Mr. Sackville was constantly directing his children's observation to the prompt enterprise and industry so conspicuous in a new country, and stimulating their patriotism by pointing out to them the increasing riches and resources of their native land. “For my own part,” he said, “I prefer the sentiment that is inspired by the peaceful triumphs of man over nature, to the patriotism that is kindled on battle-grounds—if not as romantic, it is certainly more innocent.”
“Then I suppose, papa,” said Edward, “that you prefer Virgil's georgics to his epic.”
“Thank you, Ned,” replied his father, “for an illustration which proves that your travels have not quite put your school out of your head. I certainly do prefer the aspect of our cheerful dwellings, blooming gardens, and fruitful fields, associated as they are in my mind with innocent occupation and moral cultivation; to the ivy-mantled towers and triumphal arches of the old world—they are the records of feudal grandeur and high heroic deeds, but deeds too often of doubtful virtue, and of fatal consequences. The melancholy poet may exult in describing the ‘spectres that sit and sigh’ amid their ruins; but if I had the gifted eye, my children, I should rather look upon the spirit of Contentment that hovers over our land, and her sweet sister Hope, who points with her finger of promise to the smiling prosperity produced by busy hands and active independent minds.”
When the travellers reached Black-rock, where they were to cross the Niagara, they were compelled to await for some time the return of the ferry-boat, which was then plying towards the Canada shore. While they were detained, they amused themselves with a company of Irish people—raw emigrants, who had just entered our territory, and were awaiting the departure of the Erie steam-boat to convey them to the State of Ohio. They had spread tents for their temporary accommodation—Edward and Julia went from one to another, asking questions, and giving cakes and dried fruit from their travelling stores to the children.
They were particularly struck with one buxom young girl with laughing eyes and ruddy cheeks, who seemed to be a favorite with the whole company, and not to belong to any one; for she went from tent to tent kneading an oat-meal cake for one woman—dressing a lame arm for another, and performing sundry miscellaneous offices that always fall to the lot of those most useful people who have nothing in particular to do. Julia offered her a piece of cake, by way of introduction, and then asked her name:—“My name is Biddy Burns, an' please you, miss.”
“And who did you come with, Biddy?”
“I left home with my cousin; but it pleased the Lord to take her to himself before we came to Quebec, and she has left such a pretty complement of children to her husband to take care of, that I must e'en shift for myself.”
“Do you like our country, Biddy?” asked Edward.
“Och, my master, I could not miss liking it, ye are all so free and hospitable.”