The Henson Journals

[28]

Monday, September 2nd, 1912. Little Metis.

I spent the morning virtuously at those odious lectures. Colonel & Mrs Burland called after lunch. He had just returned from the rifle–shooting competitions at Ottawa. Mrs Greenshields took us for a motor–drive along the bank of the St Lawrance eastwards for about 23 miles. We passed through the villages of the French habitans, all the houses of wood, & all running over with small children. Clearly there is no 'race–suicide' in this district. I was impressed by the numerous pigs which were grubbing about in the meadows, on the roads, and almost on the door–steps of the houses. The nets of the fisher–men suspended on the river–beach disclosed one of the local industries: the large piles of wood, sawn into logs for firing, indicated the approach of winter. I noticed particularly the large stone ovens built outside the houses. In a few cases these were covered with a roughly–constructed shed, but generally stood naked. A few sheep, adorned with the cruel & cumbrous necklaces of wood, which are designed to remedy the defects of the fences, & prevent them from getting away, suggested that mutton was rather an occasional luxury, than a staple food–supply. There were plenty of calves, poultry, & the strangest mongrel dogs.

[29]

Mine host tells me that until recently – I think, last year – the Government gave a free grant of 100 acres of land to the father of 12 children. The applications for the said grant were so numerous that the law had to be rescinded. But, though the families are so large, the death–rate among the children is appalling. Tuberculosis ravages the population, being fostered by the hygienic ignorance which prevails. Their wooden houses, fast–closed against the cold, during the long winter, & having a crowded household to contain, become extremely unhealthy. The ecclesiastical authorities – who hold all authority among these people – are said to be addressing themselves to a campaign against tuberculosis.

After 'high–tea' we went round to an adjacent house, & called on Lady Dawson (the aged widow of Sir Wm Dawson, a former President of the British Association) & her daughter, Mrs Harrington. I presented the one lady with a copy of 'Ecclesiastica', & lent the other the Blue–book. Our conversation was governed by an anxiety on my part to keep off the subject of 'Prophecy', which has a dangerous fascination for old ladies, & I was so far successful that the tabooed theme only rose above the horizon of discussion when it was time for us to take our departure. I reflected sadly on the insecurity of my tenure of these good ladies' esteem. Had we really joined issue on 'Prophecy', how soon should I have fallen 'as Lucifer from heaven'.

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