by their side was always seen a large wood-box, well filled with sound
maple or beech wood. But few pictures adorned the walls, and these were
usually rude prints far inferior to those we get every day now from the
illustrated papers. Books, so plentiful and cheap now-a-days, were then
very scarce, and where a few could be found, they were mostly heavy
doctrinal tomes piled away on some shelf where they were allowed to
remain.

The home we now inhabited was altogether a different one from that we
had left in the back concession, but it was like many another to be
found along the bay shore. Besides my own family, there were two younger
brothers of my father, and two grown-up nieces, so that when we all
mustered round the table, there was a goodly number of hearty people
always ready to do justice to the abundant provision made. This reminds
me of an incident or two illustrative of the lavish manner with which a
well-to-do farmer's table was supplied in those days. A Montreal
merchant and his wife were spending an evening at a very highly-esteemed
farmer's house. At the proper time supper was announced, and the
visitors, with the family, were gathered round the table, which groaned,
metaphorically speaking, under the load it bore. There were turkey, beef
and ham, bread and the favourite short cake, sweet cakes in endless
variety, pies, preserves, sauces, tea, coffee, cider, and what not. The
visitors were amazed, as they might well be, at the lavish display of
cooking, and they were pressed, with well-meant kindness, to partake
heartily of everything. They yielded good-naturedly to the entreaties to
try this and that as long as they could, and paused only when it was
impossible to take any more. When they were leaving, the merchant asked
his friend when they were coming to Montreal, and insisted that they
should come soon, promising if they would only let him know a little
before when they were coming he would buy up everything there was to be