another, not less remarkable, was distine-uished hv azure
blue crescents on the wings. These Hies led me a chase
for so'ne time, 1 was so much .struck with the l>eauty of
the rare insects. They did not resend)le the gay dragon-
ili(.'S in form or color, --viid 1 wished to obtam a Hp(!cimen
to send home to a friend : but after that sununer 1 saw
them no more, they having disai)peared with tlu^ ])ine
woods.

There is a pretty ami curiou.s insect, one of the Sphinx
family, that comes out in the cool of the evening, and is
very bu.sy on the mignonette and other low growing
border plants. It is \ery nnich like a bee in appearance,
and sings a low lunnming .song as it darts from flower
to flower. Its body is longer and narrower than that of
the bee, and its colors are Ijlack and white in bands.
The lower wings of these curious moths are exceedingly

NOTES FUOM MV <)F,I) DFAIIV.

105

Hiniill, the uppt-r oiicH lon^' and imrrow. Tlic swil'tiu'ss
of itH lK)Vt'rini( uiotioiiH uikI tlit- iioisr of its wiuj^.s
roiiiiiul OHO of tilt' lniimiiin<^-l)ir(l, liciiet' pf()j)lt' t-all it
tilt' Humiuiii;'' Motii.

Tlu! most beautiful of our iiativo moths, and also tlio
lar<,'ost, is the cxtjuisiti' pale ^fl•t'eu AlUtciis lima. This
classical name was ^'iveii it from the moon-shaped figure
on each win<^, showinj^ the Ijri^dit colors of blue and
scarlet in the centre of the eye-like spots.

'Hie lower pair of win<;s art; lenj^thened into loujj; tails
like tlio school-boy's kite, and are l»eautifully frinjf»Ml
with a pale ^old borderini;'. 'i'liese lon<.; tails are said to
be of essential service in aidin<;' the fli<.,dit of the moth,
serving to maintain a proper balance in its passafje
through the air. Several of our butterflies— as, for
e.iample, Papillo tarnits, the handsome sulphur-colored
Swallow-tail -have this form in a great degree, while in
others it is absent, as in Dawiis archippus, a tine red
butterfly, one of our largest and most showy; also in
the representative of the C'amberwell Beauty and some
others.

The body of the beautiful green Alf(icu» hiiui, is
thickly clothed with soft silky white down. The legs,
feet and antennfB are of a co])pery-red color, the latter
slun't and finely pectinated — that is, lia\ing tine tooth-
like projections.

The scarlet and blue colors are very effective in
contrast to the ex(iuisite tint of pale green which ilis-

if:'

•M:

< 11

100

I'KAKLS AND I'KUHLES.

tiii^niislu'S tliis l.)vcly iiiotli IVoni all otlici-H. It is very
raiHily to 1k^ h(;cii mow, but hcciiih to lov(! the Hlwuh;
anioTi^' the orchard aiul forest trees.

It is in the orchard thftt we find the cocoons of that
jrrand iiiotli, i\w Aft<ican (•ecr(>j>l(i,, a s{)leiidid insect,
both in size, form and rich colors; as lar^e, wlien its
win^s are fully expanded, as some of our smaller birds,
measuring, indeed, nearly seven inches in width.

Th(! heavy thick botly of this insect is red, but
marked by deep rings, and the surface clothed with soft
wldtish hairs. The head is large and the antenna3
strongly pectinated.

The marks on the wings an; in the form of half-
moons, showing a variety of sliadings, with vivid blue
and some n^d in the centre. Thert^ are otlier lines and
wavy marks on the wings, besides a deep rich border
pattern.

.[ nin afraid my very unscientific mode of description
may offend the learned entoniologist. If so, I crave
pardon and ])leatl limited knowledge as my sufficient
excuse.

The common name foi- this fine moth is the Apph'-tree
or Orchard Moth, Ixicause its ])rown felte<l chrysalid cases
are fouinl attached to the twigs ^A' orchard trees.

The first i-eally hot days cause the imprisoned insect
to bui'st fi'om its sealed coffin, and its wonderful and
mystei'ious r(^surrecti()n to light and lile is at once
effected. It Hiitters foi-th a glorious but short-lived

NOTES I'llo.M MV OIJ) DIAItV

107

crciituiv, perfect in ;ill its lieauty, to s(jiu' aloft in the
•sunlight and enjoy the sweet warm siuiinie)" air for a
hrief season — a type to man of the promised resurrection
of his own body from th(( dust of the earth, throu^^di the
perfect work of redoemiii"^ love in the Lord Jesus (Christ.
" Death ! where is thy stinj^ ^ U Grave ! where is thy
victory I "

Since th(; al>ove d(!Scription of the AttacuH cecropijt
was written, some yeai'S a^o, 1 have jiad knowded<^e of
two varieties of this remarkably beautiful moth.

About two years ago a friend sent me fi-om Chicaj^o
three cocoons of this species. These eases, attaclied to
slender twij^s, were much ;mialler in size than th(! apple-
tree variety, and were liglit brown and finely felted.

The moths (two came out all right, one was abortive)
were smaller in every way, but ))eautiful in markings
and color. They remaine(l on a suiniy window for sf)me
days, then one died and the other disappeared.

Last Christmas I was given another eocoon, ti.xecl to a
I'ed-barked dog-wood spray. It was of large size and
very unlike the brown woolly cases I had hitherto seen.
It was consti'Uctt'(l of (h^ad leaves iiml a grey ])M]»ery
substance like that of the wasp. There was no opening
what(!ver in it ; all was closely seale(l up.

One sunny morning (April 2!st) I w,is (h^lightcMl
at the, sight of the tenant of the grey house, a
magnificent specimen of the Atliicus moth. It stood

108

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

opeiiino- and closing- its wing's as if for flight, but
remained for hours 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, wliich were
about six inches in extent and elegantly rounded and
lobed.

The general coloi' or ground-work was a rich dark red
brown, with two large irregular white circular figures ;
within the larger circle was another figure semi-circular
in form and of several shaded colors. The lower pair of
wings were adorned in the same way, the edges being
more scalloped and smaller than those of the upper
wings, and l^eauti fully 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 deej) 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 IkuI 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 <"he

NOTES FROM MV 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 longei-
attracts it, the fine red pectinated antennae no longer
are moved 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 nmst 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 w^as my surprise
and delight to see two beautiful creatures on tlie wintlow
panes, enjoying the sunshine, and, I dare say, longing to
be out in the warm free air.

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

110

PEARLS AND PEHMLES.

colored eggH on tlie chintz. I make a note of the bare
fact, and leave it to be pondered over by the experienced
naturalist.

Besides the butterflies I have noticed in uiy old <liary,
I might have named the Tortoise-shell and the two
Admirals, the jed-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 sight.

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 scarlet oaks (Rahra cnccinea), one of the most
beautiful of our native oaks, when my attention was
drawn to one of the branches of a tine youUg tree near
me which was affected by a ([uivering motion, while all
the rest wei'c 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

course o

\OTES FROM MY Ol.D DIAHY.

Ill

the cause of its fiill. The leaves were still ^reen and
Fresh, but on close insjiection of the severed part, which
was nearly half an inch in diameter, I fcnind it tinely
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 tlestructive Bupeslriai,
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 larva; of a Twig-girdler:

" Oncideres cingidatus. When the female desires to
deposit her eggs slie makes punctures in the bark of
small twigs or branches. She then girdles the branch by
gnawing a ring round it, which kills tlie branch, and in
cour.se of time it breaks oft" from the tree and falls to
the ground, and the larva? feed on the dead wood. The
beetle is greyish brown with a broad grey bund. It is
commonly known as the 'Twig-girdler,'"

In the present instance the leaf of the branch was still

112

FEARLS AND I'EHBLES.

fresh and j^-reeii, but 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 otliers 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 tiie Bureau of Agriculture, have of late
years turned their attention to the appearance and
habits of this class of tree-destroying insects, which are
doing so nnich injury to the forests and orchards of tne
country.

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

The subject is one of consideral)le importance, and
should not be devoid of interest even to the youngeft
student of natural history. It is a study particularly
recommended to the agriculturist, horticulturist and
florist, and it would be wtill if tliere were text-books
written in simple, plain language, that would be instruc-
tive and at the same time awaken an interest in it among
oxw young people.

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

NOTES FROM MY OLD DIARY.

113

Isaac Newton, who liad learMe<l to see and think as a
cliild — results so wonderful that the less observant have
been disposiM.! to attribute them to actual inspiration
From God. True, He implanted the seed thus nurtured in
the child, and brou^dit forth the fruits in the man.

But 1 am wnndi'ring 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 calcidating 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 nursery 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 the most
insignificant of the works of the Creator. How then
can man by his puny wisdom find out God ?

THE SPIDER.

"The spider takutli hold with her hands, and is in kings'
pahices."— Pkov, xxx. 28.

I MUST confess to a natural aversion to spiders, an
aversion I cannot overcome sufficiently to avoid shrink-
ing from contact with tliem ; 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.

There 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 large web is in hand, he more frequently

THE HIMI)EI{.

IT)

carries un tlit- work in an indepeiKlent atylv, as if he
were .saying :

" Let me alone, if you please ; I want none of ytjur
lielp. You only bother me aiul run in my way. I have
all my wits about me, my own tools and my own
materials. I can mind my own bu.siness, 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 po.sse.ssing a
very ferocious temperament, the males often fighting
with great fury. The females, who are larger than the
males, are even more combative — indeed the ungentle
spouse is not infrecjuently charged with devouring hei'
own husband ! It is possible, though, that the victim
may have been the meddlesome proprietor of a neigh-
boring web, whose interfer«mce had aggravated her be-
yond endurance, and the act, therefore, might be termed
Justifiable s/iidericide.

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

But, seriously, whr.fc 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

I'EAltLS AND I'P:HHLES.

to note his subtlety in concealing' himself, his fierce and
jealous temper— all traits belon^inj^ to the savage, and,
alas, too often to be found anion<^ the more civilized of
the human race.

Hut the spider is not altoj^ether without his jjjood
((uaiities. We nuist do him justice, and not slay him
without nK'rcv.

He has ener^jy, industry and (j^reat jiersevcrance under
dlHieuitie.s. He is no idler. Instead of <;"ivin<jf up
immediately on the first failure, he sets to work to
repair what has been destroyed or inj'ured, not once but
several times. He is coura<(eous, for he will not be
daunted even by a wasp or a bi^ blustering bully of a
blow-fiy, twice as strong as iiimself ; though, and this is
hardly to be recommended as a good (juality, he often
overcomes his enemy by eft'ective cunning. He has no
pity for his victim, but casts his entangling threads
over him an] binds him down securel}'^ ; then, knowing
that his ( ies will bring him no aid and his sti'uggles
^vill 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 SI'FMKK.

117

Itnnvii ov lilack Hpidcr, iind licr yreiitcst merit is tin.'
t('M(l('i' cure slu' tukcs i;!" her eiiibryu, uulmtcliud
rainily.

'riuTf is another Hpecit's, known hy Old Couutiy
folks as tlu' "Nursing Spidci-." She also carries her
)»i'ecious ei^'i^s ill a fine yellow silk ])ouch, attache(l to
herself hy .strinj^s. The load is so nicely balanced that
slie can move (juickly about without beinf]^ in the least
incoiinnoded by it.

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

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

It used to l»e a great source of annisement 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 rockj' margin of the

11H

PEARLS AXD I'EUHLKS.

laki' to look tor fernn, fresh water Hhells ami otlier
curioHitit'H.

One iiioniin;^ my eye was attracted l»y a ball oF
yellovvi.sh silk han<;iii^^ in the niidtlle of a Hoft maple
biiHh, growing in the eleftn of a tiHSure in the limeHtone
rock.

The hall was about the si/e of a pijijeon's o^^, and was
held in its place by a number of stron«ij lines. On touch-
ing oni' of these with my finger, out rushed some do/ens
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 Lack to their nest, and as soon
as she saw tliem 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.

1 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 mother as the little spiders again ran out,
which instantly had the effect of bringing her up to their
help.

THE SIM I )i; 11.

110

How carefully slic ii<;iiin .sou;;!)! to (liscovcr the cauHo
of tlu' troJiblt', her »iii;;;ry countenancu showing iiiauifeHt
ilisplcaHure at the anuoyanct' I had caused.

Upon nearer observation I perceived tliat a thread was
attached to each one of the little creuture.s, and this
a^ain to the centre of the web, ho that when they ran
out they formed a circle, and the movement caused a
connecting thi'ead oi- threads to convey the intelli^fence
to the mother below.

1 could not but admire th«' care and wonder at the
marv((ll(nis instinct of maternity imphinted as strongly
in this little insect's breast as it is in that of any human
mother. Truly instinct has been beautifully defined aa
" (iod's gift to the weak."

There is a small. nind)le species of field s[)id(,'r, with
a black shining body, that is very inunerous in rocky
pastures.

Having first prepared a bed of some glutinous sub-
stance, she S[)reads 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 tit 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, thai one would think
it had been pared evenly with a sharp knife and pressed
clo.sely to prevent prying eyes from discovering the
baby spiders tucked in so carefully.

120

I'EARLS AND I'EHRLES.

My little boy used to call tlieiii " little silver pies."
Great was the astonishinent of the child one day, wlien
on raisinir the edfje 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 fear 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 Inight that I really began to fancy that I
had hit upon a treasure, perhaps a nugget, but when I
continued to pro.spect 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 faiiiily, but unlike any
specimen I had ever before met with. It wa.'- not a true
lizard, as I found out later.

122

PEARLS AND I'EBHLES.

In length, from nose to the end of the tail, it was
ahout ten inches. The back was marked with nine gold
stars ; there were also three on either side, three on each
lejj, one on each foot, and one on the head, which was
flattisli, and one on the nose, — altoffcther a very hand-
some set of ornaments shining witii yellow lustre on its
jet hlack coat.

Knowing the inottensive natui'e of the creature, and
that it would neither bite nor sting, I transferred 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 appeai--
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 witlujut the least reluctance or
aversion.

My friend was, I found, (juite 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 n 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 Sdbimandria niaculatu, or
Spotted Salamander family.

WHAT I FOrXD IX MY DIGGING.

123

After we had studied it to our iiearts' content, and
admired and counted its spots, it was consigned to a
glass preserve jar half filled with w'ater, and left in peace.
Our prisoner did not, however, appear to be enjoying the
bath as much as we expected he would, hut on the
contrary was evidently desirous of escaping the liquid
element, raising his head and forefeet above the sui-face
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 back to his home under
the stump in the grove. The released animal walked off
very leisurely, but no doubt enjoyed the sense of liberty,
which may be as dear to a salamander as to man.

Some time afterwards I was describing my capture
to a gentleir.an who was inuch interested in the natural
iiistory of Ontario. He said it was a true salamander,
belonging to the order Urudela, family Sdlamnndrice ;
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

' t.

124

I'EAUI.S AND I'EBHLES.

If-'-

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

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 thiit 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 liglit to be put in. The back oF the case had been
fitted with a plate of looking-glass, and as Master Robin
flitted jmst he saw his own image in the glass and
instantly flew to it, evitlently with Joy, thijiking he
recognized his absent and, I fear, faithless mate. Rufliing
his feathers, spreading his wings, and pecking at the
glass as if to invite her in the most having manner to his

126

PEARLS AND I'EBHLES.

breast, but tiii(iin<^ liis entreaties fruitless, lie flew up t(j
the maple — I suppose with the hope that the wife would
respond to his call-note and follow. Then down a^ain
the poor fellow came to renew his vain entreaties. More
than half an hour was thus spent in and out of the ease,
up and down from the tree.

