The simplicity, the fond, confiding faith of childhood is unknown in Canada.  There are no children here.  The boy is a miniature man—­knowing, keen, and wide awake; as able to drive a bargain and take an advantage of his juvenile companion as the grown-up, world-hardened man.  The girl, a gossipping flirt, full of vanity and affectation, with a premature love of finery, and an acute perception of the advantages to be derived from wealth, and from keeping up a certain appearance in the world.

The flowers, the green grass, the glorious sunshine, the birds of the air, and the young lambs gambolling down the verdant slopes, which fill the heart of a British child with a fond ecstacy, bathing the young spirit in Elysium, would float unnoticed before the vision of a Canadian child; while the sight of a dollar, or a new dress, or a gay bonnet, would swell its proud bosom with self-importance and delight.  The glorious blush of modest diffidence, the tear of gentle sympathy, are so rare on the cheek, or in the eye of the young, that their appearance creates a feeling of surprise.  Such perfect self-reliance in beings so new to the world is painful to a thinking mind.  It betrays a great want of sensibility and mental culture, and a melancholy knowledge of the arts of life.

For a week I was alone, my good Scotch girl having left me to visit her father.  Some small baby-articles were needed to be washed, and after making a great preparation, I determined to try my unskilled hand upon the operation.  The fact is, I knew nothing about the task I had imposed upon myself, and in a few minutes rubbed the skin off my wrists, without getting the clothes clean.

The door was open, as it generally was, even during the coldest winter days, in order to let in more light, and let out the smoke, which otherwise would have enveloped us like a cloud.  I was so busy that I did not perceive that I was watched by the cold, heavy, dark eyes of Mrs. Joe, who, with a sneering laugh, exclaimed—­

“Well, thank God!  I am glad to see you brought to work at last.  I hope you may have to work as hard as I have.  I don’t see, not I, why you, who are no better than me, should sit still all day, like a lady!”

“Mrs. R—–­,” said I, not a little annoyed at her presence, “what concern is it of yours whether I work or sit still?  I never interfere with you.  If you took it into your head to lie in bed all day, I should never trouble myself about it.”

“Ah, I guess you don’t look upon us as fellow-critters, you are so proud and grand.  I s’pose you Britishers are not made of flesh and blood like us.  You don’t choose to sit down at meat with your helps.  Now, I calculate, we think them a great deal better nor you.”

“Of course,” said I, “they are more suited to you than we are; they are uneducated, and so are you.  This is no fault in either; but it might teach you to pay a little more respect to those who are possessed of superior advantages.  But, Mrs. R—–­, my helps, as you call them, are civil and obliging, and never make unprovoked and malicious speeches.  If they could so far forget themselves, I should order them to leave the house.”