A Tour of the West

LETTERS BY VIATOR FOR THE BRITISH WHIG - 1847

LETTER NO. VII

Of the many village retreats which have sprung up in the backwoods, and which I have visited, none has pleased me half so well as happy, flourishing Georgetown.

Sweet and enchanting location! frequently have your beautiful associations recurred to my memory, and made me wish to see you again. For whether it is that you meet with such peaceful quiet so unexpectedly, or that you are tired of travelling through the gloomy forest, certain it is that this village calls up pleasing emotions. You seem suddenly transplanted into another clime.

Emerging from the interminable forest, you come by a short turn upon a beautiful verdant slope; another turn and you came in full view of the village, its end reposing in a valley, and laved by the crystal waters of the Credit. Its top climbs the opposite hill, which is crowned with a luxuriant maple grove. The Credit here takes the form of a semi-circle, and nearly enclosed the end of the village in an island. The whole village is enclosed by a thick bush, through which a white cottage now and then peeps. The houses are neatly built, and serve to assure you of the comfort of the inmates. The village numbers about 700 inhabitants. It contains two Methodist and one Congregational Churches; a Post Office, three Stores and two Taverns; one Furniture Manufactory, by Travis, employing thirty hands; one Tannery, by Dayfoot, with fifty workmen; two Saw Mills, and a Grist Mill, with three run of Stones; an iron Foundry, and extensive Woollen Factory, by Kennedy, the manufacture of which took the highest premium at the "Show," in Toronto. And well the enterprising proprietor deserves such a mark of merit. His establishment is well worth a day's journey to see. The building is large and well built, the owner is obliging and affable, the workmen are the best that can be procured, and the cloth the best manufactured. The machinery is all in good working order, an nearly stuns you by its ceaseless whine. There are fourteen power looms, and two spinning jennies which "run off" 260 and 270 threads. Indeed, from what I have seen, I can say there are few such establishments in the Province. Success I say to the enterprising owner, and may the shadow of "Kennedy's Woollen Factory" never be less.

A drive of a few miles over a hilly and picturesque country brought us to the village of Ballinafad.

This village is the centre of an Irish settlement, and is well situated for internal trade. The land adjacent is fertile and in a high state of cultivation; the houses are neat and bespeak happiness, and fully attest to the traveller what "Patt" can do when you give him liberty and "a chance." The village numbers about 200 inhabitants; has a Post Office, Store, &c., and is fast improving. It is a pity that the village itself is located on such a rocky piece of ground. I do not know the Anglican translation of Ballinafad, but from the locality one would suppose it meant something rocky, hilly, uneven and grotesque. It has one great advantage, however, in the quantity of limestone in its neighborhood.

I met a man here from my native town of K----h, he told me he was the first man that cut a log in the place, and gave me graphic description of life in the backwoods. His heart warmed, he said, at seeing one from his part of the "oald country." Mine did too. That word home has a magical charm potent as the magician's wand. What mournfully pleasing associations will it not conjure up. -- From the inmost cells of the heart, where memory conceals her most precious gems, thought, life, being, will start forth at the sound. Scenes nearly forgotten will rush "thick as autumnal leaves which strew the brooks in Valambrosa." Before the sight phantoms of laughing beauty and graceful mien will flit and dance before your high-wrought imaginations. Fancy willpaint in all the roseate hue of beauty, the realities of a distant land. The variegated landscape, the shady grove, the moss-covered grotto, the ivy-clad Abbey, the village Church, the cottage encased in fragrant honey-suckle, the prattling brothers and sisters, the fond and affectionate parents, the frowning rock oe'r -hanging the crested wave, where the artless tale of first-love was first lisped; all these, and more will crowd upon the mind, but only for a moment. Only for a moment are you allowed to revel in the delicious agony which sets your brain whirling. The next, - " why you're dreaming." Just so -- the vision is departed, and I find myself jolting over a roughroad under a broiling sun in the forests of Canada.

VIATOR

Township of Kingston, Oct. 13, 1847

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