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CLEVER men sometimes do
silly things when they undertake to hunt a wife. A man may show good
judgment in all the ordinary affairs of life, and yet he may act
more like a lunatic than anything else when he goes courting.
The reason of this
may be found in the false estimate which men sometimes make of
woman's character and position. If a man looks upon a woman as being
inferior to himself, he will likely assume an air of superiority
over her, that will set her against him, and drive her from him.
And on the other
hand, if he looks on her as an angel, done up in skirts and corsets,
he will act the part of a cringing weakling, and in this way he
calls out contempt where he wishes to gain esteem, and provokes
aversion where he hopes to awaken love.
If this man would
counsel with his mother or his sister they would tell him that a
woman never can respect what she despises, nor love what she stands
in dread of.
John Bushman was a
sensible young man. He did not estimate woman to be either better or
worse than himself. He simply treated her as his equal—nothing more,
nothing less. As a natural consequence, he had the respect of his
lady friends.
But there was one of
the number that had a stronger feeling towards him than simple
respect. This one was little Mary Myrtle, whose image John so
unexpectedly discovered that day that he looked into his heart when
on his way home. We call her little, not because she was so very
small, but from a habit that nearly every one got into when Mary was
a child. It was done to distinguish her from an aunt of the same
name, who was a young woman when she was an infant.
John had not as yet
said anything to her about becoming Mrs. Bushman, although, like an
honest, manly man, he had asked her parents' consent to do so.
Mrs. Myrtle said to
Mary the next morning after the interview recorded at the close of
the last chapter, John Bushman asked your father and me if he might
try and persuade you to go with him to the bush as his wife. What do
you think of that?
"Did you tell hint he
might? " demurely asked the young lady.
What else could we
tell him? he is all right himself, and we cannot expect to keep you
always. Will he have a very difficult task?" said the mother, with a
mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"I do not think so,"
was the candid reply.
About a week after
his visit to the Squire's, John made another call one afternoon. The
old people were both away to Fort George on some business in
connection with the estate of Mrs. Myrtle's father, who had died
recently, leaving his business all in the hands of his daughter and
son-in-law to settle.
Mary received him
kindly enough, but without evincing any emotion. He thought at first
that she seemed a little cool and distant; but on second thought he
made up his mind that it was only his own fancy. He was conscious
that his feelings towards her had been greatly intensified since his
conversation with her parents, so that now, if she failed to respond
fully to his warmth of manner, it was not because she was too frigid
in her deportment, but it was because he had been too sanguine in
his expectations.
After conversing for
some time on a variety of topics, they stood in silence for a while.
They both seemed to be a little embarrassed. Presently John broke
the silence by saying, "Mary, I came here today to ask from you a
great favor—such as men, as a rule, only ask once in a life-time,
and one which, if granted, I hope you may never regret, and I pray
that I may never have occasion to seek the like again. Mary, can you
guess what that favor is? But, stay; I don't want you to guess it. I
want to tell it to you in plain, honest English. Now, Mary, we have
known each other from childhood. I know that you have too much
modesty to be a coquette, and too much honesty to be a flirt. And I
trust that I have too much true manhood in me to court either a
coquette or a flirt. I intend, so far as I know how, by the help of
God, to be a true man. I want a true woman. I believe that you are
one. Will you be my wife?"
She looked for a
moment into his honest face, and then said:
"Your outspoken,
truthful honesty entitles you to expect the fullest candor from me.
I will be just as frank with you as you have been with me. I have
dreamed of this hour oftentimes in my sleep, and I have sometimes
thought of it in my wakeful moments. But I hardly allowed myself to
hope that it would ever come, and yet I could see no reason why it
might not. I know that I love you, and I feel that I can trust you.
Yes, I will be your wife."
One long, loving
kiss, which was fully reciprocated, sealed the contract.