At last, having- made a iinal dash at the j^lass, he went
off in a fit of rage or of astonishment at the Ijehaviour of
his most obdurate spouse. F^ike some men and women,
Rob had taken the semblance for reality and bi'en
deceived.

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

In the room into which I wa^ 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, whicli hovereil with an inpatient 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 putty
image was reflected in the glass, and which it evidently
took for its mate.

On my remarking 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 darken 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 I'efer the actions
of the birds to the law of instinct alone

IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.

SPRING.

' ' If thou art worn and liard 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 I — no tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."

— Lotujfeilov).

At no season of the year are the woods more attractive
than in the early spring, when, weary of their snowy
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 anil 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 than are the young opening

IX THE CANADIAN' WOODS.

129

leaveH of the iiiapLe, poplar, beecli and birch, as thi'y
greet the soft winds of April and May, and Hatter forth
into full free life. The very bark on the t;vigs takes a
living freshness of tint and color, in place of the dull
hard deadness of its winter hue.

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

Then the American larcli — the tamarac of the Indians
— begins to put forth !ier light green leaves and hang
out her rosy taasels of red buds all along the slender
pendent branches. Beautiful as flowers are these soft
red cones peeping out from the clustei-s of delicate
thready leaves which guard them, and forming <k'light-
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. Tliis is the " wah-fap," 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-

IfiBkinly called^ of the willow and the birch, which have

been growing in secret all through last autumn, are

\V,y

130

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

amonj^ the first buds of the hardwood forest trees to
unfold, and are now " dancing in breezy mirth " on every
little spray. The least breath of w^ind sets them in
motion, tossinj^ them to and fro as though the whole tree
were (juivering 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 are 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, drink in their
warmth and are the first to send out i-esponsive 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 first 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. >

IX THE CANADIAN WOODS.

131

Then comeH Spring Beauty, tlie (Jinijtonia Virginica,

" That deliciito forost flower,
With Hcented breath, and hK)k so like a smilo,
SeeniH, as it issucH from the sliapeloHH mould,
An emanati(m of the indwelling Life."

— Brxjant.

Hosts of violets of all shades f'>'low, and are among
the earliest of the forest flowers: Imt, alas, the ruthless
advance of man upon the scene, in cutting down the
sheltering trees, has I'ohbecl the spring flowers of the
warm winter cloak which protected them from the bitter
winds, so that wiiile formerly we lookeil for these lovely
flowers in April, we now seldom And them before May.
Some indeed of the forost 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 ir the morning, and shalt not
And them."

SUMMER.

' ' Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his men-y note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither :
Here shall ho see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather."

—As Yon Like It.

But it is no rough weather that we shall meet this

182

I'EAHI.S ANI» I'KIUII.KS.

lovl

y siiiiiiiit'i' <Iay if my iviiiltr will j;(» with lu

into

tilt' Toi-cHt ^liidcs.

iJt

t'l'f is ii |»jithw<iy miller

til

I' iiiiiiileH unit iK'fC'lH'H

\v\

UH follow it and scf tin- woods in all thcii' rich Hnninn r
array. The .lunc ruins and July lu-at have dt'i'iicnt-d
and strcn^^tlu'iit'd tlwir coloring and ^ivcn nuiturod lite
and viiroi' to leaf and lirancli, ho that we shall find a

•h

riclici' tlioujjfli pcriiaps iiiort' suhducd hoanty o[' i'orni
and color than that of tlu- tender loveliness of the
aprinj;'.

Overhead the light semi-transparent leaves are all
astir, (iuiverin<:j in th<' breeze as the sunshini' conns
fitfully down through the tree-tops and casts moving-
shadows on the (lark mould below.

Looking around us we mark the endless variety of
graceful forms in tree and leaf and flower. Tlie earth is
teeniini; with luxuriance, and one might almost fancv
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 tlie air with the fragrance of its cream v
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 IIIK CANADIAN WdojiS.

piciisaut or is it tlio sweet Hcout of those lovely pyroliis

tlillt Holiir ol" the coUIltl\\ I'olUs liiisiiinne " lilies ol" the

valley," hut which the more jeiinieij hotimist cluHseM
with (he Mejitli raniilv, althouy;li the atfinitv to the
heather is not apparent to the imleanieil lover ol" wild
llowers ol" the foi-est !

Ainoiif^ the less important Forest trees, the hlooni of
the h()rn-l)ean» attracts the eye, and truly no Mower can
han;^ niori; trracehilly from its pendent spray than do
tlu'M- pretty greenisli white sacs, reseml)lini,rsti'oni,dy the
hop which one sees twiniiifj its ten<lrils al)Out the lattice
ol' many a poor si'ttler's veranda in the backwoods,
where it is cultivated alike for ornament and use.

The rou^h furry eases of the beechnuts are now
e'ivini^ an olive hue to the branches, and a darker, moi-e
somV)re color to the liglit };'roeii foliaije which so cl)arme(l
us in the first Husli of spring. There is on their laden
branches the promi.se of an abuiKhmt supply for many
of Clod's pensioners, the S(|uirrel, the fit'ld-mouse, the
e;roundho<f, the porcupine, and otliers of the roving
denizens of the woods and wilds. These creatures know
well the time of the dropping (4' 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 tilleth 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 sliadow 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 nmte reverence ; these
stately trunks bearing their plumed heads so high abo\e
us seem a meet rooting for His temple who reared them
to His praise. " Where is the house that ye build unto
me ? . . . Hath not my hand made all these things ? "

And hark 1 through the aerial harp-strings, swept by
the sighing winds, are there not hymns of melody and
praise unheard by human ears that ascend up on high
even to His throne i "O ye winds of God, praise Him
and magnify His name forever ! "

There are melodies in ocean, earth and air, unheeded
by man as he goes forth to his daily labor, but heard by
unseen spirits in the^'* 7 'inistrations 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-covei-ed fallen trunk.
At our approach lie darts \ip 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 unt.l 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.

i:J5

curiosity and somethiuf^ of displeasure, upon the unwel-
coinc intruder. He expresses his anji;('r l)v uttering
sharp scolding notes, setting up his tine lurry tail us a
hanner of detiance.

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-cree})ers, a Sitta or a
Certhia, gentle birds small as the tiniest of our wrens.

They live among the cone-liearing evergreens, glean-
ing their daily meal from Ix-tween the chinks of the
rugged bark where they find the larvse 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 doul)t if I am right in sup-
posing it to be a Certhia or a Sitta. I cannot recognize
it in Mr. Mcllwraith's " Birds of Ontario.' I know it
only as a tiny brown tree-creeper, that runs up and down
the trees uttering its soft whispering note. It is smaller
and less pretty than the tiny black and white spotted
woodpecker that comes to the trees in my garden or taps
with its strong bill on the shingle<l roof of the house —
a (juick, noisy rapping, as nuich as to say, " Here I am I
— here I am ! " Or perhaps I see a pair of these pretty
fellows busy on the moss-crusted garden fence. So busy

I .5!! '

il'l

i;i()

PEARLS AND CEBULES.

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

Though tliere is less luxuriance in the Iierbage grow
ing beneath the pines than under tlie maples and
beeches, we yet find some rare and k)vely plants flourish-
in<r there that ai'e not found in tlie ricliei' soil under tin;
hardwood trees.

Manv of the little everm-eens known bv the familiar
ami descriptive name of wintergreens aboiuid, especially
the beautiful starry-flowered pyrolas.

Here is one, the Pi])fiissnva or " lliieumatism Weed "
of the herl>alist. with the t-'lossv shinin<; leaves and
lovely wax-liki' ])iid< ilowers. It is a floral gem. Mark
its ro.sv stem, its dark yrecn st-ri-ated 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 emei'ald green. Who can look upon this
ex()uisite flower without a feeling of pleasure ^ It
seems to me jierfeet in all its parts.

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

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

IX THE CAXADIAX \V<n»D,S.

1:^7

petal elt'o'iintly scalloped, and sending' forth a delicious
perfume. The pistil of the Monenes is most sin<j,ular. It
is much lon<>;er than the closely appressed stamens, and
terminates in a little bri<j;'ht ;;reen [jointed crown some-
what inclinino" downward. This plant is rare.

Thei-e is another small species less fra^a-ant, the flower
of which is <;'reenish white ami inferior in l)eauty to the
milk white and lart^er plants.

Where the jjround inclines to be njckv, or in the
vicinity of water, we come upon a bed of sweet May
flower. It is rather late this vear. Mav and June are
its months I'or blooming, but sonie will linj;er in shady
damp spots, even on into July and Au^aist.

" Sweet flowers that linger ere they fade.
Whose last are sweetest."

What a gummy fragrance about this charming plant
with the piidc bells, red stems and oval leaves I It is in
the mossy glands of the stalks and buds that the aroma
lies and is given out fi'om this bt-autiful Creeping
Arbutus, for it belongs to that charming ornamental
family. It would be desirable addition to the tiailing
))lants of our rockeries and hanging baskets could we
prevail upon it to abide with us, l)ut it loxcs too wrll its
own wild rockv forest haunts, and the i)inv soil its
rootlets find in the crevices between the stones, to
readily change its habits.

Creeping over little hillocks in shady ground we see

t-rii

18.S

I'EARLS AND PEBBLES.

that kindly little everj^'een, the dark round-leafed
Partridge Berry {Mitchella repens), with its* fragrant
starrv wliite blossoms, and at the foot of that old hem-
lock sjiriice there is a cluster of orchids, the handsome
striped en- coral-rooted orchids.

These showy flowers come up destitute of green
leaves, but with many stems, ; *me more than a foo in
height and load<'(l with flowers of a pale fawn color,
striped with deep ci'imson. Silvery scales take tlie
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 Hoot (Corallorhlza 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, wht'ic we notice it growing on the decaying
trunk of somt' I'alk-n tret — fhe [)early-flowered Rattle-
snake Plantain {Goodyera repens). Its deep green
leaves, with the milk-white traceries over their surface
and the semi-transpai-ent sac-lipped little flower, surely
make it deserving of a Ix'tter name, and one more in
keeping witli its near neighbor and relative, the Ladies'
Tresses, so-called from the spiral an-angement of its leaves
and stalks.

But the slanting sunbeams gilding the red trunks of

IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.

139

the pines warn me it is time to retrace my steps, and
the sound of the jangling cow-hells sp''aks audibly of the
hour when the children will he looking for their tea.

AUTUMX.

" See how the great old fi-rest vie,s
With Jill 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 tlame I
And domes on domes that gleam afar.
Through many a goM 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 "

— Alexiiuili'T Mi'Lai'ldiiii.

Silentlv but surelv the summer with all its; wealth of
flower has left us, though wa still lui\ c a few of its
Latest blossoms lingering on into tlie rii)ened glory of
the autunni daj^s. Our roadsides and waste places are
brilliant with the g.iy waving Golden Rod {Solidago) —
that sun-loving flower which does not fade and di'oop its
golden spikes under the August and September heat.

Graceful asters, too, of man^vi 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 ha%e ripencl the grain, and the harvest

140

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

moon Ii;vs nvt o\oi- tlu" fields now ready for the plough,
where the sower will soon be abroad scattering the seed
tor another year.

( fod's silent workers have not been idle. They have
gathered in the harvest on plain and wayside wastes, on
lonely lake sliore and by the banks of the gliding river.
The dormouse and the ground sijuiiTel (our little
striped chipmunk), and the red and black squirrel have
already begun to lay by stores of kernels, seeds and
grain. Tlie musqurcsh, 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 shii.ing, now fall with
every win<l 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 flock 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 much hath nothing over, and he that gathers
little hath no lack.

The ])ines are strewing the ground with a soft carpet of
spiny needle like leaves, the product of former seasons,
and already, early in Septemljer, n few brilliant scarlet
leaves have appeared among the green of the maples.

IN TflK ( .VNADIAN WOODS.

141

while the biix-h and poplur han^ out their j^olden
l)iinners, Hoon to scatter them abroad. Not less attrac-
tive are the vounj; beeches as seen ayainst tlie fvdl «hirk
i^reeii oF the spruce and hendock.

On the outskirts of the wood, or on the bank of hike
or stream, the eye is cau<>;ht by fringes of every hue,
the red of the osier beds, tl»e hijj^h 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 Berry."

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 a[)peared reflected on the still
bosom of the lake that bright September morning.
What a feast for the wild birds ! One ahnost envied
tliem their treat.

The juniper and the red cedar, too, are very beautiful ;
the mealy whiteness of the one and the blue tints of the
clustering l>erries 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 Septendxn- is the
most enjoyable. Heat we have for a short time, but not
overpowering. Tlie sunnner indeed is gone, but there is

*.'W V-

142

PEARLS AND I'EBHLES

a droiiniy .softness, a fulut'ss and finish, if I may so
express it, tliat is very near perfection. Tliis is the
pause before the ecjuinoctial j^ales come to rend the
trees and strew the eartli with a rich covering of leaves,
ere the Frost King lias with his nipping fingers touched
the oak, the maple, the elm and the beech, changing
their green leaves to every shade of crim.son, .scarlet,
orange, yellow, and russet brown. These colors, as tlie
days steal by, light up the landscape with a pas.sing
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 ytar.

An English artist, 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 autunuial landscapes. Striking his
hands together, he exclaimed : " Those contrasts of color
are too brilliant I 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 pageatitry 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 re(|uiem in wails

IX THE CANADIAN WOODS.

148

and sobs among the leafless bouglis, or sliivers with
rustling 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.
We 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 fish 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 o^
right belonged to tliem. " Our sunnner," the}' 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 In<lians 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

On the di.stant rocky hei^ ht,
By the deep blue oi the skiet,

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

I'EAIU.S AND IT.msi.ES.

Wintor's lovely honild grci'ts us
Eru the ico-crownutl tyrant inuutH uh.

' This (Iroary Indidii HUiiiiiior <lay

Attunes tho soul to toncler sadness;
Wcj love — hut joy not in the ray ;

It is not sunuuer's fervid gladness,
But a inehincholy glory

Hovering softly round decay, —
Like swan that sings her own sad story
Ere she floats in death away."

— i:hi8(inna Moudie.

WINTER.

" Sharp is the frost, the Northern Light
Flickers and shoots its streamers ))right ;
Snowdrifts cumber the untnicked road,
liends the pine with its heavy load."

— FranrAs Rije.

There is .silence in the t'ore.st. The l)irds that came
to make their .summer .sojourn liere have long .since for-
saken us. All are ^'one — not a Hon<;', not a twitter or
chirj), meets the ear. Ev(>n tht; lively little ground
squirrel has gathered in his stores antl retired to his
warm, cosy house under the root of oak or heech, where,
within rcmch of his well-tilled granary, he is snugly
cuddled with his furry family, a happy denizen of ins
native woods. The bolder, hardier red .S(]uirrel is safely
lioused in the fork of a hollow tree, sheltered from blus-
tering wintry winds and drifting snow. Tiie racoon, the
porcupine, the little field-mouse, are all hidden in nest or

IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.

143

l)iii-i-ov\-, ami oven the bears with their cubs are .sleei)iii;r
in their secret liauntH.

F(!vv intleed of the hanlier birds that winter with us
are lunv seen to venture from tlie close coverts of the
<lense ccidar swamps; only on chance sunny days the
crossl)ill, the pine (grosbeak oi" the hardy blue ja\' will
come near our dvvellinffs, and the little spotted wood-
pecker be heard upon the trindv of s(jme nei<,dd)orincr
nionarcli of the forest tap))in<jj and I'appin*,^ as busy as
a bee.

