{"id":186,"date":"2021-06-24T11:45:03","date_gmt":"2021-06-24T15:45:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/?post_type=chapter&p=186"},"modified":"2022-02-01T11:13:04","modified_gmt":"2022-02-01T16:13:04","slug":"chapter-xxvii-adieu-to-the-woods","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/chapter\/chapter-xxvii-adieu-to-the-woods\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter XXVII: Adieu to the Woods","rendered":"Chapter XXVII: Adieu to the Woods"},"content":{"raw":"
Adieu!\u2014adieu!\u2014when quivering lips refuse\r\nThe bitter pangs of parting to declare;\r\nAnd the full bosom feels that it must lose\r\nFriends who were wont its inmost thoughts to share;\r\nWhen hands are tightly clasp'd, 'mid struggling sighs\r\nAnd streaming tears, those whisper'd accents rise,\r\nLeaving to God the objects of our care\r\nIn that short, simple, comprehensive prayer\u2014\r\n\r\nAdieu!<\/i><\/blockquote>\r\nNever did eager British children look for the first violets and primroses of spring with more impatience than my baby boys and girls watched, day after day, for the first snow-flakes that were to form the road to convey them to their absent father.\r\n\r\n\u201cWinter never means to come this year. It will never snow again?\u201d exclaimed my eldest boy, turning from the window on Christmas Day, with the most rueful aspect that ever greeted the broad, gay beams of the glorious sun. It was like a spring day. The little lake in front of the window glittered like a mirror of silver, set in its dark frame of pine woods.\r\n\r\nI, too, was wearying for the snow, and was tempted to think that it did not come as early as usual, in order to disappoint us. But I kept this to myself, and comforted the expecting child with the oft-repeated assertion that it would certainly snow upon the morrow.\r\n\r\nBut the morrow came and passed away, and many other morrows, and the same mild, open weather prevailed. The last night of the old year was ushered in with furious storms of wind and snow; the rafters of our log cabin shook beneath the violence of the gale, which swept up from the lake like a lion roaring for its prey, driving the snow-flakes through every open crevice, of which there were not a few, and powdering the floor until it rivalled in whiteness the ground without.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, what a dreadful night!\u201d we cried, as we huddled, shivering, around the old broken stove. \u201cA person abroad in the woods to-night would be frozen. Flesh and blood could not long stand this cutting wind.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt reminds me of the commencement of a laughable extempore ditty,\u201d said I to my young friend, A. C\u2014\u2014, who was staying with me, \u201ccomposed by my husband, during the first very cold night we spent in Canada\u201d\u2014\r\n
Oh, the cold of Canada nobody knows,\r\nThe fire burns our shoes without warming our toes;\r\nOh, dear, what shall we do?\r\nOur blankets are thin, and our noses are blue\u2014\r\nOur noses are blue, and our blankets are thin,\r\nIt's at zero without, and we're freezing within!\r\n(Chorus)\u2014Oh, dear, what shall we do?<\/blockquote>\r\n\u201cBut, joking apart, my dear A\u2014\u2014, we ought to be very thankful that we are not travelling this night to B\u2014\u2014.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cBut to-morrow,\u201d said my eldest boy, lifting up his curly head from my lap. \u201cIt will be fine to-morrow, and we shall see dear papa again.\u201d\r\n\r\nIn this hope he lay down on his little bed upon the floor, and was soon fast asleep; perhaps dreaming of that eagerly-anticipated journey, and of meeting his beloved father.\r\n\r\nSleep was a stranger to my eyes. The tempest raged so furiously without that I was fearful the roof would be carried off the house, or that the chimney would take fire. The night was far advanced when old Jenny and myself retired to bed.\r\n\r\nMy boy's words were prophetic; that was the last night I ever spent in the bush\u2014in the dear forest home which I had loved in spite of all the hardships which we had endured since we pitched our tent in the backwoods. It was the birthplace of my three boys, the school of high resolve and energetic action in which we had learned to meet calmly, and successfully to battle with the ills of life. Nor did I leave it without many regretful tears, to mingle once more with a world to whose usages, during my long solitude, I had become almost a stranger, and to whose praise or blame I felt alike indifferent.\r\n\r\nWhen the day dawned, the whole forest scenery lay glittering in a mantle of dazzling white; the sun shone brightly, the heavens were intensely blue, but the cold was so severe that every article of food had to be thawed before we could get our breakfast. The very blankets that covered us during the night were stiff with our frozen breath. \u201cI hope the sleighs won't come to-day,\u201d I cried; \u201cwe should be frozen on the long journey.\u201d\r\n\r\nAbout noon two sleighs turned into our clearing. Old Jenny ran screaming into the room, \u201cThe masther has sent for us at last! The sleighs are come! Fine large sleighs, and illigant teams of horses! Och, and its a cowld day for the wee things to lave the bush.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe snow had been a week in advance of us at B\u2014\u2014, and my husband had sent up the teams to remove us. The children jumped about, and laughed aloud for joy. Old Jenny did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she set about helping me to pack up trunks and bedding as fast as our cold hands would permit.\r\n\r\nIn the midst of the confusion, my brother arrived, like a good genius, to our assistance, declaring his determination to take us down to B\u2014\u2014 himself in his large lumber-sleigh. This was indeed joyful news. In less than three hours he despatched the hired sleighs with their loads, and we all stood together in the empty house, striving to warm our hands over the embers of the expiring fire.\r\n\r\nHow cold and desolate every object appeared! The small windows, half blocked up with snow, scarcely allowed a glimpse of the declining sun to cheer us with his serene aspect. In spite of the cold, several kind friends had waded through the deep snow to say, \u201cGod bless you!\u2014Good-bye;\u201d while a group of silent Indians stood together, gazing upon our proceedings with an earnestness which showed that they were not uninterested in the scene. As we passed out to the sleigh, they pressed forward, and silently held out their hands, while the squaws kissed me and the little ones with tearful eyes. They had been true friends to us in our dire necessity, and I returned their mute farewell from my very heart.\r\n\r\nMr. S\u2014\u2014 sprang into the sleigh. One of our party was missing. \u201cJenny!\u201d shouted my brother, at the top of his voice, \u201cit is too cold to keep your mistress and the little children waiting.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOch, shure thin, it is I that am comin'!\u201d returned the old body, as she issued from the house.\r\n\r\nShouts of laughter greeted her appearance. The figure she cut upon that memorable day I shall never forget. My brother dropped the reins upon the horses' necks, and fairly roared. Jenny was about to commence her journey to the front in three hats. Was it to protect her from the cold? Oh, no; Jenny was not afraid of the cold! She could have eaten her breakfast on the north side of an iceberg, and always dispensed with shoes, during the most severe of our Canadian winters. It was to protect these precious articles from injury.\r\n\r\nOur good neighbour, Mrs. W\u2014\u2014, had presented her with an old sky-blue drawn-silk bonnet, as a parting benediction. This, by way of distinction, for she never had possessed such an article of luxury as a silk bonnet in her life, Jenny had placed over the coarse calico cap, with its full furbelow of the same yellow, ill-washed, homely material, next to her head; over this, as second in degree, a sun-burnt straw hat, with faded pink ribbons, just showed its broken rim and tawdry trimmings; and, to crown all, and serve as a guard to the rest, a really serviceable grey-beaver bonnet, once mine, towered up as high as the celebrated crown in which brother Peter figures in Swift's \u201cTale of a Tub.