Life in the Clearings versus the Bush | Page 6

are leaving on the north side of the bay. I think you will own
with me that your eyes have seldom rested upon a spot more favoured
by Nature, or one that bids fairer to rise to great wealth and political
importance.
Sixty years ago, the spot that Belleville now occupies was in the
wilderness; and its rapid, sparkling river and sunny upland slopes
(which during the lapse of ages have formed a succession of banks to
the said river), were only known to the Indian hunter and the white
trader.
Where you see those substantial stone wharfs, and the masts of those
vessels, unloading their valuable cargoes to replenish the stores of the
wealthy merchants in the town, a tangled cedar swamp spread its dark,
unwholesome vegetation into the bay, completely covering with an
impenetrable jungle those smooth verdant plains, now surrounded with
neat cottages and gardens.
Of a bright summer evening (and when is a Canadian summer evening
otherwise?) those plains swarm with happy, healthy children, who
assemble there to pursue their gambols beyond the heat and dust of the
town; or to watch with eager eyes the young men of the place engaged

in the manly old English game of cricket, with whom it is, in their
harmless boasting, "Belleville against Toronto-Cobourg; Kingston, the
whole world."
The editor of a Kingston paper once had the barbarity to compare these
valiant champions of the bat and ball to "singed cats--ugly to look at,
but very devils to go."
Our lads have never forgiven the insult; and should the said editor ever
show his face upon their ground, they would kick him off with as little
ceremony as they would a spent ball.
On that high sandy ridge that overlooks the town eastward--where the
tin roof of the Court House, a massy, but rather tasteless building, and
the spires of four churches catch the rays of the sun--a tangled maze of
hazel bushes, and wild plum and cherry, once screened the Indian
burying-ground, and the children of the red hunter sought for
strawberries among the long grass and wild flowers that flourish
profusely in that sandy soil.
Would that you could stand with me on that lofty eminence and look
around you! The charming prospect that spreads itself at your feet
would richly repay you for toiling up the hill.
We will suppose ourselves standing among the graves in the
burying-ground of the English church; the sunny heavens above us, the
glorious waters of the bay, clasping in their azure belt three-fourths of
the landscape, and the quiet dead sleeping at our feet.
The white man has so completely supplanted his red brother, that he
has appropriated the very spot that held his bones; and in a few years
their dust will mingle together, although no stone marks the grave
where the red man sleeps.
From this churchyard you enjoy the finest view of the town and
surrounding country; and, turn your eyes which way you will, they
cannot fail to rest on some natural object of great interest and beauty.

The church itself is but a homely structure; and has always been to me
a great eyesore. It is to be regretted that the first inhabitants of the place
selected their best and most healthy building sites for the erection of
places of worship. Churches and churchyards occupy the hills from
whence they obtain their springs of fresh water,--and such delicious
water! They do not at present feel any ill-consequences arising from
this error of judgment; but the time will come, as population increases,
and the dead accumulate, when these burying-grounds, by poisoning
the springs that flow through them, will materially injure the health of
the living.
The English church was built many years ago, partly of red brick burnt
in the neighbourhood, and partly of wood coloured red to make up the
deficiency of the costlier material. This seems a shabby saving, as
abundance of brick-earth of the best quality abounds in the same hill,
and the making of bricks forms a very lucrative and important craft to
several persons in the town.
Belleville was but a small settlement on the edge of the forest, scarcely
deserving the name of a village, when this church first pointed its ugly
tower towards heaven. Doubtless its founders thought they had done
wonders when they erected this humble looking place of worship; but
now, when their descendants have become rich, and the village of
log-huts and frame buildings has grown into a populous, busy, thriving
town, and this red, tasteless building is too small to accommodate its
congregation, it should no longer hold the height of the hill, but give
place to a larger and handsomer edifice.
Behold its Catholic brother on the other side of the road; how much its
elegant