with his own hands. He chopped his way into the stubborn wood, and added field to field. The battle had now been waged for seven or eight years; an addition had been made to the house; other small comforts had been added, and the nucleus of future competence fairly established.

One of my first recollections is in connection with the small log-barn he had built, and which up to that date had not been enlarged. He carried me out one day in his arms and put me in a barrel in the middle of the floor; this was covered with loosened sheaves of wheat, which he kept turning over with a wooden fork, while the oxen and horse were driven round and round me. I did not know what it all meant then, but I afterwards learned that he was threshing. This was one of the first rude scenes in the drama of the early settlers' life to which I was introduced, and in which I had to take a more practical part in after years. I took part, also, very early in life, in sugar making. The sap-bush was not very far away from the house, and the sap-boiling was under the direction of my mother, who mustered all the pots and kettles she could command, and when they were properly suspended over the fire on wooden hooks, she watched them and rocked me in a sap-trough. Father's work consisted in bringing in the sap with two pails which were carried by a wooden collar about three feet long, and made to fit the shoulder, from each end of which were fastened two cords with hooks to receive the bail of the pails, leaving the arms free except to steady them. He had also to cut wood for the fire. I afterwards came to take a more active part in these duties and used to wish I could go back to my primitive cradle. But time pushed me on whether I would or not, until I scaled the mountain top of life's activities; and now, when quietly descending into the valley, my gaze is turned affectionately towards those early days. I do not think they were always bright

and joyous, and I am sure I often chafed under the burdens imposed upon me; but now how inviting they

seem.

*

My next recollection is the raising of a frame barn behind the house, and of a niece of my father's holding me in her arms to see the men pushing up the heavy bents with long poles. The noise of the men shouting and driving in the wooden pins, with great wooden beetles, away up in the beams and stringers, alarmed me a great deal, but it all went up, and then one of the men mounted the plate, (the timber on which the foot of the rafter rests) with a bottle in his hand, and swinging it round his head three times, threw it off in the field. This was the usual ceremony in naming the building. If the bottle was unbroken, it was an omen of good luck. The bottle, I remember, was picked up whole, and shouts of congratulation followed; hence, I suppose, the prosperity that attended my father.

The only other recollection I have of this place was of my father, who was a very ingenious man, and could turn his hand to almost everything, making a cradle for my sister, for this addition to our number had occurred; but I have no remembrance of any such fanciful crib being made for my slumbers. Perhaps the sap-trough did duty for me in the house as well as in the bush. The next thing was our removal, which occurred in the winter, and all that I can recall of it is that my uncle took my mother, sister, and myself away in a sleigh, and we never returned to the little log house. My father had sold his farm, bought half of his old home, and came to live with his parents. They were Quakers. My grandfather was a short, robust old man, and very particular about his personal appearance. Half a century has elapsed since then, but the picture of the old man, taking his

* The term bent, whether correct or not, is used by carpenters for a part of a frame put together, and then raised as indicated.

walks about the place, in his closelyfitting snuff brown cut-away coat, knee breeches, broad-brimmed hat,and silver-headed cane is distinctly fixed in my memory. He died soon after we took up our residence with him, and the number who came from all parts of the country to the funeral was a great surprise to me. I could not imagine where so many people came from. The custom prevailed then, and no doubt does still, when a death occurred to send a messenger who called at every house for many miles around to give notice of the death and when and where the interment would take place.

My grandmother was a tall, neat, motherly old woman, beloved by everybody. She lived a number of years after her husband's death, and I seem to see her now sitting at one side of the old fire place knitting; she was always knitting, and turning out scores of thick warm socks and mittens for her grandchildren.

At this time a great change had taken place, both in the appearance of the country, and in the condition of the people. It is true that many of

the first settlers had ceased from their labours, but there were a good many left-old people now who were quietly enjoying, in their declining years, the fruit of their early industry. Commodious dwellings had taken the place of the first rude houses. Large frame barns and out-houses had grown out of the small log ones. The forest in the immediate neighbourhood had been cleared away, and well-tilled fields occupied its place. Coarse and scanty fare had been supplanted by a rich abundance of all the requisites that go to make home a scene of pleasure and contentment. Altogether a substantial prosperity was apparent. A genuine content, and a hearty good will, one towards another, in all the older townships existed. The settled part as yet, however, formed only a very narrow belt extending along the bay and lake shores. The great forest

The old home, as it was called, was always a place of attraction, and especially so to the young people, who were always sure of finding good cheer at grandfather's. What fun, after the small place called home, to have the run of a dozen of rooms, to hunt the big cellar, with its great heaps of potatoes and vegetables, huge casks of cider, and well-filled bins of apples, or to sit at table loaded with the good things which grandmother only could supply. How delicious the large piece of pumpkin pie tasted, and howtoohsome the rich crullers that melted in the mouth, that came between meals! Dear old body, I can see her now going to the great cupboard to get me something, saying as she goes, 'I'm sure the child is hungry.' And it was true, he was always hungry; and how he managed to stow away so much is a mystery I cannot now explain. There was no place in the world more to be desired than this, and no spot in all the past the recollection of which is more bright and joyous.