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cMercy, Jenny! Why, old woman, you don't mean to go with us that figure?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOch, my dear heart! I've no band-box to kape the cowld from desthroying my illigant bonnets,\u201d returned Jenny, laying her hand upon the side of the sleigh.\r\n\r\n\u201cGo back, Jenny; go back,\u201d cried my brother. \u201cFor God's sake take all that tom-foolery from off your head. We shall be the laughing-stock of every village we pass through.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOch, shure now, Mr. S\u2014\u2014, who'd think of looking at an owld crathur like me! It's only yersel' that would notice the like.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAll the world, everybody would look at you, Jenny. I believe that you put on those hats to draw the attention of all the young fellows that we shall happen to meet on the road. Ha, Jenny!\u201d\r\n\r\nWith an air of offended dignity, the old woman returned to the house to re-arrange her toilet, and provide for the safety of her \u201cilligant bonnets,\u201d one of which she suspended to the strings of her cloak, while she carried the third dangling in her hand; and no persuasion of mine would induce her to put them out of sight.\r\n\r\nMany painful and conflicting emotions agitated my mind, but found no utterance in words, as we entered the forest path, and I looked my last upon that humble home consecrated by the memory of a thousand sorrows. Every object had become endeared to me during my long exile from civilised life. I loved the lonely lake, with its magnificent belt of dark pines sighing in the breeze; the cedar-swamp, the summer home of my dark Indian friends; my own dear little garden, with its rugged snake-fence which I had helped Jenny to place with my own hands, and which I had assisted the faithful woman in cultivating for the last three years, where I had so often braved the tormenting mosquitoes, black flies, and intense heat, to provide vegetables for the use of the family. Even the cows, that had given a breakfast for the last time to my children, were now regarded with mournful affection. A poor labourer stood in the doorway of the deserted house, holding my noble water-dog, Rover, in a string. The poor fellow gave a joyous bark as my eyes fell upon him.\r\n\r\n\u201cJames J\u2014\u2014, take care of my dog.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNever fear, ma'am, he shall bide with me as long as he lives.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHe and the Indians at least feel grieved for our departure,\u201d I thought. Love is so scarce in this world that we ought to prize it, however lowly the source from whence it flows.\r\n\r\nWe accomplished only twelve miles of our journey that night. The road lay through the bush, and along the banks of the grand, rushing, foaming Otonabee river, the wildest and most beautiful of forest streams. We slept at the house of kind friends, and early in the morning resumed our long journey, but minus one of our party. Our old favourite cat, Peppermint, had made her escape from the basket in which she had been confined, and had scampered off, to the great grief of the children.\r\n\r\nAs we passed Mrs. H\u2014\u2014's house, we called for dear Addie. Mr. H\u2014\u2014 brought her in his arms to the gate, well wrapped up in a large fur cape and a warm woollen shawl.\r\n\r\n\u201cYou are robbing me of my dear little girl,\u201d he said. \u201cMrs. H\u2014\u2014 is absent; she told me not to part with her if you should call; but I could not detain her without your consent. Now that you have seen her, allow me to keep her for a few months longer?\u201d\r\n\r\nAddie was in the sleigh. I put my arm about her. I felt I had my child again, and I secretly rejoiced in the possession of my own. I sincerely thanked him for his kindness, and Mr. S\u2014\u2014 drove on.\r\n\r\nAt Mr. R\u2014\u2014's, we found a parcel from dear Emilia, containing a plum-cake and other good things for the children. Her kindness never flagged.\r\n\r\nWe crossed the bridge over the Otonabee, in the rising town of Peterborough, at eight o'clock in the morning. Winter had now set in fairly. The children were glad to huddle together in the bottom of the sleigh, under the buffalo skins and blankets; all but my eldest boy, who, just turned of five years old, was enchanted with all he heard and saw, and continued to stand up and gaze around him. Born in the forest, which he had never quitted before, the sight of a town was such a novelty that he could find no words wherewith to express his astonishment.\r\n\r\n\u201cAre the houses come to see one another?\u201d he asked. \u201cHow did they all meet here?\u201d\r\n\r\nThe question greatly amused his uncle, who took some pains to explain to him the difference between town and country. During the day, we got rid of old Jenny and her bonnets, whom we found a very refractory travelling companion; as wilful, and far more difficult to manage than a young child. Fortunately, we overtook the sleighs with the furniture, and Mr. S\u2014\u2014 transferred Jenny to the care of one of the drivers; an arrangement that proved satisfactory to all parties.\r\n\r\nWe had been most fortunate in obtaining comfortable lodgings for the night. The evening had closed in so intensely cold that although we were only two miles from C\u2014\u2014, Addie was so much affected by it that the child lay sick and pale in my arms, and, when spoken to, seemed scarcely conscious of our presence.\r\n\r\nMy brother jumped from the front seat, and came round to look at her. \u201cThat child is ill with the cold; we must stop somewhere to warm her, or she will hardly hold out till we get to the inn at C\u2014\u2014.\u201d\r\n\r\nWe were just entering the little village of A\u2014\u2014, in the vicinity of the court-house, and we stopped at a pretty green cottage, and asked permission to warm the children. A stout, middle-aged woman came to the sleigh, and in the kindest manner requested us to alight.\r\n\r\n\u201cI think I know that voice,\u201d I said. \u201cSurely it cannot be Mrs. S\u2014\u2014, who once kept the \u2014\u2014 hotel at C\u2014\u2014?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cMrs. Moodie, you are welcome,\u201d said the excellent woman, bestowing upon me a most friendly embrace; \u201cyou and your children. I am heartily glad to see you again after so many years. God bless you all!\u201d\r\n\r\nNothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of this generous woman; she would not hear of our leaving her that night, and, directing my brother to put up his horses in her stable, she made up an excellent fire in a large bedroom, and helped me to undress the little ones who were already asleep, and to warm and feed the rest before we put them to bed.\r\n\r\nThis meeting gave me real pleasure. In their station of life, I seldom have found a more worthy couple than this American and his wife; and, having witnessed so many of their acts of kindness, both to ourselves and others, I entertained for them a sincere respect and affection, and truly rejoiced that Providence had once more led me to the shelter of their roof.\r\n\r\nMr. S\u2014\u2014 was absent, but I found little Mary\u2014the sweet child who used to listen with such delight to Moodie's flute\u2014grown up into a beautiful girl; and the baby that was, a fine child of eight years old. The next morning was so intensely cold that my brother would not resume the journey until past ten o'clock, and even then it was a hazardous experiment.\r\n\r\nWe had not proceeded four miles before the horses were covered with icicles. Our hair was frozen as white as old Time's solitary forelock, our eyelids stiff, and every limb aching with cold.\r\n\r\n\u201cThis will never do,\u201d said my brother, turning to me; \u201cthe children will freeze. I never felt the cold more severe than this.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhere can we stop?\u201d said I; \u201cwe are miles from C\u2014\u2014, and I see no prospect of the weather becoming milder.