The hunter and the hnnl)erman may sometimes catch
•si^ht of the little tree cree[)er and the titmouse flittin}.^
amon<; the pines in search of the insects hidden in the
bark and cones, or hear the rajiid sonorous strokes of
th ' lirjife woodpecker, — tlie red-capped "cock of the
woods " — liannuering away on some old tree and strip-
ping down great sheets of bark from the fast decaying
trunk : l»ut only in the tliickest of the fon-st would this
be, for rarely is this large species met with elsewhere.

Tlie ruffed grouse that is connnonly called " wood
parti-idge " is not migratory ; both it and the spruce
partridge 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, and the red hark of the
wild raspberry. The latter imparts a red tinge and
much bitterness to the flesh, an<l by the month of
February renders it unfit for food.

146

PEAHLS AND PEMMLES.

' 'I

.: i I

■,<•!

The Frost King is alu'ojul, ami as by the limbic touch
of an enchanter's wand has wrou<'ht a wonch'ous chanife
within the forest as well as on lake and stream.

What has l)econie of the unsightly heaps of brush-
wood, the dSHti 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 i' Herc^ is purity without a sign of decay.
All that otiended the sight in our forest walks has
\iinislied.

A spotless robe of dazzling whiteness, .soft and bright
as the swan's downy brea.st, 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. Tlie young saplings, weak
and slender, bend beneath their burden, lightly as it
seems to lie upon 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 feet. 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 clo.sely

IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.

147

packed snow, tho full (jf a dry pine coiio, or the cnicking
of the t'roHt-ltound liark of Home distant f o rent tree, nh)iie
breaks the Hilence. Is there no sound or si^ht of living
thin^ ? Yes; see tliose tiny marks upon the s>n-face of
tlie snow — footprints so snuil' that hut for the lonjj^ Hiie
reaching; from tree to tree they wouKl escape the (juick-
est sif^ht. Some living thing has been here. It is the
tinie.st of all ([uadrupeds, the little "Jumping mouse," or
/erhoa. 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 suspect the fairy creature f)f any such
motive ; but motive it mast 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 have 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 observc^d the little creatui'es
themselves.

In an old diary I have notes, written years ago, of
sleigh drives in a rude vehicle, when, v upped in buffalo
and bear skins, 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

PEAULS AND I'KIJHLES.

spud tlii'ougli tlio Hnow-ljulen forest rojid — a rou<(h road
and a wild one it was then, more than fifty years n^o.

What chanj^es the years have brought 1 Wliere now
are the pine woods f Where tlie lo^i'-house, the primeval
settlement hous(! : the disti<^urin«ij stump in the newly-
cleared fallows: the ujj^ly snake-like rail fences, the rud(^
enclosures of the first efforts of the immijjrant : the jano-
lin<i; sound of the cattle bells, the lumber sleijj^hs ^ All
are <(one — thin<rs that ii^tre, not thini,^s that arc.

Fair dwelli!i;:^s, tasteful j^jardens, fruitful oi-chards, the
villat;e school-house, the church spire, the busy factory,
the iron-girdered bridj^e, the steamboat, the railroad, the
telegraph, the t deplione — 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, sununer
and winter " have returned according to their circuits :
and as I look back through the long vista of the past I
can trace the guiding hand of Him who changeth not.

A SONG KOK A SLEIGH DRIVE.

Tune: "Farewell to Glen Owen."— Welxh air.

Hurrah for the forest I the dark pine wood forest !
The .sleigh bells are jiny;ling with musical chimes;

The woods still are ringing

As gayly we're singing —
Oh, merry it is in the cold winter time.

lie

I\ THE CANADIAN WOODS.

149

Hurrah for the forest! tho dark pine wood forest!
With the moon stealing down on the cold frozen snow.

With eyes beaming briglitly,

And hearts beating liglitly,
Through the wild forest by moonlight we go.

Hurrah for the forest ! the dim ancient fitresti
Where silence and stillness for ages have been.

We'll rouse the grim bear,

And the wolf fi'om his lair,
And the deer shall start up from the thick cedar screen.

Oil, wail for the forest! the green shady forest!
No longer its depths may the hunter e.\plore ;

For tlie l)right golden grain

Shall wave o'er the plain.
Oh, wail for the forest, its glories are o'er !

iiiiiTH are

THE FIRST DEATH IN THE
CLEARING.*

" Thoro is no flock, however wjvtched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there I
There is no flreside, liowsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair."

— LuiKjfi'lloir.

OXE lovely morning, nirly in April, I was standing at
tlu' window that ovorlookod the lake and its dark-
fringed shore, watching the wild-fowl that were gath-
ered ^n flocks about the pools of blue water where the
warm sunshine ha<l melted the ice. My little boy was
in my arms evidently enjoying the lively movements of
the l)irds 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.

THE FIRST DEATH IN THE CLEARIXO.

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, wrapped in a faded tartan shawl, laid her hand
upon my arm and in a strong Scotch accent said :

" Mistress, ye maun come awa' the noo wi' me to see
the wee ane. The mither is aye greeting and sent me
ower to bid 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 «lescription of the
staite of the babe I feared I could do little for the
sufferer, I thought I mi^lit tlo 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 stoppetl not for stone,"
but led the way fearlessly over the most impracticable-
looking places, sometimes climbing over l<jg hea})s, dash-
ing through puddles of melting snow, creeping along
fallen, half-rotted h)gs beside pools where eve!i the little
will-o'-the-wisp was not sun; of a safe passage, and
often stretching out a strong red tist to aid me when I
faltered on the way.

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

152

PEARLS AXD PEBBLES.

infant. It was lyin;^ in a nide cradle, pale as 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
in<leed it was a lovely babe. Thou<:^h so youn<,^ its
pretty head was thick with curls ; now lax and damp
they hunjif round the brow on which death had already
set its seal. Pool' Jessie ! poor mother I

"It cannot live," she .said mound'uUy, lookinf,' up in
my face as if to ask for some word to jj^ive her a ray of
hope. Alas! she saw I could give her none. The Lord
of life alone could restore that fading Hower, 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 tits con-
vulsed the tender frame, each one threatening to be the
last effort of expiring life.

It was saddening to .see the intense angui.sh 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
chiM 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 tlu poor
young mother. What was a babe of the ovcr.seer's to

THE FIIWT DEATH I\ THE CLEAIUXO.

\5li

him : The remly meals for the men milst not be
ne^^lected, and she must attend to and Fulfil lur e<n-e-
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 n^.ore sympathetic among the men tried
to cheer her by saying the child might yet recover, and
tlunigh 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 a. ne with
her great sorrow, I despatched a messvMger to my own
house to say I shouhl not be home till morning. I
prevailed on Jessie to lie down on her bed while I kept
vioil, an<l glad I was to see the wearv heart at rest after
the day of toil and grief.

The infant ah ■,'•;, 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 watciier. The frosty air Ijlen' 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 ojiened the door and went forth
to look upon tlie face of the earth and the heavens, for
\x\x eyes were weary and my heai't 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

154

PEARLS AND PEUHLES.

sky above were j^lenmini^ ere tliey jmled before the
saffron lifjjht of the dawninj^ <lay now streakin«( the
eastern horizon. The mist was risinj; in clouds from the
river where the rapi*ls were tossing' their white-crested
heads beneath the shadows of the pines tliat clothed the
opposite shores, j^rand and beautiful, untouched by the
hand of man. What a contrast to the confusion spread
around the recently erected mill and the half-finished,
unsij^htly buildin<;s, where heaps of refuse, piles of chips
and bark strewed the ground I

No one was awake or stirring — not a sound was heard
save the wild rushing sweep of the re.stless river as it
dashed over its rocky bed, unchecked in its downward
course l)v mill-dams or .saw-loii"s, its clear waters
unpolluteil by sawdust or bark, nor j>loaghed and stirred
by steamboats and the rafts and cribs of the lumbermen.

I turned once more to thi; contemplation of human
sutfering. 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 ri.sen 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 promise 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 nie.

■•f

THE FIUST DEATH IN THE CLEAHIXO.

155

Nature lierself had as it wero been enjoyinj^ perfect
r(>st, and with the sun had awakened to a newness of
liie. TIic livini; creatures were lifting up their voices
in hynuis of praise and tlianks((ivin<f to Him from wiiom
all blessings flow, whose goodness luul protected them
tiirough the night, a»i<l whose bounty was still to pre-
serve them througli the coming day.

There were songs and twitterings from birds rarely
heard in the full glare of day. The red s((uirrels were
out ami abroad, crossing :My path, while the little
chipnnnik stopped and set ui) his furry tail and chat-
tered jis if he wcnild in(juii"e what business I had out
among his haunts at that eai'ly 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 (ju my ear as 1 listened for the soft
whis[)ering 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 p.salms and hyniiis we learned as children,
to refresh us anil lead us back from earth to heaven.

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

• ;

150

I'EAHLS AN'i) I'KHIU-Es.

alth()n<;li I had not then known the pJin^f of a l)L'ivf»vc<l
niotlier's heart, (iod <rave nie that trial in after years.
I could onlv niin'de rnv tears witli hers, and e\'en that
human synipathy was Homethini; to the <;rievin;j^ heart.
Onco sh(! h)oked down upon hen* arm and erieil, " It used
to lie here, and T shall nevei' feel it heiv sae ne.ir to my
ain heart aj^ain."

Jessie never foi-; i that haho : it lay very near to her
wai'm motherly hwi' ' '<>nj. fter it had heen fori^otten
by (iveryouo but her.

The ne.\t day was the Sabbath, and the cdiild's funeral
was to take place at noon. Tlu; door bein*,' open f
entered the darkened i-oom without knockin;^". I shall
never for<,a't the feelin<^ of solenui awe that rami; ovei-
me as T crossed tiie threshold from the bi-ii;ht noonday
sunshine into the hushed <d()om of the house of

movn*ninfj.

There v.'as no funeral jiomp or display, no outwai'd
demonstration. A table in the eentiv of the room was
cov(;red with a damask cloth of snijwv whiti-ni'ss : beside
it .sat the child's father, a jyrave respectable Scotchman,
in black, his hat cra])ed and tied with the white ribbon
symbol of the youth and innocence of th<' dead babe-
A lar^'o Hible lay before him. He ju.st raised his head
from the book as my shadow fell upon the )ia}.je, and
bowed reverently and in silence as I pas.sed over to
where the mother bent above the little coffin.

I see her now in hei- ])lack divss, her fail- hair, like a

THK FIKST DEATH IM THE CLEAKIN'U.

157

j^()M(Mi veil gcimnod with tears, almost shroudiii;;, the
calm sweet face of lier <lea<l. Th(M'e was no violence
in the snl)(lu('<l ^rief of the nuiunier. She took a little
packet from hrr breast, anil openiii)^ its folds pointed to
the hri^dit silken curls that she had cut from the j»retty
head, then replaced it with a sigh in the hosom where
the soft head had ))een so tenderly nestled. It was only
when the bearers came in and closed the coffin lid that
forever hid lier darlin<; from her sight that, with a
burst of gri'.'f not to ])e suppressed, she threw herself
into my arms and wailed the piteous cry, ' (Jone ! goni' !
My wi'an ! my wean ! "

Tlmn she besought mo to Join the little funeral proces-
aion to the; burying-ground across the river, but this I
could not do, for tlu? way was far and I <lid not fei'l
C(]ual to the long walk.

I watched them as they crossed the bridge and
ascended the opposite bank, till the white i)all was lost
among the dark pines that marked the forest road, and
then with h(»avy heart retraced my steps to my own
home.

THE EARF.Y IM.EST.
(Linen by my sister, Agnos Striclsland.l

Thy mother's sad eyes in wild anguish wept o'er thee,
And the teare of a father flowed fast to deplore thee ;
And thine own feeble cries told the striigiile within,
When thou, sinless babe, paid tlie forfeit of sin.

158

PEARLS AND I'EHULICS.

Tlioro wiiH Hi»ooclilcHs (lespnir when lifo's lust rose hiul faded,
And thy duiitli-diirkened eyes with their cold lids were Khaded,
And thy young limbs were wrapped in the robes of the dead,
And forever consigned to their lone narrow bed.

They mourned for the ho|)e that affection had cherished ;
They saw it in dust, and tiiey deemed it had perished ;
But they knew not that Tuorcy directed the blow-
That laid their beloved and beautiful low.

Like the blossom that's plucked ere rude winds have pr.ifaned it,
Or the snjw-wreath that melts ere the .soil has distaincd it,
Tln'U wert snatched from a world of corruption and strife,
And saved from tlie cares and temptations of life.

They hoard not the summons, exultingly giveti,
Wliich called thee from earth and its conflicts to heaven ;
They saw not tiie prospects which brightened around thee
When tiie cold hand of diiith in its fetters had bound thee :
They heard not Llie 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,
(Jrief and care thou ne'er wilt know ;
Life's dfirk J)age can never be,
Hap})y babe, unrolled to thee :
Tears can never dim that eye
Brightening now with ecsbisy I

i 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 sablo l)itr and sliroiul,
Mount the niDrning's golden cloud ;
Come through roiilms of Hzuro space !
Come to thine appointed place I
Thou wert j)iirchaHt'(I with a jirice ;
Thou Khalt enter Paradise.

" Come through sunbright fields of air,
Ever shining, ever fair ;
Come where blessed spirits dwell ;
Come to joys inutt'ablu ;
Come through boundless tields of space ;
Come to thine ajjpoiuted place.

" Come where heavenward souls are winging ;
Come where angel harps are ringing ;
Come where seraphs ever cry,
'Glory be to (;od on high '.'
Come where shining cherubim
Pour the everlasting hymn.
Thou shalt join that radiant train ;
Thou wilt swell tlieir raptured strain.

" Come, thou highly favored one I
.Come before thy .Mal<ir s throne ;
Ctmie where guilt can nm-er sever ;
Come and praise tiie Lord forever. "

'$■

ALONE IX THr: FOREST.

The first iiuj)(.'tus tliat our lu'i^flilxn-liood rt'Ceivcd was
th(i putting; up of !i saw-iiiill at tli».' Fulls of tb.o OtonalK'c,
about half ii mi'!' In-low my brother's house, ami the
l»uil(linf( of a l)ri<lif.' to connect the towiishii)s of Douro
and Smith, thus o-jvinu" a better access to the- town of
PetcrborouiTJi, tlien (IS.'V}) tb.e oidy market for our
produce and for the purchase of housi-hold necessaries.

The clack of the mill wheels was soon inin<i;linj; with
tln' sound of the rush of the rapids, and we were able
to obtain the re(|uisite lumber to complete the ni'W lo<,'-
house, and subseijueiitly to build a frame barn and
stable for the cattle.

The proprietor of the mill was an adventurous younj;
Scotchman, very and)itious and san(.(uine, but who
illustrated the truth of the Italian proverb, " His beak
is longer than his win^^s."

He went home on speculation for a wife, and succeeded
in persuadintj a youn<; lady who had some money to

AI.ONK IN THE FOREST.

161

vcfl was

)tonii'H'c,

and tlu'

)t' Douro

town of

for our

isurit's.

'u\<X with

vi'V*^ altlc

lew !()<;-

arn and

iH vouny;
•lit who
^is Ixiak

iicceeded
loney to

acot'pt him and nturn with him tt» Canada. Accustonu'd
to thf cnjoynirnt of all tlu- comforts which independent
means enabled lier to connnand in the < )ld W«»i lil, it was
little wond«'r that the y<anj{^' wilt* iMhtld with dismay the
homeliness of her iu-\v smT<iuinlin;;s in the liackwoods.