Just then they heard
the noise of the Squire's lumber waggon rattling over the frozen
(round. They looked out and saw him and his wife coming home from
the chief town of the district, and they wondered where the
afternoon had gone to.
The young man bid his
affianced good-bye, and started for home. As he passed out at the
bars he met the old people, and accosted them in a friendly, though
somewhat timid manner. As he was passing on, Mary's father said, in
a loud tone of voice, so that the girl, who was standing in the
door, could hear:
"I say, John, have
you a very hard time in finding some one to go with you to the
bush?"
"No, sir," replied
John; "the first one that I asked has consented to go."
"I wonder," said Mrs.
Myrtle, "if he and Mary are engaged?"
"Very likely," was
the only answer the Squire returned to his wife's query.
"I am afraid, after
all, that you are not just satisfied to let him have Mary," said she
thoughtfully.
"What objections can
I have? The young man is all that I could wish.
"But the trouble with
me is to get my feelings to harmonize with my judgment. It seems to
me that in taking Mary from us, John will, in some way, do me an
injury."
"Well," answered she,
"I remember overhearing father talk like that to mother after we
were engaged. Your words sound just like echoes of what he said
about you. Probably men do fuel like that when some one takes away
one of their pets. You know, it has been said that a man has three
pets, viz.: the youngest child, the eldest daughter and the living
wife."
"Well, I don't know
how it is with other men, but I do know that my greatest pet is the
living wife," said he, as he jumped out of the waggon and lifted her
to the ground.
As John walked home
that evening he felt that he was a highly favored man. The Myrtle
family was among the most respectable in the township, and Mary was
looked upon by all her acquaintances as being one of the best young
women in the neighborhood.
That such a one
should say that she loved him, and she could trust him with her
life's happiness was, he thought, enough to make any young man
imagine that the hard rough frozen road was as smooth as a flagstone
pavement.
As he walked along he
fancied that he heard a soft voice singing in sweet and soothing
cadence
"John Bushman, who
will be your wife,
And walk with you the path of life,
To help you in its toil and strife?
Sweet Mary Myrtle.
John Bushman, if in
coining years,
Your eyes should be bedimined with tears,
Who then shall try to quell your fears?
Sweet Mary Myrtle.
John Bushman, when
life's dream is past,
And darkness gathers round you fast,
Who will stand by you till the last?
Sweet Mary Myrtle."
Here the voice seemed
to stop. The young man listened for a while, but he heard no more.
Then, as he was musing by himself, he began in a low modulated voice
to sing
"John Bushman, whom
do you intend,
To honor cherish and defend,
And live with until life shall end?
Sweet Mary Myrtle."
"John," said a voice,
"what is all this about Mary Myrtle?"
The young man was
awakened from his reverie. The speaker was his sister. She was
coining out for an armful of kindling just as he came into the
woodshed, and she heard the concluding words of his little song.
He stood and looked
at her for a moment, and then said
"I say, Bet, how
would you like to dress up in white kid gloves, and other things to
match, and stand by the side of a friend of mine, while she bets
married?"
"You must be green,
John, if you think that you can fool me by talking about kid gloves
and white dresses. What have they got to do with the girl you were
just now speaking about?" she asked.
"More than you think,
little Sis. But never mind now; go in and get the supper, for I am
hungry. I will tell you some other time," and the two went into the
house together.
After the supper was
over, and they were sitting around the cheerful fire, old Mr.
Bushman said
"John, I have traded
off one of the spare horses for a yoke of cattle for you to take
with you to the bush; I might have given you a span of horses, but I
know from my own experience, as well as from what others have told
me, that, for the first few years in the new country, oxen are
handier than horses. They are easier provided for, it costs less to
keep them, there is less danger that they will stray off, and they
are easier and more cheaply harnessed; and, besides all this, when
they wear out you can turn them into beef."
"I am glad, father,"
said John, "that you are able to help me in this way, and I am
grateful to you for being willing to do it. There are not many who
go to the bush under as favorable circumstances as I shall be able
to do through your generosity. I only hope that I may some day be
able to make some return for all your kindness."