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, yes; I know, by the very intensity of the cold, that a change is at hand. We seldom have more than three very severe days running, and this is the third. At all events, it is much warmer at night in this country than during the day; the wind drops, and the frost is more bearable. I know a worthy farmer who lives about a mile ahead; he will give us house-room for a few hours; and we will resume our journey in the evening. The moon is at full; and it will be easier to wrap the children up, and keep them warm when they are asleep. Shall we stop at Old Woodruff's?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWith all my heart.\u201d My teeth were chattering with the cold, and the children were crying over their aching fingers at the bottom of the sleigh.\r\n\r\nA few minutes' ride brought us to a large farm-house, surrounded by commodious sheds and barns. A fine orchard opposite, and a yard well-stocked with fat cattle and sheep, sleek geese, and plethoric-looking swine, gave promise of a land of abundance and comfort. My brother ran into the house to see if the owner was at home, and presently returned, accompanied by the staunch Canadian yeoman and his daughter, who gave us a truly hearty welcome, and assisted in removing the children from the sleigh to the cheerful fire, that made all bright and cozy within.\r\n\r\nOur host was a shrewd, humorous-looking Yorkshireman. His red, weather-beaten face, and tall, athletic figure, bent as it was with hard labour, gave indications of great personal strength; and a certain knowing twinkle in his small, clear grey eyes, which had been acquired by long dealing with the world, with a quiet, sarcastic smile that lurked round the corners of his large mouth, gave you the idea of a man who could not easily be deceived by his fellows; one who, though no rogue himself, was quick in detecting the roguery of others. His manners were frank and easy, and he was such a hospitable entertainer that you felt at home with him in a minute.\r\n\r\n\u201cWell, how are you, Mr. S\u2014\u2014?\u201d cried the farmer, shaking my brother heartily by the hand. \u201cToiling in the bush still, eh?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cJust in the same place.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAnd the wife and children?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHearty. Some half-dozen have been added to the flock since you were our way.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cSo much the better\u2014so much the better. The more the merrier, Mr. S\u2014\u2014; children are riches in this country.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI know not how that may be; I find it hard to clothe and feed mine.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWait till they grow up; they will be brave helps to you then. The price of labour\u2014the price of labour, Mr. S\u2014\u2014, is the destruction of the farmer.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt does not seem to trouble you much, Woodruff,\u201d said my brother, glancing round the well-furnished apartment.\r\n\r\n\u201cMy son and S\u2014\u2014 do it all,\u201d cried the old man. \u201cOf course the girls help in busy times, and take care of the dairy, and we hire occasionally; but small as the sum is which is expended in wages during seed-time and harvest, I feel it, I can tell you.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou are married again, Woodruff?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d said the farmer, with a peculiar smile; \u201cnot yet;\u201d which seemed to imply the probability of such an event. \u201cThat tall gal is my eldest daughter; she manages the house, and an excellent housekeeper she is. But I cannot keep her for ever.\u201d With a knowing wink, \u201cGals will think of getting married, and seldom consult the wishes of their parents upon the subject when once they have taken the notion into their heads. But 'tis natural, Mr. S\u2014\u2014, it is natural; we did just the same when we were young.\u201d\r\n\r\nMy brother looked laughingly towards the fine, handsome young woman, as she placed upon the table hot water, whiskey, and a huge plate of plum-cake, which did not lack a companion, stored with the finest apples which the orchard could produce.\r\n\r\nThe young girl looked down, and blushed.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, I see how it is, Woodruff! You will soon lose your daughter. I wonder that you have kept her so long. But who are these young ladies?\u201d he continued, as three girls very demurely entered the room.\r\n\r\n\u201cThe two youngest are my darters, by my last wife, who, I fear, mean soon to follow the bad example of their sister. The other lady<\/i>,\u201d said the old man, with a reverential air, \u201cis a particular<\/i> friend of my eldest darter's.\u201d\r\n\r\nMy brother laughed slily, and the old man's cheek took a deeper glow as he stooped forward to mix the punch.\r\n\r\n\u201cYou said that these two young ladies, Woodruff, were by your last wife. Pray how many wives have you had?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOnly three. It is impossible, they say in my country, to have too much of a good thing.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cSo I suppose you think,\u201d said my brother, glancing first at the old man and then towards Miss Smith. \u201cThree wives! You have been a fortunate man, Woodruff, to survive them all.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAy, have I not, Mr. S\u2014\u2014? But to tell you the truth, I have been both lucky and unlucky in the wife way,\u201d and then he told us the history of his several ventures in matrimony, with which I shall not trouble my readers.\r\n\r\nWhen he had concluded, the weather was somewhat milder, the sleigh was ordered to the door, and we proceeded on our journey, resting for the night at a small village about twenty miles from B\u2014\u2014, rejoicing that the long distance which separated us from the husband and father was diminished to a few miles, and that, with the blessing of Providence, we should meet on the morrow.\r\n\r\nAbout noon we reached the distant town, and were met at the inn by him whom one and all so ardently longed to see. He conducted us to a pretty, neat cottage, which he had prepared for our reception, and where we found old Jenny already arrived. With great pride the old woman conducted me over the premises, and showed me the furniture \u201cthe masther\u201d had bought; especially recommending to my notice a china tea-service, which she considered the most wonderful acquisition of the whole.\r\n\r\n\u201cOch! who would have thought, a year ago, misthress dear, that we should be living in a mansion like this, and ating off raal chaney? It is but yestherday that we were hoeing praties in the field.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, Jenny, God has been very good to us, and I hope that we shall never learn to regard with indifference the many benefits which we have received at His hands.\u201d\r\n\r\nReader! it is not my intention to trouble you with the sequel of our history. I have given you a faithful picture of a life in the backwoods of Canada, and I leave you to draw from it your own conclusions. To the poor, industrious working man it presents many advantages; to the poor gentleman, none! The former works hard, puts up with coarse, scanty fare, and submits, with a good grace, to hardships that would kill a domesticated animal at home. Thus he becomes independent, inasmuch as the land that he has cleared finds him in the common necessaries of life; but it seldom, if ever, in remote situations, accomplishes more than this. The gentleman can neither work so hard, live so coarsely, nor endure so many privations as his poorer but more fortunate neighbour. Unaccustomed to manual labour, his services in the field are not of a nature to secure for him a profitable return. The task is new to him, he knows not how to perform it well; and, conscious of his deficiency, he expends his little means in hiring labour, which his bush-farm can never repay. Difficulties increase, debts grow upon him, he struggles in vain to extricate himself, and finally sees his family sink into hopeless ruin.\r\n\r\nIf these sketches should prove the means of deterring one family from sinking their property, and shipwrecking all their hopes, by going to reside in the backwoods of Canada, I shall consider myself amply repaid for revealing the secrets of the prison-house, and feel that I have not toiled and suffered in the wilderness in vain.\r\n