Shf had felt the lati^iic of .i jo\iiiify (hrou^'h the
sondtiM" pine forest, and turmd w ith deep disi^nst from
the nnHi;;;htly prosjtt-ct of half-ejran'd fields, disfigured
l>y charrcil stumps and snnouinlid l>y scorched and
hlackened ti'ers, in the midst of which lay her new
home.

Wlu-re was the charndni'' rural \illa('(^ lur hushand
had s]»oken of with pride and delight i" Heiv was only
a saw-nnll — ne\er a pleasant si^ht — heaps of newly-
sawn Itoards, all the di'hrls of liark and chips, and tho
skeleton fi-anies of untinished liuildin<,'s scattered with-
out or<ler over the roui^di pound. The stcaie house to
which she was iutioduced as her future residence con-
sisted sini])ly of two rooms on the j^fround floor and two
small bedrooms above, with a kitchen, a wide barrack-
likt! lean-to built of boards a^minst the main edifice.

Is it to be wondere(l that a feeling; of disappointment
and discontent took pos.se.ssion of her, and that, unable
to .see the future with liei* husband's san^iine, liopeful
eyes, she shoidd often wee]) and si(fh over hei' lot; that
.she should feel theehaii^fe from her former life, and that
the remend)rance of all she hail lost in her own beloved
ccumtry .should make i le contrast more painful ?

ii:

162

PEAHLS AND PEHIJLES.

{

Yet, though very miserable at times, she clung with
passionate attection to her husbaii'l. With wonianly
devotion she made all sorts of excuses for him ; she
would not, could not, Iteliuve that he had willingly
deceived her or had married her from interested motives.
This love, as it gi-ew stronger, upheld her in the sad
reality of utter ruin, for truly misfortune like an arnHtl
force came soon upon them, and every fair and flattering
prospect vanished. Tnahle to connnand the m<mey to
meet the chiims of importunate creditors, or to satisfy the
workmen clamoring at his dooi- daily for their wages,
her husband was obliged to give up under a sheriffs war-
rant all the property he posse.ised, and to find himself a
prisoner in his own house. Only on Sundays was ht>
free to go aliroad. No i-ntreaties availed to obtain any
T jrtion of the pi-iiieipal of his wife's property, and it
was fortunatt' for thrm that it was so vested in the
han<ls (tf trustees as to be bcyoncl the reach of any claim
fr():n tiu' creditors, as the interest on it alone kept tin-
unfortnnate dclitors from starvation.

With these trials and )»rivations came a courage ain!
strength of mind to <io and to bear. The young w'fe
luid no former exjierieiie.- of hardships, but when
encountered she boi',' tlu'ni biMVely. She was now a
mother, uMtl the unwonti'd cares of maternity w«'re
added to other ardmais duties. She often lamented
over her want of knowledge in the management of her
baby ; she had never ))een accustomed to see young

ALONE IN THE FOREST.

lOM

oil" WJifjes,

children otluTwise thiui in the nursery of ii fritiid,
under the care of nurses, an«l tcndini; on an infant was
an entirely new experience, which troubled her much.

To add to her laltors a^ue attacked her husband, and
to a younif active man confinement to his bedroom or
to the house was, no doubt, verv trviny;. To do him
justice, he was always kind and considei'ate to his wife,
and, when not suffering' under the ctt'ects of tiic a;;ue,
took nnich of the care of the babe upon himself.

One by one my pool* friend parted with hei- itwciiy

and 1

ler ric

k sill

<s am

I sati

ns, ni or(

!(')• to

) raise tiH' means

of defraying the wages of a servant to perfoi-m such
services as she was totally unused to and unfitted for.
She was fond of flowers, but findinj' it useless to trv and
cultivate them in the rouidi stonv <rround about her
house, she gave it up and was eiaitent with the few I

cou

V»!

her f

rom m\' uarilen

She came often to .see me to ask advice about the

l)a1 )

ilk

)tl

»y, or tor milk or otner nece.s,saries when m need oi
them. She knew that 1 took a kindly interest in her,
and that .she was always suv" of .sympathy and my
husband's help if re((uired in any ditliculty. He j»itied
the misfortunes of her liu.-.band, and felt for them both
in their trials.

A longer interval than usual ha\ ing elapsed without
V friend, ;nnl fearin<!' that she, too, had

a visi

t f

rom m

fallen a victim to the ague, I walked over to ascertain
the cau.se of her long absence. I found her lying on

164

PEARLS AND I'EHULES.

the rude couch which her iii<,'eiiuity and resource had
iniVMurnctunMl to supply the pliice of the furniture seized
hy the sheriff's ollici'rs. She looked very pide, and her

II dishevelled ahout her neck

beautiful fair hair huuf' n

and shoulders, as if she weiv too weary to j^atlirr it up.
1 express»-d uiy fear that slif had taken the a<fui' or

lake IVver

l.ut she said, "No, it is onlv fiiti<Mie, not

ilhiesH

foi- do v«aj know, I was out wandering', lost for

awhih' in the woods last ninht."

"On what eiiiunl :' " I asked in surprise, for J knew
she rarely left the clearin^r.

"1 had reason to expect letters from Scotland," she
replied, "and I ctadd trust no one idiout tlie place t(» j^o
for them — indeed the husini'ss could oidy he (\u\n> hy

nvself— so Icavinij my

iiov with his father an<l tlio

servant, 1 set off to walk to the town, with my ^'ood
old do;; Nelson for company ami protection. 1 jj^ot my
letters all ri}4;ht, made such purchases as were needed,
jintl with my lunidie was preparing' to return— for the
diiv was advancing' to (hisk — Imt Nelson was missing.
I went to ivery place I had lueii to <lurin^' the day
without finding' him, and, weary and anxi«Mis, 1 waH
ohliiretl tt> turn m\' steps homeward alone.

" Thr moon was youn^', and 1 ftaied the li;jht would
fail u\r lit'foi'e I eotdd make my way throu;,di the dark
for»'st. Vou know what a ct»wardly dread J have of
wolves and liears, and I do not love tlu-se lonely, {,d(M)iny
w<»o<is.

ALONE IX THE I'OHKST.

165

"' T pushed (111 for the first liour as fast as T was al»!(>
to walk. I was really tii'e'l. ami my mind was harassed
ahoiit leaviiiii: the dui; liehiml iiif. I tlnnm-ht, ton, of
iiiV sick Juisliaml and iiiv hov, so that I did Mot dai'e to
liii;;er or stop to rest.

"My mind was .so I'ldl of aii.Kious thou;(hts that tlm
way appeared more dreary : e\erytlnii;;' was so silent
a:i<l deathdike that my own footsteps startled me as they
fell iipoii tile fallen leaves; even the crackin^df the dry
sticks on the path wakened foolish nervous feai-s. So
altsorhed wk 1 l»y these needless terrors that I diti not
notice at first that 1 hail reached a point wliei-e two
paths met and hranched <»tr in opposite directions, and I
liecaiiie .sorely ])erplexed as to which was thf ri;,dit ont-

to follow.

" After 1 hail advanced for sonu' time on the one 1 had
chosen, m\' nnnd misjravf me, and I liastiK' retraced mv
steps, not satistied that I had taken the ri^^ht path, and,
unfortunately, decidetl upon following' the othei', which
proved to lie the wi'oni^' oui'. I hurried on, hoping' tf>

make up lor the time 1 had lost liy my iiHlecision.

"The increasing- j^^loom, dei-ptiitd liy a i^rowth of
liendocks and cedars, made nn- think that I was drawing;
near to the river and should soon tind tlif lirid^'e and

the mill. Still, I could not I'ecoirni/e .some of the lii^
pines that I had niarki'l in my walk in tin- moniiii;;'.

" My heart thrilled witli tenor as j lnard tin- loii^'-
drawu howl of wliat 1 thouidit was a wolf in the cedi

i ^

166

I'EAUI,S AND PEHIU-ES.

awaai]) tluvt 1 had cutt-'rcd ; the path, too, ^row naiTow^T
and daikfi'.

" My tii-st iiiijtiilsi', when I hcai'd that ti'i'i-ible sound,
was to turn and lice for my IHV', hut all nty stivn^tli
failed nit- at ont'c and I was connK'llt'd to sit down on
the truidc of a fallen ti't'c t(t rccovfi- nivsclf. 1 rrnu-niln'r
cryin<;' out aloud, Alone, lost! lost hi these dreadful
woods, to pi-rish hy the fan<fs of wolves. What, what
shall 1 <^lo i' Lord, save ine, a poor lone wanderei' I ()
my (lod, help me I ' Sueh, dear friend, was m}' a;foni/e<l
prayei' as J sat there in the ilark forest,

" Then eanje the rapid sound of some animal rushing
toward me at full s[>eed, crashin^^j the dry hranehes as it
came. I felt that t<j escapt; was innxissihle, and started
to my feet, while the wild heating of my heart was .so
loud that I heard no other sound.

" You may Jud^'e of tlie relief 1 experienced wh«'n my
dear dog, my faithful Nelson, hounded towards me
almost JUS pantin^j and hreathles.s as his ttaror-strickeu
mistress.

" V'ou know I do not often indulj^e in tears, oven when
overwhelmed with trouble, hut in this ii, stance I faiily
cried — hut it was for joy — and I lifted up my lieait in
fervent thankfulness to Him who in His mercy and j>ity
lia<l guided my dumh pi-ocector thr(tu<fh the tangled
hush to my side that night. I couM not help saying,
'('ome, dear old Nelson, you have made a man of me I
I shall fear neither wolf noi- l>ein while I have vou

ALONK IN THE FOREST

1C7

iarr(j\vM-

••'Side Mil',

(Xfl

soil was 11 powfi

•fill N

fWiOUIluliiml <ln<r,

!-»»

und jis linivc as a lioii. i

'I rastcnctl my hmiillc about his mck, mihI lie trotted
Ic'sidc iiic, proud of tin- Imrdfu of u iiicli my jtruis had
Ih'Coiuc wvy weary.

"I thou^dit F would i-t'tuni and try tlic trark [
I'olIowtMl first, lait iiotieiii<; that tht-rt' was a clcariii";- of
the trees ahead oi" iiie, I pushed oil, tiiiuUiii;,;' I was not
far from some lumherer's shautv or tiie jon-hoitse of one
(tf tlie Irish settlers. Nor was 1 mistaken, f(»r a few
minutes hrou<,dit iiie to the e<lnf ,if a newly choiiped
fallow, an<l I heard the liarkiiii'" ol' ;i doe-, which I had
mistaken for the cry of a woU".

" The moon had set, ami I iiKlm'd it must he nfttiiitf
late into the nieht, I peeped throue;h the curtainle.ss
window of the shaiitw The <dimmerinir li<dit from a

lew liurnini; l>raiids on the hearth and the smouldi'nntr
retl eml)ers of a huee Imek loe- in tlie wide, clav-lmilt
chimney showed me the interior of the rude eahin.

"The inmates were all sleepiiin- soundly, the i^rowl-
in;f of the cur as he retreate<l in fear of my hi;,' <|o(^r had
faile<l to I'ouse them, so I took Kreiieh leave and sti'p])ed
in without further ceremony than a lieht tap with my
hand on the door.

"()ll a rude lied in thf recess formed hetweeil the lo;r

walls and the chimney lay two women. ( >iie, the elder,
not undressed, was Kiiii^ on the eo\erlet, while the
vounm-r with feverdluslied cheeks lav ri'stless|\- tossinjj'
on the h((| heside her.

1G8

n;Ai{i,s AND i'i:i4i!i,i:s.

W.IS \v

itli sonic (litHciiItA- tlifit I miuia|,'f»l to rouse

the I'lflri' woiiiaii to a coiiseiitusiicss oT my ])ivsc'iifc und
iiiiikc luT uiKltTstainl that \ waiitfd a <,Mii(lc to tlic mill.

'"Oeh! oc'li ! me ilcar craytlnirr/ sin- cxelaiint'd, as
she raisfd li'-iscH' on licr lirawny dliow and j^'azccl at me
i'rom nndt-r a mass of t;m;;l('d locks, a furioiis look in
licr lilack cyt's. what tor shoidd a youii<; tiiinj^' likt;
vcr.scll' lir doin n]i an' al>road at sieh a time o' Mi<^d\t.
Slmrc an it must hf ncai- the mornin'."

"'M\- oood woman,' 1 .said. ' I have htst m\' wav in
the hush comin;;,- i'l'om the town, and 1 want .some jxT.son
to show nil' thf V a\- ti» the mill at the Falls.'

line

ini.

-hr .said, an' it's no time to he axin'

til

cil mi-n I

vc I low

ir thr hliycs to he la\ in' their heds, hut sit
I'll si>(!ik to me man yonder.' And point-
in;^ to anoth r coU'-h wleTe thi'ee hoys of ditlert'iit a<xes
■re sicepiui;- hesjilr their I'athel', she u-ot Up.

" Alter soni • diseiissi(»n lirtwcen them the mastei-
jni"r«'ed to send iiui- of the hoys, iis soon as it was li<4;ht,
t(» ;,'niile me to the {''alls.

" • Thrn . ndsthresN.' he said, ' \ c may jist make yer,seir
ais\- now. an lie li'W;) on the hed hy my ^^al : sIh' has
thr .leiie an t;i<' t'lVT, luit slip's as (piiet as a landi an'
will n«;l distni'h y.'

"This was ! ind en(aii,di, lau I pi-i Teri-ed sitting; hei'ore
the tire o!, a l.'iek of Wood, that .sfr\ed in lieu oF a,
st.iol, to shiM'iny ih siei< i^irl's lnd or paitakin^^ ol" a,
I n'.)k nid iiotat<ti's which the woman

meal o

e-M

ALONE IN TIIK lOltKsl".

HI!)

lanih ail

iii;,^ t»l II,

Wdiiiait

oti'ci'ffl to prepare for iiif. 'riicn tin- foiiplf left iiic U
my own cogitations ami tin- conipanioiisliip of my <loi.

icisoii.

"T'Ih'oiic r«'cHii;,^ uppermost in iii\ iiiin'l was than k-
I'uliiess I'nr m\' i))'eseiit safetvaii<l '-helter. iu<le as it was.
The vei-y no\ehy of the situation ahiiost amuseil me;
then ;;raver thoiiehts arose as I |onl<ci| alion^ on tlie
snioke-staineij wall and unharkeil rat'teis from wliieh
^rey mosses ami eol>wel>s Jmne- in .'amiful <lia]iery alio\e
my head. I thonehtof my former h'nie in Scotland of
my old life of pride and luxury, of my Canadian home.
What a strange contrast di<I it j)re«.<'nt to my mind at
that moment, the i-ei! Ilashine; li;;ht of the Itla/inj^; wood-
tire, now liurnine- hci'ccl\-. illuminiii;'' e\er\' eta-iier of the
I'ude tlwellin^r ami showing' th
their lowl\- heds.

aces of the sleepers in

" C'lo.se hesiile me lay the po( a' sick ^firl, whose r.\eied
chei'k and lahoied la-eathin;; excited my compassimi. ior
what comfort c<aild there lie for eitliei- Kody or mind on
tliatliard lied and amonu* those rudi' sii iron udi lie's. 'I'lie

I I

cniiiKine^s (so 1 hear the peopit

<-nl

I III iM' Wedii'es ( if Wood

Ix'tweeii the loe^s) had fallen out in many places, and the
inter\als Iia<l lieeii stilH'ed with straw old laes nioss
and other rnhliish, to keep out tli' eoM wind, .\nyoiie
inif^ht have known iVini what eounti'y the inmates of
the sliant\' came, even without heariiie' the hroeiie of
the south of Ireland in tlwir speech.

" Few and simple were the articles of honsehoM use.