My father now assumed the management of affairs. The old people reserved one room to themselves, but it was free to all, particularly to us children. It was hard to tell sometimes which to choose, whether the kitchen, where the family were gathered round the cheerful logs blazing brightly in the big fire-place, or a stretch on the soft rag-carpet beside the box stove in grandmother's room. This room was also a sanctuary to which we often fled to escape punishment after doing some mischief. were sure of an advocate there, if we could reach it in time.

We

The house was a frame one, as nearly all the houses were in those days, and was painted a dark yellow. There were two kitchens, one was used for

washing and doing the heavier household work in; the other, considerably larger, was used by the family. In the latter was the large fire-place, around which gathered in the wintertime bright and happy faces, where the old men smoked their pipes in peaceful reverie, or delighted us with stories of other days, and the old lady plied her knitting,-where mother darned our socks, and father mended our boots, where the girls were sewing, and uncles were scraping axe handles with bits of glass to make them smooth. There were no drones in farm-houses then; there was something for every one to do. At one side of the fireplace was the large brick oven with its gaping mouth, closed with a small door easily removed where the bread and pies were baked, and in the fireplace an iron crane securely fastened in the jam and made to swing in and out with its row of iron pot-hooks, of different lengths, on which to hang the pots used in cooking. Cook-stoves had not yet appeared to cheer the housewife and revolutionize the kitchen. Joints of meat and poultry were roasted on turning spits, or were suspended before the fire by a cord and wire attached to the ceiling. Cooking was attended with more difficulties then. Meat was fried in long-handled pans, and the short-cake that so often graced the supper table, and played such havoc with the butter and honey, with the pancakes that came piping hot on the breakfast table, owed their finishing touch to the frying pan. The latter, however, were more frequently baked on a large griddle with a bow handle made to hook on the crane; this, on account of its larger surface, enabled the cook to turn out these much-prized cakes, when properly made, with greater speed ; and in a large family an expert hand was required to keep up the supply. Some years later an ingenious Yankee invented what was called a Reflector,' made of bright tin for baking with. It was a small tin oven with a slant

ing top, open at one side, and when required for use was set before the fire on the hearth. This simple contrivance was a great convenience and came into general use. Modern inventions in the appliances for cooking have very much lessened the labour and increased the possibilities of supplying a variety of dishes, but it has not improved the quality of them There were no better caterers to hungry stomachs than our mothers, whose practical education had been received in grandmother's kitchen. The other rooms of the house comprised a sitting-room,-used only when there was company-a parlour, four bed-rooms, and the room reserved for the old people. Up stairs were the sleeping and store-rooms. In the hall stood the tall old-fashioned house clock, with its long pendulum swinging to and fro with slow and measured beat. Its old face had looked upon the venerable sire before his locks were touched with the frost of age. When his children were born it indicated the hour, and had gone on telling off the days and years until they were grown. And when a wedding day had come, it rung a joyful peal through the house, and through the years the old hands travelled on, the hammer struck off the hours, and another generation came to look upon it and grow fa miliar with its constant tick.

The furniture was plain and substantial, more attention being given to durability than to style or ornament. Easy chairs-save the spacious rocking-chair for old women—and lounges were not seen. There was no time for lolling on well-stuffed cushions. The rooms were heated with large double box-stoves, very thick and heavy, made at Three Rivers, and by their side was always seen a large wood-box well filled with sound maple or beech-wood. But few pictures adorned the walls, and these were usually rude prints far inferior to those we get everyday now from the illustrated papers. Books, so

plentiful and cheap now-a-days, were then very scarce, and where a few could be found, they were mostly heavy doctrinal tomes piled away on some shelf where they were allowed to remain.

