We had been married less than a
year when we left our friends in New Hampshire to seek a home in this
new country. The summer before my husband visited the place to purchase
a lot of wild land, and build the log cabin which was to be our first
shelter in the Canadian wilderness. Much as he had told me, I had formed
but a very imperfect idea of the appearance of the place, till after a
ten days' journey (by slow teams) through the deep snows which often
impeded our way, we reached, near nightfall, the small log-hut which was
to be our home. I had ever thought I possessed a good share of fortitude
and resolution, but at that time it was put to a severe test. 'There
Martha, is our home,' said my husband, pointing to the rude pile of
logs, which stood in a cleared space, barely large enough to secure its
safety from falling trees, and beyond all was a dense forest of tall
trees and thick underbrush and a fast falling shower of snow (at the
time) added to the gloominess of the scene. I gazed around me with
sadness, almost with dismay and terror.
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