]7(»

I'K.VItLs AND I'Kimi.tS.

Two or tlii't't' slifht's nitiilc ol' unjdaiH'il liourds licM m
ft'W ciocUtry ciiiis muiI ei'tick(.'<| suucri-s, sctiuf tin plub's
aixl Ilium's, luid ii Kiittci't'il till tcii])ot. iiiiiniN )i hiindic ; a
lryiii<,'-|)nii witli n lonu; lijiiidlr, un iron pot and ii itiikf-
ki'ttlf sccimd to coiiiprisr all tin- cookiiiy; utt'iisils.

" 'I'Iuti- was a liarrcl ol" tlour and aiiotlicr ol" pork, an
Irish spadr wliicli ;,dt'aiiif(| liri^rjitjy lic-idr an axe, a ln»f
and ii ;;nn, tln' last supjMtrtcd liy two wimmIou p»'^s

unvt'ii in

to tl

ic lo;^' wal

" Wliili' I Icaiit'd niy hack a«,niinst the sick j^iiTs hcd
ami thns occ'U])ifd inyscH' in making' an inventory ol' thf
funiisliin;,rs of the house, I I'd! fast asleep. So weary
was I that 1 slept on till dayli<^ht, when I was roused
l»y the ro||in;,f ovei- of one of the lo^^^s on the heai'th.

" Lookin;; up. I was startled hy the si^jht of mine host,
whose keen, Mack eyes were heiit on nie with, as I
thoiii^ht, a sinister, ini|uisiti\e look, sucii that I shrunk
aH'iii,dited IVoni liefore him.

" In ^o(mI truth, a nioie couia;4;eous person than I am
iiii;;ht li.'iM' liceii justified ill I'erliii;,^ afraid hail she
Immmi ill a similar position, utterly hel|)less and alone.
Hut iiiv fear soon sultsidi-d, and I tliou;;lit it was wisest
to allect a coura^^'e that 1 hardly felt and to show pi-rfect
conlidence, so I said with as cheerful an air as I coidd
a.ssuilie,

"' \'ou cau;,dit me iiai)piii^, sir.

" 1 reiiifmlx'r the time in the days of my romancf-
ri'iidin;.' that 1 would ha\e fancied myself (piite a heroine

ALONE IN THE FOKEST.

171

licroiiic

ami tiii'iicd my honoHt old Iiisluimn into a •>nj,'aiMl . Imt
my iiittTCoin-sf with the Irish imini^^iaiits Ijas tau;;ht
nic that theiT \h little cause I'or TeaiMii^f them, and my
hushaiid tells me that their wild passiiuis are ehietly
roused hy insult to theii- eountiy oi" their i'eli;,don. or
when exeited hy sjiirittious li(juor, and that sueh an aet
as rolthinf,' or nuirderin^ the sti"an;,'er who seeks sjielter
under their r«N)f is unheard of in (*anada.

"The old man's frank, ^<KMl-humored manner a?id
pressiiijr hos|(itidity sinm reassured me, and 1 would not
have hesit»ite<l to take him as my ^lide throu<;h the
lonely W(kmIh. He told me, however, that his Uiy Mike
knew every step of the road, and he could trust him to

tak

e car

V of me an«l he'd ' he proud to d«» it

" The ^(KJ<1 woman soon hestirreil heixelf to <ret break-
fast, an<l I WJis hun<;ry enou<;h to Uike a share in the
'praties and pork' and t<» driid\ a cup of tea, thou<,di
there was oidy maple su;;ar to sw«'eti'n it and no milk
to soften its harshness; hut I had Itecome ust-d in ni}'
own home to privations in fo<N| and many connnon
comforts, JUS you well know.

"One Ity one the three ra^^'^ed urchins came stealing;
shyly from their ln-d ready dressed for the (hiy, and I
vt-rily heliev*' theii' pirmeiits did duty instead of l»ed-
dothes. Till' hoys, Mike, Patrick and Jonas, had all the
sauu) smokc-drit'tl skins, ^ri-y eyes and hlack hair, with
a certain shr«'wd expression in theii- faces that one often
sees in the Irish cahins. They cjist furti\t' glances of

172

l'i:.\ni,.S AND PKIUII.KS.

woihIcc at tilt' strimw-c Indy, l.iit no one \»iitiin'(| to
iiiiikr a iciimik at my a|)iH'ai'aiicf : tiny lH',stt)W('t| all
tlu'ir attt'iitioii upon Nflsdii, coaxin;; liini into IVirn<ls|ii|)
l)y ^'ivin^' hiiii hits of m.-at ami l.iva.l, w liich nu <loul.t
WfiT xcry accf)italilf to the liun;fry ilo^r.

" I pivc till- woman a pit'cc i»t' silver, wliicli slic
protcstcfj a<,'ainst rcccivin^r Imt afci'jttvd after a littlf
persuasion, an<l, escorted Ity Micliael, ivaclieil home
thoion^jlily tired lait very i,dail to tin<l all well, tliou^di
anxious at my delay.

lave tired you with

\o\v I am restiiii;, and T Fear T I

811 V

Ion;,' account ol' my adventui'e, of which I can only

S We

that

enos w«

11.

ON THK ISLAND Ol- MINNHWAWA,

It was a lovely suiniiicr ilay in July. 1893, when \v«' took
po-ssfssion of .Mimicwawa. our island in Stony Lake.
THe littlf platform that liatl (Ioik- dutv as whail" the
yi'ar hcforc had lloatftl tVoni its )u(M)rin^s, but a stronj^
hand soon helped to replace it and to |)Ut nie on the
levt'l jrrouiid aliove the UK'ky slua-es. A litth' out of
breath from the climb, I sat down on the stej)s of the
veranda .suri-oundin^' the house to i-est and enjoy the
beauty of till' prospect.

The lake, with its wiM wooded ro(d<\ si

loi'es and its

many islands, lay before me. The latter wei-e of all
forms and si/es, from the tiny islet that was no more
than a halfdiiddeii ri.ck ae^ainst which the wavelets
lifted themselves and In'oke softiv, almost can-ssiiedw to
the Iai-;;e tree-clad island, with deeply-indented bays jiiid
overhan^due- \ jne-eox ered roeks. There were ru^'f^ed,
darkls- furrowed mas.ses of lock. without folia'''e s.-ixi- a
few tufts (»f juniper, their sides covered with ;^rey

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

12.8

2.5
2.2

^ U& 12.0

1.8

U ill 1.6

^ y

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

rO^

1^.

4^ ^.

174

PEARLS AND I'EHIU.ES.

lichens, those pioneers of vegetation, giving them a time-
worn, lioary appearance. One after another they
stretched away, until Mount J alien rose like a crown
upon the mainland beyond.

With pleasui'e 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
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, liill and valley, wild-flowers, ferns, shrulis 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 umler 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 shores 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 hioli wutiT, ill the spriiio-, this gully mast Ix' over-
flowed from end to end, Ijut just ikjw it is (juite dry and
is strewn with the (b'ln'is of fallen trees. The ground
rises agjun beyond, but so abruptly rugged and steep
that I look at it and fear even by the aid of han<ls and
knees it would lie inaccessil)le 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 tiio pile of dark
rocks in the hollow l)elow the steps of the veranda.

I am not quite sure if the bird was a wood phoelie
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. Mcll wraith'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 tdl it saw mii
moving away, when it darted liack to the nest, and

170

I'EAKhS AND I'Kl'.HLES.

would not leave it. thotij^'li in rcturnin;^^ I passed throu/^dt
the doorway below the sill where it rested. T do not
think it was a tree-creeper, the le^'s wo'e too lonj;' and
sh'nder: vet it seeiiie(l to ('linii- to the stnnii) when it
li;j,'lited theiv, though without the backward nio\enient
l)eciiliai' to the tree-creeper.

The little bii'd seemed Very solitaiy, as I saw no mate,
and one day while we were away the wary little mother
took the opportunity of carrying oti' her bi'ood. The
nest was empty and tlie Inrds flown wdien we returned,
and tli<m<Th we souoht amon<( the rocks and laishes we
found no trace of them.

'^rhese birds are evidently fond of .such .shelters as
sheds and undei' I'oofs, for in the old kitchen I found
another nest of the same make and materials, but
deserted, and at Fairy Lake Lod<;'e there was anotlier
neat new one of the same round deej) pattern. Later,
when staying at Fair Havens, the summer retreat of
another of my daughters, I noticed a lively family of the
same little bird associating with the little brown certhia
an<l small downy woodpecker.s. There was a company
of foui" or five of these prett}' birds, and they wei'e so
tame and feai'less that they would alight from the over-
hanging branches of a pine tree that .shadowed the
platfoi'm of I'ock on which the house was built, and come
down almost to my feet to take the ei'uml)s I scattei-ed
for them. Then having enjoyed the feast, they retired
to the tree to watch and wait for a fresh supply, readily

ON THK ISLAND OF M ( NNKWAWA.

I I

ahfiriiij^f it with the otlier littK' liinls, witli whom tJicy
S(!t'iiinl oil the hest ol' social terms.

Tliere wei'c sweet warltHiij'" notes, low and tender,
uttei'ed fimon^ them, hut which were tlie musical t)ir(ls
ol' the flock I could not discover.

ue narehells o-row in

le crevices o

1" th

le rocks, and

wlien in the canoe my companions are e\'er reaoy to
indulge my covetous desires and to paddle close into the
.short; and climh the rocks to gather me the treasures.

How orten in years long o-oiie by have I gathered the
lovely hlue-hell from among the heather, hoth in iMig-
Liiid and Scotland ! How ditt'ereiit the soil in which it
flourishes here to tht; dry Mack sand ol" the heath-lands
tliere, yet the flowers seem Just the same. Although J
knew the species to he that ol" the (.'a ui/xi iniln rolnn/li-
foliii, I had olten ([Uestioned the correctness oi' the
descriptive name, the root U-axcs heing .so little seen: Imt

here thev were all rio-ht, thouiih withert

1 had th.

whole plant — root, stem and flowers — and .saw that tlii'
heaves were, or had been, round or rounded, so the botan-
i.sts W( I'e right, and the flower deserved the specitic
name. Though Faded, the foliage had fulfilled its oflice
of caterer to the slender stems and delicate buds and
blos.soms. It might now render up to Mother Eartli

lel

sueli eartliy p

th^

ticl

I's as

had b

)een borrowe

d fr

om her to

perfect the fair desert flowers. They had not neede<l
much — a little black mould, a rift in tlu' dark rugged
rock to hold them in position, the rain and the dews to

178

PEARLS AND PEHIU.ES.

nouri.sh them, and the sunsliine to tint the hells 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 l)eauty to those who walk the earth
unseen by man ?

" Nor think though men wors none,
That heaven would want spectators, God want praise ;
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, t)oth when we wake and when we sleep ;
All these with ceaseless praise His works Vjehcjld
Both day and night."

THE CHILDREN OF THE FOREST

" Ye say they fill have jjassed away,
That noble race and hravo ;
'J'hat their light canijes have vanishe 1

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. Si(joviney.

Judging from the natural reticence of the dusky-
skinned Indian, one woukl not suppose him capable of
conceiving one poetical idea, j^et under the stolid and
apparently unimaginative exterior there lies a stoi'e of
imagery, drawn from the natural objects aroimd him,
whicli 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

i-so

I'EAKLS AND I'EHIiLES.

.\'

1^1

seeks lor no rhyiiics in wliiel; to clothe his Him})lo
thoughts, no Howery verse ; Init there is poetry in his
speech, and a musical rin<^ in the names he has n^iveii to
the rivers, hikes and flowers that is absent in ours. The
Indian names are both (lescri|)tive and characteristic,
and in some instances contain the jLfcrm of local or dis-
tinctive iiistory, wliich change or even m. [.ronunciation
would obliterate for ever.

The disjointed syllables may not sound tiuphonious to
foreij^n ears, but to the understanding- of the native
Indian they convey a sim])le description, a j;raphic word-
picture. The beautiful rapid Otonabee is described in
the name, " watei' runnin<if swiftly llashinf'' ])rightly " ;
Katchewanook, "lake of three islands": Ontario, "sheet
of placid water": Pem-a-dash-da-kota, "lake of the
burnint^ plains," the original name of Rice Lake. How
many years ago it was tluit these plains were burned
over they do not know, but that tliey were the j cene of
a great conflagration the Indian name, as well as the
half-chai*red blackened roots below the surface of the
soil, prove. Napanee, the Indian word for Hour, indi-
cates tliat on the site of that now flourishing town the
tirst flour-mills in the district were erected.

How much prettier is the Indian name for Spring
Beauty, " Mis-ko-deed," than the unmeaning botanical
one of Olaytonld Virf/micd. In t)ie latter .some botan-
ist has [)erpetuated his own insigniflcant name of
Clayton, whiio the IiidiiUi mother, with truer instinct,

THE CHILUUEN OF THE FOREST.

181

simple
' in his
riven to
rs. The
iteristic,
1 or tlis-
nciation

niouH to
■ native
ic vvord-
i-il)e(l in
jvlitly ■' ;
I, " .sheet

of the
;. How

burned
icene of
1 aH the
3 of the
iir, intll-
pwn the

Spring
)otanical
e botan-
lanie of
instinct,

thoiH'h she iiu<rht irive tlie name Mis-ko-deed to her
April-bo'-n chiKl, woidd nev(;r name a llower after lier
child.

The Indian ^'wVh name, Mad-wa-osha, is harsli on our
ton<(ue until we render it into English in " nmnnuring
winds." Tlu! Indians were always good friends to me,
and 1 have ever taken a great interest in and sympa-
thi/ed witli them, admiring their patience and (juiet
endurance under great privati(jns.

Would that the charitably disposed, who do .Sf) much for
the poor in the hirge cities, would turn their thoughts
more often to the suffering among the scattered renniant
of the former owners of the land I 'I'Ih; men, resti'icted
by the narrow limits of civilization, die early, leaving
widows and orphans, oi" linger out a dull existence by
the fireside, theii' blood grown sluggish, anil their oue-
timi' energy in the chase weakened l)y 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 \illage what the great
boys I saw lounging about the streets did. " They ?
Eat ! " was the terse and emphatic re|)Iy.

But I am wandering away fron^ the Indian names.
The one giv^n 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

IT-AHLS AND I'EliliLKS.

11!

Wl'.'it ;i |iity it is that tlic iiU'Miiiii;4S of all tlif Iiidinn
iiaiiics ivniaininy,' to oiii' lakes, livns or eiticM arc not
nii<k'i'sto()(l ainl made raiiiiliar; and j;'i('at('r pity still,
that in ^somc ca-cs they havr liccii set aside to niako.
room for Kuropean iiaines that have no sij^nificance to
CaMadiaus.

Al)()ut four miles al)o\e Stony Lake there is a shallow
piece of water known to the settlers l»y the name of
Bow-shink. This lake (thon;;'li it hardly deser\t's the
term) lies below the hi<4'liest elevation of land in that
section, called "Jack's Mountain,"' famous for its deposits
of mica and other minerals. Seen through itsendiossin^
mass of forest trees, the eye takes in little hevond tlu;
silvery ^leani of the water visible at intt'rvals between
the treses.

One of the settlers, who was curious about the ori<i;in
of tlu' Indian nomenclature, asked what the woi'ds
Bon'-slil Ilk sipiitied.

"Spilt water; looks like it," replied the Indian,
Moses Muskj-at, as he stalked awav, lauo-hinjr at the
conceit.

The words of lamentation for the dead, " Wali-lia-
no-viin," when uttered by tl em in a lon^ drawn-out,
mournful cadence and minor key, have an indescribable
wailing sound of grief and woe.

