Hibernian's dwelling may be a mixture of all these differing tastes,
while perhaps a little of the national ingenuity may be displayed in a
broken window, repaired with an old hat, or an approximation towards
friendliness between the domestic animals and the inmates. With the
interior of these dwellings one is agreeably surprised, they (that is,
generally speaking), appear so clean and comfortable. Outside the logs
are merely hewed flat, and the interstices filled up with moss and clay,
the roof and ends being patched up with boards and bark, or anything to
keep out the cold. They certainly look rough enough, but within they are
ceiled above and around with smooth shining boards; there are no walls
daubed with white-wash, nor floors strewn with vile gritty sand, which
last certainly requires all the sanctity of custom to render it
endurable, but the walls and floors are as bright and clean as the
scrubbing-brush and plenty of soap can make them. This great accessary
to cleanliness, _soap_, is made at home in large quantities, the ashes
of the wood burnt in the fire-place making the "ley," to which is added
the coarser fat and grease of the animals used for home consumption. It
costs nothing but the trouble of making, and the art is little. As
regards cleanliness, the natives have something almost Jewish in their
personal observances of it as well as of their food. The blood of no
animal is ever used, but flows to the earth from whence it sprung, and
the poorest of them perform their ablutions before eating with oriental
exactness; these habits are soon imparted to the emigrants, many of
whom, when they first come out, all softly be it said, are by no means
so nice.

The large bright fires of the log house prevent all possible ideas of
damp; they certainly are most delightful--those magnificent winter fires
of New Brunswick--so brilliant, so cheerful, and so warm--the charred
coals, like a mass of burning rubies, giving out their heat beneath,