"The best return that
you can make to your mother and me is to live a sober, honest,
Christian life," said the father, with some signs of emotion; and
"that you can do with the help of the Lord."
"And by the Lord's
assistance I will, father," said the young man.
"You may well say
that. You are highly favored in comparison with others. It is not
quite forty years yet since your grandparents came to this country.
They had good homes in Pennsylvania. The War of Independence came
on: they sided with the mother country. The Americans were the
victors. Their doctrine is, 'to the victors belong the spoils.' They
acted upon it; they took everything that they could find, and sent
the Loyalists through hundreds of miles of unbroken wilderness, to
make their way as best they could to where the British flag still
floated over the wild woods of Canada. My people and your mother's
people came through the State of New York which was then mostly a
wilderness. They brought a few articles with them, such as could be
carried on pack-horses."
"Where did you first
touch this country?" asked John.
"We crossed the river
at the place where Black Rock is now. We swam the horses, and we got
some Indians to bring us over in their bark canoes."
"Were you not afraid
the canoes would tip over and let you all into the water?" asked
Betsy.
"There was no use
being afraid—there was no other way to get over. We did not load the
crafts too heavily, and we were good sailors," was the reply.
"Father," said John, "do you remember anything about that
revolutionary war?"
"Yes, quite
distinctly. You know I was near seventeen years old when we came to
this place. My father belonged to the `Light Horse,' and he was away
from home most of the time. I remember he came home one day to see
how we were getting along. Some of the Americans found it out in
some way; they resolved to take him prisoner. I remember my mother
came into the house with a frightened look and said to father, `The
Yankees are after you.'
"The floor was made
of wide boards, and not nailed down very securely; mother took up a
spade that stood in the corner and pried up one of the boards,
saying, `Here, Joe, get down under the floor, it is your only
chance.'
"He did as she said,
and she had only got the board replaced when the parties were at the
door.
"They came in without
ceremony. Looking around the room, one of them said to mother, in a
rough insulting way,
'Where is your
husband?'
'He is not here,' she
answered.
'Was he not here this
morning?' said he sternly.
"'Yes; but he is not
here now. Do you suppose that he would be such a fool as to stay
here till you came after him? He knew you were coming, and he dodged
you. That is all that I can tell you about him.'
'Look here, woman,'
said he, lifting his gun in a menacing way and stepping toward her;
`you know where he is; now tell me, or, by the powers above, I will
run the bayonet through you.'
"I never will forget
how mother looked just then. Her Teutonic blood was up.
"She looked him fully
in the face, as she said, 'You think to scare me, do you? I will
never tell you where he is. But you are a pretty man, are you not?
You are a brave soldier, too, are you not, to threaten to kill a
woman, because she refuses to betray her children's father into the
hands of a panel of cut-throats?'
"That is the sort of
stuff the women were made of, who gave to Canada and to Britain the
'United Empire Loyalists.'
"One of his
companions called to the man, saying, `Come away, Bill; don't touch
her. But you are playing a losing game.'
"At this, he struck
the bayonet through the floor and fired off' his musket, with a
terrible oath, saying, 'If I could only find the Tory, I would send
an ounce of lead through his heart.'
"They went away
without further molesting anything about the place.
"The bayonet and the
contents of the dun passed through the floor within six inches of
the man's head.
"Another incident
that I heard of," continued Mr. Bushman, "was like this: A number of
women and children of the Loyalists were concealed in a cave away in
the woods, while the men were all away in the war. One day a boy,
about fifteen years of age, was sent out to try and get some news
about how things were doing on in the army. As he was returning, he
was discovered by a company of the rebel scouts. They asked him
where his people were concealed. He refused to tell them. They
threatened to shoot him if he did not do it, but he persistently
refused to comply. They then took and tied him to a tree, six men
were placed a dozen yards from him, and ordered to prepare to shoot
him. They pointed their (runs at him, and waited for the order to
fire. The leader approached the boy and said, 'Will you tell us now
where they are?' The boy answered, 'If I tell you, and you find
them, you will kill them. It is better for one to die than for so
many to die. I will not tell you ! You may shoot me if you will.'
