at it is to come out here expecting to find in the
backwoods Robinson Crusoe's life and that of the Last of the Mohicans
combined. That is, it was not he, but his father, Major Randolf, an
English officer, who, knowing nothing of farming, less of Canada, and
least of all of speculation, got a grant of land, where he speculated
only to lose, and got transferred to this forlorn tract, only to
shiver with ague and die of swamp fever. During the twenty-five
years of this long agony, he had contrived to have two wives, the
first of whom left this son, whom he educated as a scholar, intending
to finish him in England when the tide should turn, but whereas it
never did, he must needs get a fresh partner into the whirlpool, a
Yankee damsel out of a boarding-house. By the time she had had a
couple of children, he died, and the whole weight remains bound about
young Randolf's neck, tying him down to work for dear life in this
doleful spot, without a farthing of capital, no stock, no anything.
I came upon the clearing one day in the course of my surveying, and
never did I see _Gone to the Dogs_ more clearly written on any spot;
the half-burnt or overthrown trees lying about overgrown with wild
vines and raspberries, the snake fence broken down, the log-house
looking as if a touch would upset it, and nothing hopeful but a
couple of patches of maize and potatoes, and a great pumpkin climbing
up a stump. My horse and myself were done up, so I halted, and was
amazed at the greeting I received from the youth, who was hard at
work on his hay, single-handed, except for the two children tumbling
in it. The lady in her rocking-chair was contrast enough to make me
heartily glad to find that she was his stepmother, not his wife.
Since that, I have seen a good deal of him; he comes to Lakeville,
five miles across the bush and seven across the lake, to church on
Sunday, and spends the day with the parson, and Mr. Currie has given
him work in our press of business, and finds him so effective, that
he wants to take him on for good; but this can't be while he has got
these three stones about his neck, for whom he works harder and lives
worse than any day-labourer at Hiltonbury; regular hand to mouth, no
chance of making a start, unless the Company will fortunately decide
on the line I am drawing through the hea