THE MAPLE-TREE<\/strong>\r\nA CANADIAN SONG<\/strong><\/p>\r\nHail to the pride of the forest\u2014hail\r\nTo the maple, tall and green;\r\nIt yields a treasure which ne'er shall fail\r\nWhile leaves on its boughs are seen.\r\nWhen the moon shines bright,\r\nOn the wintry night,\r\nAnd silvers the frozen snow;\r\nAnd echo dwells\r\nOn the jingling bells\r\nAs the sleighs dart to and fro;\r\nThen it brightens the mirth\r\nOf the social hearth\r\nWith its red and cheery glow.\r\n\r\nAfar, 'mid the bosky forest shades,\r\nIt lifts its tall head on high;\r\nWhen the crimson-tinted evening fades\r\nFrom the glowing saffron sky;\r\nWhen the sun's last beams\r\nLight up woods and streams,\r\nAnd brighten the gloom below;\r\nAnd the deer springs by\r\nWith his flashing eye,\r\nAnd the shy, swift-footed doe;\r\nAnd the sad winds chide\r\nIn the branches wide,\r\nWith a tender plaint of woe.\r\n\r\nThe Indian leans on its rugged trunk,\r\nWith the bow in his red right-hand,\r\nAnd mourns that his race, like a stream, has sunk\r\nFrom the glorious forest land.\r\nBut, blythe and free,\r\nThe maple-tree\r\nStill tosses to sun and air\r\nIts thousand arms,\r\nWhile in countless swarms\r\nThe wild bee revels there;\r\nBut soon not a trace\r\nOf the red man's race\r\nShall be found in the landscape fair.\r\n\r\nWhen the snows of winter are melting fast,\r\nAnd the sap begins to rise,\r\nAnd the biting breath of the frozen blast\r\nYields to the spring's soft sighs,\r\nThen away to the wood,\r\nFor the maple, good,\r\nShall unlock its honied store;\r\nAnd boys and girls,\r\nWith their sunny curls,\r\nBring their vessels brimming o'er\r\nWith the luscious flood\r\nOf the brave tree's blood,\r\nInto cauldrons deep to pour.\r\n\r\nThe blaze from the sugar-bush gleams red;\r\nFar down in the forest dark,\r\nA ruddy glow on the trees is shed,\r\nThat lights up their rugged bark;\r\nAnd with merry shout,\r\nThe busy rout\r\nWatch the sap as it bubbles high;\r\nAnd they talk of the cheer\r\nOf the coming year,\r\nAnd the jest and the song pass by;\r\nAnd brave tales of old\r\nRound the fire are told,\r\nThat kindle youth's beaming eye.\r\n\r\nHurrah! For the sturdy maple-tree!\r\nLong may its green branch wave;\r\nIn native strength sublime and free,\r\nMeet emblem for the brave.\r\nMay the nation's peace\r\nWith its growth increase,\r\nAnd its worth be widely spread;\r\nFor it lifts not in vain\r\nTo the sun and rain\r\nIts tall, majestic head.\r\nMay it grace our soil,\r\nAnd reward our toil,\r\nTill the nation's heart is dead.","rendered":"