The leader turned to his men and said, `Hold on, boys. Don't shoot.
It is too bad that such a little hero should be shot like a do".
Untie him and let him go.' Some other time I will give some more
reminiscences of the early times of our country."
The engagement
between young John Bushman and Mary Myrtle gave entire satisfaction
to both families. This was only what might be expected under the
circumstances. The two families had been neighbors for a number of
years. They had together battled with the hardships of pioneer life
"among the forest trees." They were both Protestants, and attended
the same meetings. And although the Bushman, were of German descent,
and the Myrtles of English, yet five generation separated both
families from their connection with either country. They were just
the kind of people to commence to build up a distinct
nationality—the right kind of seed from which to produce a national
tree of vigorous growth—a tree that should strike its root so deep
and firm in the virgin soil of the northern British territory, that
the most bitter enemies of the Empire could neither uproot nor break
it down.
The winter was
rapidly passing away. February was almost (,one, and yet but little
preparation for the approaching wedding had been made. The time
fixed upon was the twenty-first of March, the time of the vernal
equinox, when, as people used to say, "the sun crossed the line."
John said that they selected that day because they thought it would
be a good time to pass from the frigid, cloudy days of unmated
winter, into the bright spring sunshine of matrimonial summer. Like
thousands of others, he placed a higher value on the ideal future
than on the actual present.
One serious question
was, who should be got to perform the ceremony. The clergy of the
Church of England and the ministers of the old Kirk of Scotland were
the only reverend gentlemen in the Province allowed to marry. It was
some years after this before Dissenters could legally marry people.
Magistrates did the
marrying in many cases, and under certain conditions. These
conditions existed in this case. Mary's father was a magistrate, and
it was desired, after much consultation, that he would officiate. A
notice was posted on the door of the only mill in the township,
stating that "John Bushman and Mary Myrtle intended to enter the
bonds of holy wedlock on the twenty-first of the ensuing month of
March, in the house of William Myrtle, Esquire, at the hour of
eleven o'clock in the forenoon;" and calling upon any persons who
had legal objections to offer to present themselves at the time and
place above-mentioned, or to "hold their peace forever after."
The approaching
wedding became a thin(; of great interest in the neighborhood. The
time came around at last. Nearly everybody, old and young, for miles
around, were invited, and most of them came. The house was full of
people. John's sister Betsy, and her affianced, William Friars,
"stood up," to use the phrase then in vogue. Squire Myrtle soon mot
through with his part, and Mary changed the name of Myrtle for that
of Bushman.
One of the most
striking features of an old-time wedding was its simplicity. There
was no effort for mere display. There were no costly gifts by those
who could ill afford it. No affected friendship where there was
concealed aversion. But a genial atmosphere of friendship, and a
healthy exercise of neighborly courtesies, along with a generous
provision for the satisfying of hunger and thirst, constituted the
leading features of the old-time weddings, such as prevailed among
the early settlers in the time of our grandfathers.
The congratulations
were hearty and sincere. Mirth and merriment pervaded the large
assemblage, and none seemed more joyous than the two elderly
gentlemen, one of whom had gained a son and the other one a
daughter, by the day's proceedings.
The two
mothers-in-law took things very coolly, and kept themselves from
anything like noisy demonstration. But it was easy to see that
neither regretted the fact that their children had been yoked
together for a life-long work in the matrimonial harness. At an
early hour of the evening, a short prayer for the happiness and
prosperity of the newly-wedded pair was offered up by the oldest man
in company; the people dispersed, and the nuptials of John Bushman
and Mary Myrtle were things of the past. |