Ty-zah, s])oken ([uickly with an upward inflection of
the voice, are excellent expressions of the combined
wonder, admiration an<l surprise the woi'ds are meant to

I- Imliini

arc not

ity still,

{•ill ice to

shallow

llilllic ol'

l\t'S tlu'

ill that

(K'posits
iiliossiii^
y'ond the

ht'twci'ii

w on<;iii
a \v(j)'(ls

Indian,
at th(^

W<ih-lni-
awu-ont,
scribable

ection of
ouibined
meant to

Ai-

IllK
HOI

cm
of

pil

IIHI
CXC

Uii

has
the

'I
our
kt'p
inai

1
for
null
just

T
au(]

Viio-l

Dei<
limi

wis(

TlIK CIIILIJUKN or THK KOHEST.

ls:{

coincy: and the low liioliotnlious souihIs, Hn-lin-hn-ho-
hi-h'i, viirird only l>y tlic triiii.sjMKsiiiu' of tlir syllultlf.s,
iukI iifcoiiipiuiit'd l)y )i slow iiiii\ ciiiiiit of tlif lioily, a
sort of roc'kin;; to aiitl IVo, is a sootliiny;, slfcp-inilm-iii^'
cradlc-Hoiiff, \vlii(!li litows as one listins into a >>fndilanc('
of tlif si;;'liin;^' sonnd ol' tlif summer wind anion;;' tlir
pine t(jps.

'I'Ih'I'c is a dry lunnor, too, shown in some of tlifir
names. " 'riic-Man-w itli-'l'wo Ton;;"ucs " is, I think, an
I'xcellent si)l)i-itfnrl for a liai' or deceiver, a I'hai'acter
jjjrcatly (U'spised liy the Indian. '■ '^he-Man-wh()-\Valks-
UlKU'r-the-J)irt " may lie taken to mean a miner, hut it
has [)ossil»ly an alle^^orieal and deepei- si(rnitieance to
their cars.

Tlieir code of morality is (|uite as well defined as in
our own deealo<j;ue, hut is, of eour.se, not moic sti'ietly
kept by the ha<l Indian than onr own l»y the had white
man who dis;4raees the name (jf (Miristiiin.

Their laws are few and simple, snite«l to the .sava<^e
for the protection of life an<l pi'opei'ty hetween man and
man. Theft, lyinjjf, murder — that is, taking life without
justifiable cause — conipri.se the criminal code.

Their relie^ion was pantheistic before evati^ndization,
and the older jieopie in the Rice Lake <listrict held a
valine belief in a o-j-eat and ;;'ood Spii'it, an overruline'
Deity: but even this knowledi^e was dim and was
limited to such as were under the influence of tleir
wise or "medicine" men. 'i'hev had a iifnei-al l)elief in

■!,m

184

PEAULS AND PEUltLKK.

the power of (Iciiioiis oi- inferior spirits who nile<l tho
oleinents ol" wiiter. earth and uir. The.sc! vvei'e their
Lures iiikI Peiiates, like tlie household ^^ods of tlie
heathen (li-cteks and Itonians, hut the Indians made no
{graven iniaj^es or idols to I'epi'esent tlussi^ iinMU'inary
spirits. 'I'hey i;ave ]»i'oj)itiatoi'y oHerinj^s of food or
drink to i»\(!rt their dis|)leasui'e, or as thaid<s for favorH
received, aiid hefoi-e meals a morsel east from their hand
or a few drops of liipiifl wei-e thus n^jven as a soi-t of
silent erace, l.ut the custom is now no lon^^'r setsn
amonir the Christian Indians.

It is se\cnty years siiicu! the woi'k of evanj;'eli/,ine; tin;
Indians of this j.nt I'f ()ntario was he^un through the
oM'orts of the iiiissi(ina)'ies, and it has pleased (lod'.s
Spirit to bless theii' lahoi's All honor to the devott'd
men who lahiir.Ml so faithfully to i»reaeh the ^-ospel of
Christ to the red men, to l)i'in<;- them out of darkness
into the blessed linht, of love and everlastin<;' life. With
the sinu»li('it\' of ehildi'en the\' have i-eceived the truth
and kept it.

The little hamlet of Hiawatha, on th(> north shoi-e of
Uice li;d<e, sent forth Peter Jacobs, John Smiday and
others whose names iire not so familiar to me — eai'iiest
Christian woikeis to can -y the Word to the red men of
otluu' tribes.

Sonu! few years a;;() the Kesfi'end Dr. Hethune (not
our I'esjH'cteil late Bishop, tlioUL;h bearing.' the same
name, l)ut the Lutheran ISishop of Hrooklyn, I'.S. )was

THE CHILDREN OK THE I'OllEST.

Mirer HUOM

ir()n«;h the
iHi'd (lod's
w (Icvoti'd

tllUlH' (lU)t

I. I'.S. ) was

oil ii visit to a raiiiily n-sidin^^ on tin- south side of l^icci
Lake, o])|)OHiti' to the little Jiidinii villa;^(' Tlie Doctor,
in tlio early years ol" Ins jnii.stry, had been a teaeher
and exan;^''''^''''' "' '''•' Indians, and loved the work.

in reply to a nei;^hl)orin<.( cler^xnian's conijdaint of
the dillienlty ot" reaehini; the understanding' of the
Indians and ol* breaking through their stolid indiHer-

Lince, I

le sai(

" Ah, my friend, you do not j^o the rit^ht way to woi'k.
You inust roach tlu; Indian throujih his knovvledj^c, not

thi

rou^h i/oiirn, Ironi tlu! word-pictures written in

the

only hook ho knows, tho book of Natu

On Sunday nioi-ninj; at an early hour Doctor Hethuno
crossc^d the lak(! to preach to the Indians, aiitl was met
on tlio shore by tlu! leadin;^ men.

One of th(un — it mif^rht have been .lolin Sunday, or
Goor^o ('opway, or Tobico — asked the Doctor to explain
the work of tlu; Holy Spirit in j^iviu}; li^ht to tho
soul, an (^iKpiiry which (elicited the following brief but
etlectivti sermon : —

"My Indian brothers, look at the lake before you."

The Indians uttereil a Ln-oan-like ' r<rh

H-y

could not seo the water -lake and suidi<dit alike were

d I

obscured by a tlnck l(

hey i^!\/.i'i\ upon it, no one

speakino;. The preacher bent his head in silent piayer.

Suddenly a li^ht wind, stirrin^' the air, lireatlied ujion

the mist, and as if by some iiianieal tdueli (he dense

curtain bejjjan to rise, and slowly roliin;^^ back to the

186

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

hills and tree-tops, allowed the sun in all its moinint^
splendor to shed its light upon the little band 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 <lown into
the liL'arts of men, showing the dark waters of sin and
lifting the cloud whicli 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 uiu'ighteous 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: yoiu* Indian brothers
see light in them," was the heart^y response to this
simple and beautiful discourse.

" 111 Nature's Ixjok mi liike .•iiul stream,

And tl()wer-.strewn path, and isle uiitnjd
By pale-face feet, the red man reads

The word of the eternal Ood.
The dawn to him a promise gives,

The day the looked-for gift l)estows ;
He reads the signs, by reason lives

His jiart 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 cainiot be said to die.

Ditiering from the animal, we still find in the plant
an inanimate power exerted for its preservation. This
power, which miglit be termed A^egetable Instinct,
seems even in the plant an approach to the exercise
of will, though in a very limited degree. Tliis 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 witli 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 soi^ or climate

Ira

188

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

prove foreign to its naturi'. It sliows, as it wvw, a will
of its own, which is often stubborn and resists inter-
ference 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 wf)uld turn it to his own advantage.

The vegetable, like the animal, experiences hunger,
and must be fed. Like the animal, also, it seems to be
erdowed 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, by care and observation,
give to the 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 hy 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 gi'oss 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 by 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.

189

of culture, this sturdy littli' plant might dwindle away
and lose its hardihood.

There are marvels of beautv anioiiii' the Orchids, which
feed upon what the atmosphere alone supplie.s. These
Horal beauties, drossed 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, th^^re to grow and flour-
ish and die, perhaps never looked upon ' y 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 anrl 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 suljject in some measure the vegetable world
to his use. He was given power to sul)due the earth
and govern it. That was his privilege during his state
of obedience, but now tlic earth is rebellious and it
recjuires labor to govern it and to restore that which was
cursed for his sake. The thorns and thistles nuist l)e
rooted up or the land will not yield to him its strength.
Lal)or is the remedy, and man nuist exert both bodily
strength and mental skill to live. The life-supporting
ffViun must be cultivated : it will not vield its substance

190

PEARLS AND PKHHLES.

spontanc'ou.sly. So Christ in the remedy for th(^ moral
wouds so\V)i by our .spiritual foe.

That the plant poHseHses an energy within itself to
overcome obstacles that interfere with its growth may
be noticed. I have seen an elm or l)eech end)racing vvitii
its strong elastic roots a huge block of stone, binding it
down wliile it sent cut its smallei 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 'u stature it required more support
aTid 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, out by the tender vege-
table tubes drinking up the food from the more generous
soil whicli they had entered to w;\it upon and teed 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 Va>;st
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 cuiuiing scrutiny of
the eye to detect. Silently and secretly this mysterious
action takes place in the sprouting seed. The sceptic

IHOUGHTS OX VEGETABLE INSTINCT.

1!H

says, " It is tlic luict-ssity of its nature." True, hut the
sceptic does n(jt see Uod in Natxn-e.

There is a curious adaptation in plants to overcome
certain ol)stacles tiiat obstruct their progress in growtli,
and that enables them to put forth 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
branchlcts seeking support, it raises itself to any eleva-
tion from the ground, by means of some Imsh or the
trunk of a tree. It puts forth tiny flat feet, armed
with imperceptible rootlets, l)y 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 caiuiot be for nourish-
ment. It is not improbable that climbing is inherent in
its nature, and so it strives to overcome e\ery obstacle
that interferes with its upward progress — who shall
say i — and to this end it exerts, to accomplish its desire,
a power that it had no need to make u.se 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 gerniiiuition
of the grain.

U)2

FEAULS AND PEBBLES.

Natun; fo'.Iovvs liei' own laws without heed to the
hand that sows the .se(!d. The latter will ri^lit itself.
Place a hulb in the earth with the crown downward or
sideways, and it will come up in spite of the awkward
l)osition it was planted in.

Here are a nuni])er of onions or of potatoes left lying
in all manner of ways ; the shoots, you will notice, take
the upward direction attracted to the liglit. The iiniate
power in the living vegetal)le is to ascend to the light,
v'hile the root descends, loving darkness rathei* 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 gloiy. He hath given
them laws which shall not be broken.

" A FLORAL MYSTERY.

An interesting account of the peculiar pi'operties of
some aijuatic plants, as illustrative of what we have
called vegetable instinct, may not be out of place here,
and 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 connnon name of Tape or Eel Grass, an aquatic
plant very fre(juently seen in slow-tiowing lakes and
ponds, covering the surface during the latter part of the
sunnner with its slender light green leaves and white
floating flowers :

THOUGHTS ON VEOETABLb; INSTINCT.

I!)3

" The blossoms of this water plant iirc ol' two kinds.
The stamens or pollen-bearing Howers are clustered on
sliort scapes (stems), and are seen growing ai the bottom
of the lake or pond. 'Hiv fertile or fruit-bearing
blossoms, on long thready elastic stalks, rise to the
surface of the water, and there expand to await the
appearance of the sterde or male flower, the Imds of
which l)reak away from the bottom of thcii' watery be<t
and float upwai'ds, open out their petals, and, mingling
with tho- fertile flowers, shed upon them tiie fertilizing
pollen dust. The latter after awhile retire l)elow the
s'lrface by means of the spirally coiled scape, which, by
contracting, draws down the in»])i'egnated flower, thei'c
to ripen and perfect its f.eed. The seeil vessel, which is
a \ery long and slender pod, of an olive l)r<)wn eoloi', is
attached to the stalk of the female flower."

The pretty white blossoms of this singular iilant are
about the size of a (|uarter-dollar, and in the month of
August the flowers may be seen in sonu' (piiet bay,
covering the still waters with their snowy petals.

THE WHITE W.\TEU LILV.

The V)eautiful Water Lily,* that " Queen of the Lakes,"
what pen can do justice to her lov(;liness !

The exquisitely folded buds are seen at all stages of
development, rising midway from the bed of tlie still
waters as you look downward into its depths. As they

" Ki/mp/ta; Oderata.

I!)4

1' HAULS AND PEHHLES.

rt'iicli tlif iiiHiU'iiCH' oF the lij^^ht and tin- wiirin miiiHliine,
the (lowt'i's ('\]))iii'l iiitn I'mII-IiIowm hojuity and dt'liciouH
Iciiioii-sct'iitcd IVa^ra I !('<'.

To float beside a lied ot iiiese lieaiitiFul flowers and
o-lossy, widespread lea\'es is a treat not to lie forj^otten.
As daylii^'lit closes to e\enin<f, tli<' lovely blossoms fold
tlieii' snowy petals over the ^oldeji stamens and retire to
tlK'ir watery chambers for the niifht.

The native w^ater lilies of Xorth America exceed in
size and beauty those of En^'land, and there are \aiietieH
found amon^- our inland lakes in ( )ntario, tinned with
the most delicate i-ose pink.* I

liave seen, ni one ol

inland lakes, a very small and lovely water lily hardly
exceediuf;' a silver dollar in size.

In many acjuatic plants we find the foliage is minutely
and finely divided, which enables the water to flow
thnmgh them with{>ut any impediment, as in tiie Poud-
weed Famih'. In the water Banuvculi the root leaves
are flat and wide-spreading, but as the plant ascends
the leaves are cut into flne, narrow segments, and so
allow the currents of water to pass freely through them.

* In my "Studies of I'lant Life." illustrated by Mrs. Chamberliii, is given
a CDlorcd plate of the pink Njimphce Oderata.

somp: curious plants.

HHOOM ISA I'M.

Amoxo the wild vi'^^ctalili' products of our forests nmy
lie found many strange-looking' plants unlike any of
those with which we are familial' in our gardens or fields.

One of these is the Broom Rape {Orobanehe). It
comes up in the woods, often by the pathway, and at
first iflance vou take it for a little Imndle of hard dry
Itrown twigs, hut on closer inspection you see that it is a
})lant with life and f,'rowth in it.

The stems are clustered together at the base. It can
hardly be said to have any i-oots, and yet it is bearing
its flowers almost iindei'ground as wi'U as upon its scaly
stems. Of foliage it has none, at lea.st no green leaves,
only scales dry and i»rown, and the flowers are simply
two little hard-beaked, bead-sha])ed scales, made notice-
able by the abundanct! of yellowisli stamens and anthers
wdiich look like little heaps of sawdust. The .stigmas

19G

PKAHLS AM) PEimi-KS.

art' not visildo. Thr wliolc plant looks like a tiny lu'iisli
or Itrooin, ami is more rt'iiiarkalilc foi- the oddity ol' its
appcaranctj than I'oi' its Itca.ity.

It Ixdonf^s to a sini^ular I'aniily, that known as the
Crohn ttrhe or FJrooin Hajx- laniily, to which also the tcriii
Cancer Hoot has Ikm-h popniarly ^dvcn. I Ik'Hi'Vc this
cnrious plant is used hy tin- Indian hci-li doctor as a cnrt-
for cancer, Imt wlietliei- ontwai'dlv or iiiwardlv is not
known.

There are several species, some of the (U'der haviiio'
blue and white tulmlar ilowei's, others yellowish-hrown
and hairy: all arc jtanisites on the roots of oak, lieecji
and some other trees.