Adieu!\u2014adieu!\u2014when quivering lips refuse
\nThe bitter pangs of parting to declare;
\nAnd the full bosom feels that it must lose
\nFriends who were wont its inmost thoughts to share;
\nWhen hands are tightly clasp’d, ‘mid struggling sighs
\nAnd streaming tears, those whisper’d accents rise,
\nLeaving to God the objects of our care
\nIn that short, simple, comprehensive prayer\u2014<\/p>\n

Adieu!<\/i><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Never did eager British children look for the first violets and primroses of spring with more impatience than my baby boys and girls watched, day after day, for the first snow-flakes that were to form the road to convey them to their absent father.<\/p>\n

\u201cWinter never means to come this year. It will never snow again?\u201d exclaimed my eldest boy, turning from the window on Christmas Day, with the most rueful aspect that ever greeted the broad, gay beams of the glorious sun. It was like a spring day. The little lake in front of the window glittered like a mirror of silver, set in its dark frame of pine woods.<\/p>\n

I, too, was wearying for the snow, and was tempted to think that it did not come as early as usual, in order to disappoint us. But I kept this to myself, and comforted the expecting child with the oft-repeated assertion that it would certainly snow upon the morrow.<\/p>\n

But the morrow came and passed away, and many other morrows, and the same mild, open weather prevailed. The last night of the old year was ushered in with furious storms of wind and snow; the rafters of our log cabin shook beneath the violence of the gale, which swept up from the lake like a lion roaring for its prey, driving the snow-flakes through every open crevice, of which there were not a few, and powdering the floor until it rivalled in whiteness the ground without.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, what a dreadful night!\u201d we cried, as we huddled, shivering, around the old broken stove. \u201cA person abroad in the woods to-night would be frozen. Flesh and blood could not long stand this cutting wind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt reminds me of the commencement of a laughable extempore ditty,\u201d said I to my young friend, A. C\u2014\u2014, who was staying with me, \u201ccomposed by my husband, during the first very cold night we spent in Canada\u201d\u2014<\/p>\n

Oh, the cold of Canada nobody knows,
\nThe fire burns our shoes without warming our toes;
\nOh, dear, what shall we do?
\nOur blankets are thin, and our noses are blue\u2014
\nOur noses are blue, and our blankets are thin,
\nIt’s at zero without, and we’re freezing within!
\n(Chorus)\u2014Oh, dear, what shall we do?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\u201cBut, joking apart, my dear A\u2014\u2014, we ought to be very thankful that we are not travelling this night to B\u2014\u2014.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut to-morrow,\u201d said my eldest boy, lifting up his curly head from my lap. \u201cIt will be fine to-morrow, and we shall see dear papa again.\u201d<\/p>\n

In this hope he lay down on his little bed upon the floor, and was soon fast asleep; perhaps dreaming of that eagerly-anticipated journey, and of meeting his beloved father.<\/p>\n

Sleep was a stranger to my eyes. The tempest raged so furiously without that I was fearful the roof would be carried off the house, or that the chimney would take fire. The night was far advanced when old Jenny and myself retired to bed.<\/p>\n

My boy’s words were prophetic; that was the last night I ever spent in the bush\u2014in the dear forest home which I had loved in spite of all the hardships which we had endured since we pitched our tent in the backwoods. It was the birthplace of my three boys, the school of high resolve and energetic action in which we had learned to meet calmly, and successfully to battle with the ills of life. Nor did I leave it without many regretful tears, to mingle once more with a world to whose usages, during my long solitude, I had become almost a stranger, and to whose praise or blame I felt alike indifferent.<\/p>\n

When the day dawned, the whole forest scenery lay glittering in a mantle of dazzling white; the sun shone brightly, the heavens were intensely blue, but the cold was so severe that every article of food had to be thawed before we could get our breakfast. The very blankets that covered us during the night were stiff with our frozen breath. \u201cI hope the sleighs won’t come to-day,\u201d I cried; \u201cwe should be frozen on the long journey.\u201d<\/p>\n

About noon two sleighs turned into our clearing. Old Jenny ran screaming into the room, \u201cThe masther has sent for us at last! The sleighs are come! Fine large sleighs, and illigant teams of horses! Och, and its a cowld day for the wee things to lave the bush.\u201d<\/p>\n

The snow had been a week in advance of us at B\u2014\u2014, and my husband had sent up the teams to remove us. The children jumped about, and laughed aloud for joy. Old Jenny did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she set about helping me to pack up trunks and bedding as fast as our cold hands would permit.<\/p>\n

In the midst of the confusion, my brother arrived, like a good genius, to our assistance, declaring his determination to take us down to B\u2014\u2014 himself in his large lumber-sleigh. This was indeed joyful news. In less than three hours he despatched the hired sleighs with their loads, and we all stood together in the empty house, striving to warm our hands over the embers of the expiring fire.<\/p>\n

How cold and desolate every object appeared! The small windows, half blocked up with snow, scarcely allowed a glimpse of the declining sun to cheer us with his serene aspect. In spite of the cold, several kind friends had waded through the deep snow to say, \u201cGod bless you!\u2014Good-bye;\u201d while a group of silent Indians stood together, gazing upon our proceedings with an earnestness which showed that they were not uninterested in the scene. As we passed out to the sleigh, they pressed forward, and silently held out their hands, while the squaws kissed me and the little ones with tearful eyes. They had been true friends to us in our dire necessity, and I returned their mute farewell from my very heart.<\/p>\n

