Coburg, Canada [pp. 353]

THE
LADIES' REPOSITORY.
DECEMBER, 1848.
COBURG, CANADA.
(SEE ENl'RAVING.)
COBURG is a small town about midway between
Port Hope and Murray, on Lake Ontario. It is
distinguished simply as being the outlet for the produce of the country around Rice Lake. The banks
of Lake Ontario are quite level here, as is generally
the case in regard to them throughout the whole extent of this body of water. The harbor afforded by
Coburg, is adapted to ships of almost every burden,
and is deservedly one of the safest on the British
side of Lake Ontario.
The engraving gives a view of the town as seen
from the harbor. The government house, with its
two wings and steeple, occupies a prominent position
in the town, but somewhat retired from the shore.
Immediately in the foreground the custom-house
is seen, with its flag and flag-staff. On the pier,
near the custom-house, may be seen three persons
discussing the merits of international trade and foreign commerce, if, indeed, we may be allowed the
use of such terms, and may be permitted to make
any conjectures about their speculations. Still farther out, and somewhat to the right, are two other
persons holding conversation on some maritime or
commercial topic. A short distance from them, and
in plain sight, may be seen a poor old horse tied to a
wagon, and around him persons of ahlmost all ages
and characters. To speculate about this one, or that
one, or any one of them, would be very great folly,
and we can, consequently, do no better than to leave
the reader to indulge his own musings in regard to
the group. We may be allowed the privilege, however, of saying that the fellow in the boat with his
coat and waistcoat off, is, in our opinion, a very
marked specimen of cool comfort. He sits there
without the aid of tobacco or cigars, and passes
time in a style of simplicity that would do justice to
the quietest of philosophers. That lady with her
child in her arms appears to be taking life in the
genuine emigrant style. She is not ashamed at all,
to be seen nursing the baby even in public or on the
public pier. The other lady, near that sailor on his
knees, has a hat of very suitable dimensions, and
would, no doubt, enjoy herself full well in the mid VOL. VIII.-45
die of August, with King Sol looking down upon
her in the fiercest of his splendors.
The reader who is given to literary matters will
desire, perhaps, to know where the town schoolhouse is. Now, not having visited Coburg, we find
ourselves somewhat taken by surprise. Were we
allowed the Yankee prerogative of guessing, we
should be very apt to place the school-house near
the shore, between those two trees, and in the immediate neighborhood of the church. Putting a
school-house near a river, or, as in the present instance, near the shore of a lake, is certainly not wise
policy; but it is possible that the best selection was
made by the citizens. If so, it is hardly worth while
to find fault with them, especially when they did the
best they could. It makes but little matter where a
man gets his education, so he gets a good one, and is
not too proud of it. We received our first inklings of
knowledge from Noah Webster's spelling-book in an
old frame amphitheatre-like school-house, situated
about a stone's throw from a little creek, where the
boys usually spent the recesses and noon-spells in
hooking up minnows and fishing for snapping-turtles.
The waters of this stream, I presume, had no great
effect upon our intellectual man; nevertheless, the
brisk application of the birch upon the back of the
physical man, for transgressing the rules of the school
by wading in the water, had almost vivifying effect
in promoting the action of thought, and the evolution of ideas of correct moral philosophy.
Coburg is in pretty high northern latitude, and
while it enjoys the stiff lake breezes during the hot
long days of summer, it has a siege of bitter coldness
to endure through the long piercing nights of a
northern winter. While we are writing, it is more
than probable that the good citizens of Coburg, having gathered in their supply of good things for the
dull days of "dark December," are enjoying the
glorious spectacle of a genuine snow-storm, or are
fixing up their skates for a journey on the ice of the
Ontario. Much, O how much, for a few moments,
would we like to join in their sports, and carry ourselves back to the good old times when innocence
and mirth sported in our heart, and when we slid
down the hill and skated on the bosom of the river.