INDIAN IMIM;.

Anothi'i' of our curious ilowei's is the Indian Pi]ie
{Munoti ]>a, unijlora). This sino-ular plant is distin-
j^nished by its pure whiteness, without one tinge (»f color.
From root to sunuiiit it is .spotless, white as new fallen
snow. It is also called the Wood Snowdrop. It attracts
the i-ye liy its contrast to the dark I'ich mould on which
it grows, generally at thi' 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 aVtout 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 lifter iH'int; pulled, its if pollutetl l»y cotitiict with
tJK' huiimii Imiul. In tlu- lici-liuriuni it lt)s«'H all ita
lu'iiuty, turnini^f l>liu*k us ink, noi- nin it n-tiiin its senii-
trnnspiu'ent texture. To iippreeiiite the plant it nnist l>e
seen growing; in the Hha<l(! of the forest.

There is another species, found only in i)ine and ever-
j^reen \vo(m1s, whieli is of a tawny color, the stenj woolly
and hearing from three ti) tivi; flowi'rs. The liells, when
U[)rin;ht, are tilled with drops of dear honey.

This is known as Sweet Pine Sap. F^ike the an'ijlora
the Pine Sap {Monutroixi hi/po/ntijK) is a perfect Hower
and not a fungous growth, as some have supposed. It
also is leaHe.ss, the foliagt^ being mere thin .scales arranged
along the .scapu.

Tin: DODDER.

The Dodder (Cascuta) 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, hut
they evidently did not po,sse.ss the .same attraction an<l
were passed by — it was the little Solidago and none
other. It really looked like iv'ill in the Dodders.

And what was strange, too, both plants seemed

perfectly healthy — while the clustered flowers of the
14

198

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

Dodder coiled round the supporting stem of the Golden
Kod, the latter bore its yellow blossoms fresli and fair
to view uninjured. I prcjserved several specimens of the
united flowers for my herl«il.

The stem of the Dodder was leafless, of a rather rusty
green, hard and wiry ; the numerous clusters of flowers
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 wliicli
are so sensitive that the slightest touch afl'ects them.

This sensibility, though dittering 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 slightest

SOME CURIOUS PLANTS.

199

touch from the finger instantly closes and collapses as
if fainting ; but it is not of this and others of a similar
nature that I wish to remark, but of a few of our native
flowers.

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. Probably a similar effect is
produced by the tongue of the bee or the sucker of a
fly. Not only to scatter the pollen dust, but it may be
to guard the germen of the flower from injury, this
movement of the stamens takes place.

The same eflect seems to be produced in the sensitive
organs of the flowers of that pretty shrub known as
Dog-bane {AiJocynuyn androsmmifoliuni) or shrubby
Milk- weed. The little pink-striped 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 resort 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 prisoner 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 slielter

200

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

or for the fluids contained in these beautiful natural
vases seems most likely, and having entered, the stiff,
reflexed hairs that line the tubes form a barrier to their
exit. The consequence is that they are either drowned,
which 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
nuirder 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

umbrella-shaped body, elegantly scalloped 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 and
fleshy, the hollow leaves beautifully veined with bright
crimson ; the lip or mouth of the leaves is scalloped and
the interior fringed with stift* silvery hairs.

Following the inner part of each leaf runs a membi-ane
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 i'ertiliziMg 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 thc-y took
the form of wlieels with teeth ; in the palma Christi, like
gi'ains of wheat ; in pansies, angular ; in maize or Indian
corn, flat and smooth ; in borage, like a thin rolled-up
leaf ; in coniferce, 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

SOME VARIETIES OF POLLEN.

203

the flower of the maple, have drawn the figure of tlie
particles in form of a cross, but I find them to be globu-
lar ; nevertheless, as soon as they were touched with
moisture they instantly burst into four parts, assuming
the form of the cross.

" From which it may be inferred that the hollow
globules contained some subtle fluid which, when moist-
ened by rain or dew, burst and discharged their contents
on the surrounding organs of the flower." — Evelyn's
Silva.

What wondrous secrets are revealed to us through the
medium of the microscope ! What a world of interest
does it open to the incjuiring mind of the young student
of Nature !

The 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 thousandth part of
what wonders the microscope could reveal to us in one
short hour, of things so insignificant that we pass them
by without seeing or caring for them."

There is nothing 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 the liackwoods of northern
Ontario, I noticed that after lieavy thunder-storms the
water on the surface of the hike and the puddles on the
ground were covered with a fine sulphur-colored powdeiy
substance, which lay like a thin yellow crust 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 portion of it, dried it and for-
warded it to a friend who was the possessor of a fine
microscope of four hundred magnifying power. I
received from him a drawing of the ma^jnified powder
grains, which resembled grains of wheat, a central line
dividing the figure giving the idea of duality to tlie
form of each atom.

My friend pronounced the substance to be the pollen
of the White or Weymouth Pine (Pinus strobits).

This settled the matter and was perfectly conclusive,
especially as this sulphur-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 lightness of the pollen dust renders it

SOME VARIETIES OF POLLEN.

205

probable that it may ascend into the upper air (jr 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 attriljuted
to the great destruction of the 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 tlie so-called "Sulphur
Showers," I was much pleased and surprised by reading
& passage I met with quite unexpected!}' 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 :

"The figure of each of the minute particles which
form so important a part in the economy of every plant
and tree, probalily varies in shape in each tribe, even in
the various species.

" To the unassisted eye we see only a fine yellow or
^ey 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 flowering season of the pines, the stand-
ing waters near will be painted with yellow rings of
this dust from the trees."

206

PEAKLS AND PEBBLES.

It i8 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 botanist 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, tlie Sphagnum cymhefoliuin and the
Sphagnum ciliare.

The delicate pink bells, pendent on their liglit 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 purplish-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 marsh.

These marshes are the nurseries of many other
varieties of ferns, flowers, orchids, plants and shrubs.
They are also the haunts of harmless species of snakes,

208

PEAHLS AND FEHBLES.

for although the hhick .snake and the cf)pper-hoa(l liave
rather a (loul)tfiil reputation, I have never yet heard of
any injury bein<^ wutt'ered from tliese obnoxious reptiles.

All Horts of flies are bred in tiie.se marshy places —
mo.squitoe.s, deer-flies and \n(f rra<l-flies (the terror of the
cattle in the North- West, under the name of "bulldogs"),
and most likely tho.si^ little torments, the Canadian
black flies, may nestle there, too. Owing to tliLs rather
undesirable company, the lovely wild garden is lather
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 pai'adise of wild flowers and files,
moths and beetles, the naturalist must not be afraid of
mosquitoes or w'et feet, nor must he mind tripping in a
hidden network of tangled roots. Such accidents will
not hurt him, and if he is an entliusiastic 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 CRANMIEHUY MAHSH.

209

tho camp, lie unstraps his japainiofl case, and, his face
Iteannn^ witli triumphant smiles, proceeds to exhil)it
his wonderful finds in the shape of rare beetles of
metallic hues, f^reen, red, scarlet, hlue and sulphur-
colored; dragon-flies larijfe and small, bronze, blue, re<l
or metallic fjreen : silvery moths with dappled win^s or
elefrjuit blue ones with brilliant eyes.

From a little pill-box which he has carried carefully
in his vest p(x;ket he takes a tiny land tortoise, no
bi^fjer than a black beetle, that he found baskinfjr in the
sand 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 bi^ 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 polifoiia), the Kalmia and the white and
pink flow^ered Spiraea.

Here, too, we meet with large beds of the curious and
interesting pitcher plants and that little gem, the sundew.

■y.'

210

PEAHLS AND PEUHLES.

The Icavt'H of thin latter plant are round in form, of a
rod color, the ed^cs be.st't with pellucid, nhini»ii; drops,
refleetin<( the rays of li<^ht like diainondH. There are
two Hpecie.s, the Droacta rotund i folia and the DroHcru
lovf/ifolia. The tlowerw are huuiII and white, .sonu.'tiineH
tinjfcd with pink and borne on tall Hteni.s. The former
is the prettier of the two. In such places, also, we find
some of our rarest orchids — the Grass Pink {Colopofjen
pulc/teltus), the stendess Lady's Slipper {Cyprepe.dium
acaule), the Ram's Head Orchis {C. arwfenum), the
Arethusa : the Cidypm horealis, or Bird's Eye Orchis,
and many others.

When very younij tlie peat moss is of the liveliest
tender green, but as it increases in growth it becomes of
a creamy whiteness, which deepens again with age to
.soft rose pin' , the fruitful plant turning to a deep
rose purple and the bud-like capsules collecting at the
.sunnnit.

The foliage of the larger .species is soft and cottony,
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 bed.s.

Nor are the peat mo.sses 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

distant tmnsporiiition, for wliieli purposi' iimiiy tons luv
used in the year.

There are several species of sj)lui<;;nuuis. The sk'nder,
delicate /S. acutifoliuin has narrower leaves than the
S. cymhefolium. The capsules are pven, not red, and
the plant is not so rolnist, l>ut it is still curious and fair
to look upon.

Many other kinds of coarse mosses also iuinj,de with
the sphajrnunis and form pleasing contrasts to the
whiter mosses and bog-lovinjjj j)lants.

OUR NATIVE GRASSES.

" Ami the blithe grass bhvdes 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,
Tp 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 have separated the old natural order
of the grasses into three distinct divisions — the grass
proper, Graminece; the sedges, Cyperacem; the rushes,
Juncacecv. But my 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;

■m

OL'K NATIVE (iHASSLS.

'lis

11' use

t'ul

hrooni-Ciine

u' ii'rac't

iul

iratlifiy phiiiHM

i>Tass of the Pampas, \va\i no- in the lirt'fZf likf oeutly-
heavint»" billows of a silwrx' shilling- sea : tin- lu'a\v

(lark-hesuli'd bulrush so familiar to tl

• • r\r

tlu' \Cl"<lailt

rice and the j)uri)le-topi)(.'il Indian (•••i-ii with its silky
tassels and ii'olden fruit — all these, and tlir eoai'se <>-rasses
that grow on e\ery wild, uncultivated spnt, rushes, i-eeds
and sedovs — all and every speeies were classed with
the sweet vernal grasses of the meadows and pastures;
from the highest to the lowest, thex' were all included
under the familiar name of Grass.

The rich variety and aliundaucc of the native o-rasses
of the western and north-westei'u prairies of this great
American continent form one of its most attractive
features — great waving oceans of vci-dure where the
bison once fed, but which are now yielding to the plow
of the settler. Man by his reckless greed has driven otf
and well-nigh exterminated the bison (Indian bufi'alo)
from the plains of Manitoba ami the Saskatchewan,
and the wild grasses of the prairie are also destined to
disappear with the wild herds which feil upon them.

It is a siup-ular fact that amonjf all the manv varieties
of the prairie grasses there are no trut- gi-ain-bearing
cereals to Ite found, none producing secil sutticiently
nutritive for the support of man. Although many of
the i>"rasses resemlile oats, wheat, liai'li-x' and mai/e, there
seems to be in the substance they produce an absence of

le (pi

alitie
15

s re»

pun

<1 t

ed to make i)rea(l

214

PEARLS AND PEHULES.

The most edible grain that wt.' find in a wild state is
the Zizania aquatica, or " Water Oats " — the Indian
rice — Imt 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 nuiny 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 one of the most graceful
and lovel}^ of our native grasses. The long ile.xible
ribbon-like leaves tioat loosely on the surface of tlit^
water, and the tall spikes of the pretty straw-colored
an I purple anthers, freed from tlie fold of the slender
stalks, hang gracefully lluttering in the breeze.

When the leaves turn yellow, and the grain ripens in
the mellow days of late September or Octoljer, the Indian
women gather it into their canoes l>v means of a short
thin-bladed paddle, with which they strike the heads of
the grain-bearing stalks again.st a stick held in the other
hand an<l 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 manj' ways, 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 my Indian friends always brings me each year
a pretty l)irch-bark basket of wild rice, giving it to me

OUR NATIVE GRASSES.

215

with the kindly words, spoken in her own soft tongue,
" Present for you."

These little offerings are very sweet to me. They are
genuine tokens of simple gratitude and affection, and for
which I never offer any payment, knowing it would be
at once rejected, for the rice is a free-will gift and there-
fore priceless.

The deer, too, feed upon the rice heds. The doe leads
down her fawn to the lake, and the sweet, tender grassy
leaves of the young rice ai'e eaten eagerly by the gentle
creature. In the season countless wild-fowl come from
the colder regions of tlie north, and the sportsmen know
their favorite feeding Ijeds among the rice fields of the
inland lakes.

There is a beautiful chapter on " Grass " in the Rev.
Hugh McMillan's charming volume, " Bible Teaching in
Nature," which I wish everyone could read. I would
gladly tianscril)e uuich of it, but would not thus rob my
readers of the pleasure of enjoying tlie book for them-
selves. A few words only I must (juote 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 kindness in food and clothing and
emblematical teaching is over, it takes up its Rizpah
watch beside the tomb, and forsakes not what all else

21G

I'KAKLS AND I'KBBLES.

has forsaken. Gt'iitly does it wrap up the aslies of the
(lead, wivatliin^^ like a laurel crown the cold damp Ijrow
with its interlacing roots, drawing down to the darkness
and solitude of the grave the warm hright sunshine and
blessed dews of heaven."

There is man}^ an unknown grave in Canada long
deserted and forgotten. In the early days of the colony
the s(.'ttlers were wont to hury their dead in some spot
set apart as a family hurying-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 hynni or psalm, a mother's tears,
and then the grass and wild-flowers took possession of
the 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 cross of wood, or a
name rudely cut upon the li\ing l)ark of some adjacent
tree, the sole memorial of the dead.

The lands liave passed away from the families of the
first breakei's of the soil, and the peaceful dead are
neglected in their lonely, unmarked resting-places,
forgotten by man, but not uricared for by Redeeming
Love.

OUR NATIVE (JRAS.SES.

217

THE CRAVES OV THE EMKiRANTS.

Tlioy sleep iiut wliuro their fathers sleep,
In the village churchyfinrs 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 flowers 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 nmst die.

Where, then, may rest those hai-dy 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 jiine

Their darkling shadows throw.

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 AND PEBHLES.

Fair lilies, nursed hy weeping ilews,

IJufuld their blossoms pale,
And si)otless snow-tlowers lightly bend

Low to the passing gale.

The tire-fly lights her little spark

To cheer the leafy ghjoni.
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, deep within the forest shade,

The lonely exile sleeps.

INDIAN GRASS.*

This is one of tlie mo.st remarkable of our native
grasses, 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 Angers of an Indian squaw.

The Indian grass retains its color for a long time, and
its flne aromatic perfume, resembling the scent of vanilla,
remains for many years after it is cut and woven into
the various articles made from it.

*The Indian Grass, commonly so-called, is the identical "Holy Grass"
of northern Europe. The botanical name Ilicrochlou is derived from the
Greek words meaning narrc'l and (/rnss, the custom of strewing liurches
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), t, .d the aci'ount that industrin;:, naturalist gives of
this plant, that I instantly recognized It as the s;ime found in Ontario and
used by the Indian women in their work.

220

I'EAKLS A.\|> Pi;i!HLi;s.

This ni-ass, with thu ([uillsof the porcupiiK^ (which the
H(|UfiwH dyi'), inoost'-hair. the bark of the silver or white
birch and the inner V»ark of various other trees — bass,
cedar, oak and lieech — from which they make the
coai'ser baskets, are the only stock-in-tritde now left to

t-'

the poor Indians.