Mr. S\u2014\u2014 sprang into the sleigh. One of our party was missing. \u201cJenny!\u201d shouted my brother, at the top of his voice, \u201cit is too cold to keep your mistress and the little children waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOch, shure thin, it is I that am comin’!\u201d returned the old body, as she issued from the house.<\/p>\n

Shouts of laughter greeted her appearance. The figure she cut upon that memorable day I shall never forget. My brother dropped the reins upon the horses’ necks, and fairly roared. Jenny was about to commence her journey to the front in three hats. Was it to protect her from the cold? Oh, no; Jenny was not afraid of the cold! She could have eaten her breakfast on the north side of an iceberg, and always dispensed with shoes, during the most severe of our Canadian winters. It was to protect these precious articles from injury.<\/p>\n

Our good neighbour, Mrs. W\u2014\u2014, had presented her with an old sky-blue drawn-silk bonnet, as a parting benediction. This, by way of distinction, for she never had possessed such an article of luxury as a silk bonnet in her life, Jenny had placed over the coarse calico cap, with its full furbelow of the same yellow, ill-washed, homely material, next to her head; over this, as second in degree, a sun-burnt straw hat, with faded pink ribbons, just showed its broken rim and tawdry trimmings; and, to crown all, and serve as a guard to the rest, a really serviceable grey-beaver bonnet, once mine, towered up as high as the celebrated crown in which brother Peter figures in Swift’s \u201cTale of a Tub.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMercy, Jenny! Why, old woman, you don’t mean to go with us that figure?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOch, my dear heart! I’ve no band-box to kape the cowld from desthroying my illigant bonnets,\u201d returned Jenny, laying her hand upon the side of the sleigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo back, Jenny; go back,\u201d cried my brother. \u201cFor God’s sake take all that tom-foolery from off your head. We shall be the laughing-stock of every village we pass through.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOch, shure now, Mr. S\u2014\u2014, who’d think of looking at an owld crathur like me! It’s only yersel’ that would notice the like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll the world, everybody would look at you, Jenny. I believe that you put on those hats to draw the attention of all the young fellows that we shall happen to meet on the road. Ha, Jenny!\u201d<\/p>\n

With an air of offended dignity, the old woman returned to the house to re-arrange her toilet, and provide for the safety of her \u201cilligant bonnets,\u201d one of which she suspended to the strings of her cloak, while she carried the third dangling in her hand; and no persuasion of mine would induce her to put them out of sight.<\/p>\n

Many painful and conflicting emotions agitated my mind, but found no utterance in words, as we entered the forest path, and I looked my last upon that humble home consecrated by the memory of a thousand sorrows. Every object had become endeared to me during my long exile from civilised life. I loved the lonely lake, with its magnificent belt of dark pines sighing in the breeze; the cedar-swamp, the summer home of my dark Indian friends; my own dear little garden, with its rugged snake-fence which I had helped Jenny to place with my own hands, and which I had assisted the faithful woman in cultivating for the last three years, where I had so often braved the tormenting mosquitoes, black flies, and intense heat, to provide vegetables for the use of the family. Even the cows, that had given a breakfast for the last time to my children, were now regarded with mournful affection. A poor labourer stood in the doorway of the deserted house, holding my noble water-dog, Rover, in a string. The poor fellow gave a joyous bark as my eyes fell upon him.<\/p>\n

\u201cJames J\u2014\u2014, take care of my dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever fear, ma’am, he shall bide with me as long as he lives.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe and the Indians at least feel grieved for our departure,\u201d I thought. Love is so scarce in this world that we ought to prize it, however lowly the source from whence it flows.<\/p>\n

We accomplished only twelve miles of our journey that night. The road lay through the bush, and along the banks of the grand, rushing, foaming Otonabee river, the wildest and most beautiful of forest streams. We slept at the house of kind friends, and early in the morning resumed our long journey, but minus one of our party. Our old favourite cat, Peppermint, had made her escape from the basket in which she had been confined, and had scampered off, to the great grief of the children.<\/p>\n

As we passed Mrs. H\u2014\u2014’s house, we called for dear Addie. Mr. H\u2014\u2014 brought her in his arms to the gate, well wrapped up in a large fur cape and a warm woollen shawl.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are robbing me of my dear little girl,\u201d he said. \u201cMrs. H\u2014\u2014 is absent; she told me not to part with her if you should call; but I could not detain her without your consent. Now that you have seen her, allow me to keep her for a few months longer?\u201d<\/p>\n

Addie was in the sleigh. I put my arm about her. I felt I had my child again, and I secretly rejoiced in the possession of my own. I sincerely thanked him for his kindness, and Mr. S\u2014\u2014 drove on.<\/p>\n

At Mr. R\u2014\u2014’s, we found a parcel from dear Emilia, containing a plum-cake and other good things for the children. Her kindness never flagged.<\/p>\n

We crossed the bridge over the Otonabee, in the rising town of Peterborough, at eight o’clock in the morning. Winter had now set in fairly. The children were glad to huddle together in the bottom of the sleigh, under the buffalo skins and blankets; all but my eldest boy, who, just turned of five years old, was enchanted with all he heard and saw, and continued to stand up and gaze around him. Born in the forest, which he had never quitted before, the sight of a town was such a novelty that he could find no words wherewith to express his astonishment.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre the houses come to see one another?\u201d he asked. \u201cHow did they all meet here?\u201d<\/p>\n

The question greatly amused his uncle, who took some pains to explain to him the difference between town and country. During the day, we got rid of old Jenny and her bonnets, whom we found a very refractory travelling companion; as wilful, and far more difficult to manage than a young child. Fortunately, we overtook the sleighs with the furniture, and Mr. S\u2014\u2014 transferred Jenny to the care of one of the drivers; an arrangement that proved satisfactory to all parties.<\/p>\n

We had been most fortunate in obtaining comfortable lodgings for the night. The evening had closed in so intensely cold that although we were only two miles from C\u2014\u2014, Addie was so much affected by it that the child lay sick and pale in my arms, and, when spoken to, seemed scarcely conscious of our presence.<\/p>\n

My brother jumped from the front seat, and came round to look at her. \u201cThat child is ill with the cold; we must stop somewhere to warm her, or she will hardly hold out till we get to the inn at C\u2014\u2014.\u201d<\/p>\n

We were just entering the little village of A\u2014\u2014, in the vicinity of the court-house, and we stopped at a pretty green cottage, and asked permission to warm the children. A stout, middle-aged woman came to the sleigh, and in the kindest manner requested us to alight.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I know that voice,\u201d I said. \u201cSurely it cannot be Mrs. S\u2014\u2014, who once kept the \u2014\u2014 hotel at C\u2014\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Moodie, you are welcome,\u201d said the excellent woman, bestowing upon me a most friendly embrace; \u201cyou and your children. I am heartily glad to see you again after so many years. God bless you all!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of this generous woman; she would not hear of our leaving her that night, and, directing my brother to put up his horses in her stable, she made up an excellent fire in a large bedroom, and helped me to undress the little ones who were already asleep, and to warm and feed the rest before we put them to bed.<\/p>\n

This meeting gave me real pleasure. In their station of life, I seldom have found a more worthy couple than this American and his wife; and, having witnessed so many of their acts of kindness, both to ourselves and others, I entertained for them a sincere respect and affection, and truly rejoiced that Providence had once more led me to the shelter of their roof.<\/p>\n

Mr. S\u2014\u2014 was absent, but I found little Mary\u2014the sweet child who used to listen with such delight to Moodie’s flute\u2014grown up into a beautiful girl; and the baby that was, a fine child of eight years old. The next morning was so intensely cold that my brother would not resume the journey until past ten o’clock, and even then it was a hazardous experiment.<\/p>\n

We had not proceeded four miles before the horses were covered with icicles. Our hair was frozen as white as old Time’s solitary forelock, our eyelids stiff, and every limb aching with cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis will never do,\u201d said my brother, turning to me; \u201cthe children will freeze. I never felt the cold more severe than this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere can we stop?\u201d said I; \u201cwe are miles from C\u2014\u2014, and I see no prospect of the weather becoming milder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes; I know, by the very intensity of the cold, that a change is at hand. We seldom have more than three very severe days running, and this is the third. At all events, it is much warmer at night in this country than during the day; the wind drops, and the frost is more bearable. I know a worthy farmer who lives about a mile ahead; he will give us house-room for a few hours; and we will resume our journey in the evening. The moon is at full; and it will be easier to wrap the children up, and keep them warm when they are asleep. Shall we stop at Old Woodruff’s?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith all my heart.\u201d My teeth were chattering with the cold, and the children were crying over their aching fingers at the bottom of the sleigh.<\/p>\n

A few minutes’ ride brought us to a large farm-house, surrounded by commodious sheds and barns. A fine orchard opposite, and a yard well-stocked with fat cattle and sheep, sleek geese, and plethoric-looking swine, gave promise of a land of abundance and comfort. My brother ran into the house to see if the owner was at home, and presently returned, accompanied by the staunch Canadian yeoman and his daughter, who gave us a truly hearty welcome, and assisted in removing the children from the sleigh to the cheerful fire, that made all bright and cozy within.<\/p>\n

Our host was a shrewd, humorous-looking Yorkshireman. His red, weather-beaten face, and tall, athletic figure, bent as it was with hard labour, gave indications of great personal strength; and a certain knowing twinkle in his small, clear grey eyes, which had been acquired by long dealing with the world, with a quiet, sarcastic smile that lurked round the corners of his large mouth, gave you the idea of a man who could not easily be deceived by his fellows; one who, though no rogue himself, was quick in detecting the roguery of others. His manners were frank and easy, and he was such a hospitable entertainer that you felt at home with him in a minute.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, how are you, Mr. S\u2014\u2014?\u201d cried the farmer, shaking my brother heartily by the hand. \u201cToiling in the bush still, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust in the same place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the wife and children?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHearty. Some half-dozen have been added to the flock since you were our way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo much the better\u2014so much the better. The more the merrier, Mr. S\u2014\u2014; children are riches in this country.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know not how that may be; I find it hard to clothe and feed mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait till they grow up; they will be brave helps to you then. The price of labour\u2014the price of labour, Mr. S\u2014\u2014, is the destruction of the farmer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt does not seem to trouble you much, Woodruff,\u201d said my brother, glancing round the well-furnished apartment.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy son and S\u2014\u2014 do it all,\u201d cried the old man. \u201cOf course the girls help in busy times, and take care of the dairy, and we hire occasionally; but small as the sum is which is expended in wages during seed-time and harvest, I feel it, I can tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are married again, Woodruff?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sir,\u201d said the farmer, with a peculiar smile; \u201cnot yet;\u201d which seemed to imply the probability of such an event. \u201cThat tall gal is my eldest daughter; she manages the house, and an excellent housekeeper she is. But I cannot keep her for ever.\u201d With a knowing wink, \u201cGals will think of getting married, and seldom consult the wishes of their parents upon the subject when once they have taken the notion into their heads. But ’tis natural, Mr. S\u2014\u2014, it is natural; we did just the same when we were young.\u201d<\/p>\n

My brother looked laughingly towards the fine, handsome young woman, as she placed upon the table hot water, whiskey, and a huge plate of plum-cake, which did not lack a companion, stored with the finest apples which the orchard could produce.<\/p>\n

The young girl looked down, and blushed.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I see how it is, Woodruff! You will soon lose your daughter. I wonder that you have kept her so long. But who are these young ladies?\u201d he continued, as three girls very demurely entered the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe two youngest are my darters, by my last wife, who, I fear, mean soon to follow the bad example of their sister. The other lady<\/i>,\u201d said the old man, with a reverential air, \u201cis a particular<\/i> friend of my eldest darter’s.\u201d<\/p>\n