Tht; soil in which the Indian grass grows is for the
most part light, suuiy, low ground, near water, so the
Indians tell n)e: but it is also found in prairie lands,
where it is veiy beautiful, the husk or plume Ijeing of
a purplish color and very bright and shining. Under
cultivation it is ver}' 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 l»r(mks <:he grouni^ early in the spring, before any
othei- grass has begun to show itself on the lawn. Like
the spi'ar-grass it has a running root, pointed and shar]),
to pierce tin? moist soil, and is hardy, remaining green
and briiiht 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 (pialities 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
ena1)les the Indian women to make it so available in
their manufactures.

I have myself used it, making it into table mats, and
find it pretty and useful for that purpose. I used to

INI>I \X (iKASS.

221

get from the Iiidiuns pivtty braided i-hains, confined at
intervals by hands or rir<j,s of dyed quills or beads.
These I sent home to Knj;land, 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 fraiirance.

I have sometimes suggested that the aroma might bi*
utilized as a toilet article in the way of perfume.

The Indian women of the present generj^tion nin 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 })rocure 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 m;^ 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 iigainst 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
way " of holding the braiding, she stuck a sharp stick
into the ground, and fastened the coil of braid nnnid it,
and seemed convinced that this way was " nicer " than
the other.

She had been perfectly unconscious that tlnn-e was
any'uhing objectionable in her original mode of weaving

•>•)•>

I'EARLS AM) I'EIJULE.S.

tlu' liuly'H cluiin until I pointed out its impropriety.
Then .she perceived it, and liuij;'hin<;, said, ' Dirty foot,
not nice."

The good-natured H(|uaw took no otf'enct.' with nio
for my disapproval of her ])rimitive way of workinjr.
Gentle, patient, accustomed to be ruled from childliood,
the Indian woman bears, sutlers ami submits without
complaint.

Many a gentle Christian character have I known
among tlie 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 who.se part it is
to carry out the regulations from the Indian Department
of the Government in their behalf. But there seemF to
be a lack of .sympathy shown to these poor people.
They endure sickne.ss and himger, and suifer many trials
in silence, never appealing for charity at any of the
public institutions or pi'ivate 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 r.^ce.

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

IXUIAN UUASS.

223

your purchase a tiny cnnoc, a l)a.skt't of birch bark, or
soiue other triHc, and whm money is ott'erLMl in return
she says, " Xo, no, 7u> — For love of kindness to ine."

Tiiere is something kindly in tiie Indian's nature. I
like the words they close their letters with,

" 1 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 tlie men liave not the same
resources and are not in their natural state. Their
spii'it seems broken, and they become slow and inactive,
and pine away early. Change of hal)it from the old
out-of-door life of the hunter and trapper preying upon
them, the} die under the restrictive laws of civilization,
and in another century li will be asked where is the
remnant of the native race ? and but that the dark eye,
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.

MOSSKS AND LICHI'NS.

I FEAii my readers may turn over these few pao-os ami
regard the sul>j('ct8 as things of little worth — mosses and
lichens, diy, uninteresting objects that we tri-ad undei-
our feet or pass by without giving them a s<'Cond glance
— and place them among tiie rough "Pebbles," not tlie
choice "Pearls" ol' my collection.

Uninviting an<l trivial as the subject may be to many,
I am confident that to the true lover of Nature they
will not be without theii- interest, and may possil)ly
direct attention to a world of beauty which has
hitherto escaped his notice.

The lichens, the fungi and the mos,ses were probably
the earliest forms of vegetable life. Before the gra.sses
and small herbs these may have been created as a
promise of what should clothe the young earth with
verdure. The sea- weeds {Ak/a') may, indeed, have
preceded them, and we miglit call them, not inaptly, the

MOSSKS AN'I) LK'HKNS.

2-5

iMosMi'M of tho HfjiM, mill pbuT tlu'iii lit tin- head (as t\wy
art' l>v riirlit dI' prioritv) of this wo'M nf Ni-j't'tation.

'I'lic most iitli'activt' of our inosses ijfi'ow in tlir slnulicst,
tliiekt'st of our woods. wIkti', nt tin font of soiuf huiifo
inapU', ash oc v\u\, in thi' ricli 'iaiiip \ cf^vtaltlf iiiouM, you
will find out' of till' hainlsoiucst ami lar;;i'st, tin' II;/pnum
Hpli'wIi'iiH ; or, it may '"•. forming' a niiiiiattin! forest on
tilt' ih'cayiiii,^ truiil< of oin' of tin- prostrate {^'iants of tho
woo 1, wliiTc it spreads its Icathny faii-sliapcd fronds,
lii'aneldfts which s[)riii;;' from a somiwliat stiff" and wiry
stem, each st't apparently di-iiotinn- the jn'odnet of
th

years ^n-owtn.

The foliaijt! of these fan-shaped fronds is soft, much
divided, and frin^'ed with minute silky liaii's. The older
plants are of a ilarkei' hue, with a purplish shade in the
centre. This add.-; much to tlie lieauty of its appearance,
and serves to distil. ijuish this tine moss from the other

spe

cies.

The Hi/iniUAH i^plf'mleiifi is, I think, of perennial
li'iowtli, as nianj'^ specimens show the decayed fronds of
former veai's. I have counted as maiiv as nine on the
.same stem, lie.sides the fresh i^rcen ours.

The cap.sules coutaining the sporuhs or seed appear
on long slender steins, not more than two at the lia,s(> of
each of the fronds. This moss extends by roots a.s well

as i>v

e .seec

Tlie wood moss (Iliipnain frii/n'fram) is coarser

and more

l.usl

IV, aiK

1 tl

louii'li more s

trik

iiiif in ai)

ppear-

226

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

''':':i

ance, is not wanting in the peculiar grace of outline
which is so attractive in Hypnuni splendens.

It is somewhat remarkable that the larger and more
conspicuous plants of the moss tribe are less distin-
guished b} Lheir fruitage than the smaller ones, some of
which, lowly, tiny, incigniticant 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-ljronze,
grey, sii' ''ry-white, or whatever the prevailing color of
the moss may b(;.

There seems iu be no end to the number and varietv
of species of mosses 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 sastaiuK them, or on the rugged stone which they
clothe, as if to kindly hide the rough, bare surface.

No soil .s' > barren, n(^ desert so dry, but some kind of
mo.ss will find a spot where it may 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 with a
shining cap. The leaf is .so minute you can hardly
distinguish it, but the fruit is bright and beautiful. Tlie
soil is hard and arid, incapable of supporting anything
save this Red Moss (Ceratodon purpureus).

MOSSES AND LICHENS.

227

" It drinks lieaven's dew as blithe as rose
That in tlie King's own garden grows."

It has indeed a great capacity for moisture, rain, snow
and dew, which appears to be the only food of the
mosses that grow on desert hinds. Tliere is tlie tiny
Bryurtt argentewni, and others of the same genus, wliich
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 tine coloring, such as tlic
Bryiim roseum, one not uncommonly met with in the
forest. Clusters of these may be found deeply nested
in old decayed logs among a vai'iety of Hy/mums 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 cluuice to I).' the
fruiting season, there is an added charm in the vai'ied
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 heiglit, of a reddish color, almost .semi-
transpai'ent, bearing a capsule blunt on tlie apex and a
little curved downward at the neck. This ca]) is orange-
red, and looks as if it were a chalice tilled to the brim
with some choice wine or amber-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 AN J) l'EH15LES.

{^vcnvs close to the g-round, and extends largely by means
(jf its root-stalk, which sends u\> many shoots, each hud
t'ormin*^ a little leafy deep {^reen cup.

A siiio-ularly handsome, tree-like variety is the Palm-
Tree Moss (Cllmacium Americanum), but it is not a
membei- of the Bryum family, bein«;- distinct from it both
in haiiit and appearance.

The appropriat<! name of Palm Tree Moss is derived
from its plumy head : the stem is often more than an
inch high, bearing on its smnmit a drooping crown of
elegant feathery fronds, from the midst of which ascend
slender tlu'cady stalks bearing the long cylindrical pale-
red capsules.

When growing in the rich damp soil of the shady
woods the full-grown specimens are briglit green, but in
wet Hpongy places, exposed to the rays of the sun, the
plants take a bronze color, are stunted and tliick-set,
and have not the graceful appearance of those nurtured
in the forest.

One of the most elegant of the somewhat stiffly grow-
ing mosses is the Dicranum secundum, which is of a
slenderer habit than the Dicranum scopavium. In it
the hair-like leafage is more scattered and borne on one
side only, '^i'here are many sjx'cies, and they are to be
found in many places: some in damp woodlands, on logs,
or on the groun<l ; some on gneiss rocks and hillsides,
foiMiiing thick level lieds of velvety green, very bright
and l(j\ely, the dark capsules giving a fringe-like grace

MOSSES AND LICHEXS.

229

to the moss, relieving its uniformity 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
Brywm 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 was I'eady to cry out, " It is better to die
than to live!" wheri his eye chanced to rest upon a little
plant beside him, and attracted by its beauty, he argued
thus vithin 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 de.sert he once
more pursued his journey, strengthened by the sight of
that simple desert plant.

When these hardy little Hypnums and Bryunm
16

230

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

decay, they leave to their successors g, sandy soil, part
of which has been won from the hard rock on which
they had found an abiding-place, their tiny, wedge-like
roots having forced apart the surface of the limestone
or gneiss rock, taking to themselves minute particles of
the sterner materii'l thus forcing its strength to yield to
their weakness. This is another proof of he wisdom of
the Almighty God, who " willeth the weak things of tlie
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 bring to nought
things that are."

Look now at this beautiful Feather Moss {Hyfmuvi
tamarisrinvm). Each frond is like a green plume,
hence its descriptive name. Like Hypnura splenchvs
it seems to be perennial, as may be inferred from the
ratlier wiry stem bearing many divisions in the form of
branchlets.

The plants of the first year'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 are seldom more than two
to each of the lower pairs of leafy divisions. This
species increases more by roots than by seed, as is the
case with many 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 to wash them thoroughly, no matter how

MOSSES AND LICHENS.

231

you do it — squeeze them well (they are very elastic and
cpme all right however roughly 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 ill a biank book or album of good stout paper.
Always obtain the seed vessels '*" possiljle, as it is by
this particular organ of fructification that the family
and different 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 holp
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 m.oss or lichen was a source of pure and
innocent delight, unalloyed by the experiences and cares
of after-life among his fellow men in the hurry and
strife of the busy world.

3.- 'M

THE INDIAN MOSS-BAG.

Besides the use wliich 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 Nortli-
West Indians' wigwams, an I 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 simplj^ formed of
a piece of cloth, or more usually of dressed doo-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 leathei-
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 straight down and
wrapped in 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 L.id, turned up and the sides laced together.

THE INDIAN MOSS-BAG.

233

Nothing of baby is seen but its face and head. The
black head and bead-like black eyes look very funny
peering out of the moss-bag. I forgot to mention that
care 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 strips
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, cr be
passed over the mother's forehead when travelling or
moving from place to place with the 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
del)aiTed 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 great taste and skill is shown in the material
of which they are made. Beautiful patterns in needle-
work are wrought with silk, moose luiir and beads by
the ladies of the Hudson Bay Company to ornament
their moss-baos.

231

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

I !

When older, tlie arms of the children are allowed
to be free, and j^reat care is taken to keep the little
ones bright and liappy.

The North-West papoose cradles are much bett* r
than those of our Ontario Indians, which are generally
made of thin board or bark, while any sort of rags or
blanket forms the bed for the babe. Tlie 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 ha r 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 lullaliy .song ;

" Rock-a-liy, lm1\y. on the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
Then down comes 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 ^vere cradled.

SOMETHING GATHERS UP THE
FRAGMENTS.

" Something gathers up the fragments, and nothing is lost."

— Fuurcrois' Chemistry.

The.se striking words, so suggestive of the wise economy
of the great Creator of the universe, are simply a para-
phrase of tlie 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 +heir 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 cliemist's eyes were
opened to see a wider and deeper meaning in the Lord's
words.

236

PEARLS AND PEBHLES.

;' 1

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
V)y the action of the winds ami 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 against their own encroachments,
unconsciously fulfilling the dictates of their mighty
Creator's conunand, " 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 lai<l 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 forcibly, the truth of the words, " Something
gathers up the fragments, and nothing is lost." >

SOMETHING GATHERS UP IHE 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 prostrate on the ground ;
branchless, leafless, decaying trunks, unsightly to the
eye ; beds of blackened leaves ; shattered boughs,
whitened and grey with fungous growth ; naked steins
ready to fall, their barkless wood graven with many
fantastic traceries, the work of the various insect larvro
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 unperccived by thee;
All chance — directitjn which th(;u cfinst not sec."

Here lies one of the old giants of the forest at our
feet. Take heed how you stop upon it. By it.-? 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
through the network of cable-like roots and fibres

238

PEARLS AM) PEUni.ES.

Nover idle were tluwe vegetal »le uiinerH, iihvays (lijij^in«;
inaterials from the dark earth to add power and suh-
staiice to the tree, liour hy hour building up its wonder-
ful structure, takiii}^ and selecting o'dy sueii particles as
were suited to increase the woody tihre and add to the
particular (pialities of th'j tree, whether it be oak, or ash,
or maple, or the majestic pine.

But while the tree had been receiving, it had also
year l)y year been j^ivinjij back to earth and air, in an
altered state, something; that it did not reijuire for itself.
It had given back to the earth fresh matter, in the fonn
of leaves, decayed l)ranches and eti'ete bark and fruitful
seed. It had purified and chanj^ed 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 tiiat had been thrown off; there 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 more lovely. Here on the mouldering
old wood are miniature forests, HypnuTns, Dicranums,
Bryums, with many lichens of the tenderest hues, grey,
yellow or brown deepening to red, and, it may be, some
brilliant fungus of gorgeous scarlet or cardinal red, fawn
or gold, exquisite in form or in coloring, contrasting
richly with the green of the mosses.

SOMKTHIN'G GATHERS l*I' THE FKA(JMEN'T.S.

239

PoHsibly Hoino rcjidor will i-jiise tiie ([lU'stion, Of
wluit service can all these decaying trees and their cov-
er! n<^.s of moHseH, lichens and funj^i be to man '. They
have their Mses, as we shall fin<l if we examine the sub-
ject more closely, and notice the effects prodnced.

The floating; jjjerms of vej^etable life, the seeds or
spores of the lichens and mosses, falHnji; on the surface
of the fallen timber, find a soil suited to the peculiar
re(piirements and development of their orpmisms.
These minute vejjetable growths are similar to those
Heen j^rowinjr npon old rails and stumps and dry walls,
and which anyone ijjjnorant of their nature mi^ht think
part of the substance to which they adhere, instead
of livinf^ plants as the cryptograms all are. Simple
plants, representin<if 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 ti.ssures of the bark, penetrating
into the tissue of the vc/od, 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 the wood.

Some of these mosses, as we have seen, are not mere

X,-

240

PEARLS AND PEBBLES.

annuals, but, like the Hypnum aplendens 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 witii 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 hanlne.ss tinder the influences of the agencies brought
to l)ear 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 iiave returned their sub-
stance to Mother Karth. "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 mos.ses. The mosses have been a warm sheltering
home for myriads of 'nsect larvfB, which have gathered
up many fragments during their infant state, all tending

SOMETHING GATHERS UP THE FHAGMEXTS.

241

to reduce the wood to the earthy condition which
sliould enter into other forms. Then conie.s man, a
settler in tiie forest wilderness, a stranger and an
eniii^rant from a far-ofF land. Cominj; to make himself
a home, he must cut down the living trees and clear the
|»round 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, inider
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 bv 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.)

TUB END.