My brother laughed slily, and the old man’s cheek took a deeper glow as he stooped forward to mix the punch.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said that these two young ladies, Woodruff, were by your last wife. Pray how many wives have you had?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly three. It is impossible, they say in my country, to have too much of a good thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I suppose you think,\u201d said my brother, glancing first at the old man and then towards Miss Smith. \u201cThree wives! You have been a fortunate man, Woodruff, to survive them all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAy, have I not, Mr. S\u2014\u2014? But to tell you the truth, I have been both lucky and unlucky in the wife way,\u201d and then he told us the history of his several ventures in matrimony, with which I shall not trouble my readers.<\/p>\n

When he had concluded, the weather was somewhat milder, the sleigh was ordered to the door, and we proceeded on our journey, resting for the night at a small village about twenty miles from B\u2014\u2014, rejoicing that the long distance which separated us from the husband and father was diminished to a few miles, and that, with the blessing of Providence, we should meet on the morrow.<\/p>\n

About noon we reached the distant town, and were met at the inn by him whom one and all so ardently longed to see. He conducted us to a pretty, neat cottage, which he had prepared for our reception, and where we found old Jenny already arrived. With great pride the old woman conducted me over the premises, and showed me the furniture \u201cthe masther\u201d had bought; especially recommending to my notice a china tea-service, which she considered the most wonderful acquisition of the whole.<\/p>\n

\u201cOch! who would have thought, a year ago, misthress dear, that we should be living in a mansion like this, and ating off raal chaney? It is but yestherday that we were hoeing praties in the field.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Jenny, God has been very good to us, and I hope that we shall never learn to regard with indifference the many benefits which we have received at His hands.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reader! it is not my intention to trouble you with the sequel of our history. I have given you a faithful picture of a life in the backwoods of Canada, and I leave you to draw from it your own conclusions. To the poor, industrious working man it presents many advantages; to the poor gentleman, none! The former works hard, puts up with coarse, scanty fare, and submits, with a good grace, to hardships that would kill a domesticated animal at home. Thus he becomes independent, inasmuch as the land that he has cleared finds him in the common necessaries of life; but it seldom, if ever, in remote situations, accomplishes more than this. The gentleman can neither work so hard, live so coarsely, nor endure so many privations as his poorer but more fortunate neighbour. Unaccustomed to manual labour, his services in the field are not of a nature to secure for him a profitable return. The task is new to him, he knows not how to perform it well; and, conscious of his deficiency, he expends his little means in hiring labour, which his bush-farm can never repay. Difficulties increase, debts grow upon him, he struggles in vain to extricate himself, and finally sees his family sink into hopeless ruin.<\/p>\n

If these sketches should prove the means of deterring one family from sinking their property, and shipwrecking all their hopes, by going to reside in the backwoods of Canada, I shall consider myself amply repaid for revealing the secrets of the prison-house, and feel that I have not toiled and suffered in the wilderness in vain.<\/p>\n

THE MAPLE-TREE<\/strong>
\nA CANADIAN SONG<\/strong><\/p>\n

Hail to the pride of the forest\u2014hail
\nTo the maple, tall and green;
\nIt yields a treasure which ne’er shall fail
\nWhile leaves on its boughs are seen.
\nWhen the moon shines bright,
\nOn the wintry night,
\nAnd silvers the frozen snow;
\nAnd echo dwells
\nOn the jingling bells
\nAs the sleighs dart to and fro;
\nThen it brightens the mirth
\nOf the social hearth
\nWith its red and cheery glow.<\/p>\n

Afar, ‘mid the bosky forest shades,
\nIt lifts its tall head on high;
\nWhen the crimson-tinted evening fades
\nFrom the glowing saffron sky;
\nWhen the sun’s last beams
\nLight up woods and streams,
\nAnd brighten the gloom below;
\nAnd the deer springs by
\nWith his flashing eye,
\nAnd the shy, swift-footed doe;
\nAnd the sad winds chide
\nIn the branches wide,
\nWith a tender plaint of woe.<\/p>\n

The Indian leans on its rugged trunk,
\nWith the bow in his red right-hand,
\nAnd mourns that his race, like a stream, has sunk
\nFrom the glorious forest land.
\nBut, blythe and free,
\nThe maple-tree
\nStill tosses to sun and air
\nIts thousand arms,
\nWhile in countless swarms
\nThe wild bee revels there;
\nBut soon not a trace
\nOf the red man’s race
\nShall be found in the landscape fair.<\/p>\n

When the snows of winter are melting fast,
\nAnd the sap begins to rise,
\nAnd the biting breath of the frozen blast
\nYields to the spring’s soft sighs,
\nThen away to the wood,
\nFor the maple, good,
\nShall unlock its honied store;
\nAnd boys and girls,
\nWith their sunny curls,
\nBring their vessels brimming o’er
\nWith the luscious flood
\nOf the brave tree’s blood,
\nInto cauldrons deep to pour.<\/p>\n

The blaze from the sugar-bush gleams red;
\nFar down in the forest dark,
\nA ruddy glow on the trees is shed,
\nThat lights up their rugged bark;
\nAnd with merry shout,
\nThe busy rout
\nWatch the sap as it bubbles high;
\nAnd they talk of the cheer
\nOf the coming year,
\nAnd the jest and the song pass by;
\nAnd brave tales of old
\nRound the fire are told,
\nThat kindle youth’s beaming eye.<\/p>\n

Hurrah! For the sturdy maple-tree!
\nLong may its green branch wave;
\nIn native strength sublime and free,
\nMeet emblem for the brave.
\nMay the nation’s peace
\nWith its growth increase,
\nAnd its worth be widely spread;
\nFor it lifts not in vain
\nTo the sun and rain
\nIts tall, majestic head.
\nMay it grace our soil,
\nAnd reward our toil,
\nTill the nation’s heart is dead.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":251,"menu_order":29,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-186","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/186","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/251"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/186\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":276,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/186\/revisions\/276"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/186\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=186"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=186"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=186"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/roughingitinthebush\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=186"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}