The home we now inhabited was altogether a different one from that we had left in the back concession, but it was like many another to be found along the bay shore. Besides our own family, there were two younger brothers of my father, and two grown up nieces, so that, when we all mustered round the table, there was a goodly number of hearty people always ready to do justice to the abundant provision made. This reminds me of an incident or two illustrative of the lavish manner with which a well-to-do farmer's table was supplied in those days. A Montreal merchant and his wife were spending an evening at a very highly-esteemed farmer's house. At the proper time supper was announced, and the visitors with the family gathered round the table which groaned, metaphorically speaking, under the load it bore. There was turkey, beef, and ham, bread and the favourite short-cake, sweet cakes in endless variety, pies, preserves, sauces, tea, coffee, cider, &c., &c. The visitors were amazed, as they might well be, at the lavish display of cooking, and they were pressed with well-meant kindness to partake heartily of everything. They yielded good-naturedly to the intreaties to try this and that as long as they could, and paused only when it was impossible to take any more. When they were leaving the merchant asked his friend when they were coming to Montreal, and insisted that they should come soon, promising if they would only let him know a little before when they were coming he would buy up everything there was to be had in the market for supper. On another occasion, an English gentleman was spending an evening at a neighbour's, and as usual the supper table was crowded with everything the kind

hearted hostess could think of. The guest was plied with dish after dish, and thinking it would be disrespectful if he did not take something from each, he continued to eat and take from the dishes as they were passed, until he found his plate and all the available space around him heaped up with cakes and pie. To dispose of all he had carefully deposited in his plate and around it, seemed utterly impossible, and yet he thought he would be considered rude if he did not finish what he had taken, and he struggled on, with the perspiration visible on his face, until in despair he asked to be excused, as he could not eat any more if it were to save his life.

It was the custom in those days for the hired help (the term servant was not used) to sit at the table with the family. On one occasion a Montreal merchant prince was on a visit at a wealthy quaker's, who owned a large farin and employed a number of men in the summer. It was customary in this house for the family to seat themselves first at the head of the table, the hired hands then all came in and took the lower end. This was the only distinction. They were served just as the rest of the family. On this occasion, the guest came out with the family and they were seated, then the hired men and girls came in and did the same. Whereupon the merchant left the table and the room. The old lady thinking that there was something the matter with the man, soon after followed him into the sitting room and asked him if he was ill. He said no. 'Then why did thee leave the table?' said the old lady. Because,' said he, 'I am not accustomed to eat with servants. Very well,' replied the old lady, if thee cannot eat with us thee will have to go without thy dinner." His honour concluded to pocket his dignity and submit to the rules of the house.

I was sent to school quite early, more, I fancy, to get me out of the way for a good part of the day, than

from any expectation that I would learn much. It took a long time to hammer the alphabet into my head, but if I was dull at school, I was noisy and mischievous enough at home, and very fond of tormenting my sisters. Hence, my parents-and no child ever had better ones-could not be blamed very much if they did send me to school for no other reason than to be

rid of me. The school house was close at hand, and is deeply graven in my memory. My first schoolmaster was an Englishman who had seen better days. He was a good scholar, I believe, but a poor teacher. The school house was a small square structure, with low ceiling. In the centre of the room was a box stove, around which the long wooden benches without backs were ranged. Next the walls were the desks, raised a little from the floor.

In the summer time the pupils were all of tender years, the large onesr being kept at home to help with the work. At the commencement of my educational course I was one of a little lot of urchins, who were ranged daily on hard wooden seats, with our feet dangling in the air, for seven or eight hours a day. In such a plight we were expected to be very good children, to make no noise, and to learn our lessons. It is a marvel that so many years had to elapse before parents and teachers could be brought to see that keeping children, in such a position for so many hours, was an act of great cruelty. The terror of the rod was the only thing that could keep us still, and that often failed. Sometimes, tired and weary, we fell asleep and tumbled off the bench, to be roused by the fall and the rod. In the winter time the small school room was filled to overflowing with the larger boys and girls. did not improve our condition, for we were more closely packed together, and were either shivering with the cold or being cooked with the red-hot stove. In a short time after, the old school house, where my father, I be

This

lieve, had got his schooling, was hoisted on runners, and with the aid of several yoke of oxen, was taken up the road about a mile and enlarged a little. This event brought my course of study to an end for a while. I next sat under the rod of an Irish pedagogue, an old man who evidently believed that the only way to get anything into a boy's head was to pound it in with a stick through his back. There was no discipline, and the noise we made seemed to rival a bedlam. We used to play all sorts of tricks on the old man, and I was not behind either in contriving or carrying them into execution. One day, however, I was caught and severely thrashed. This so mortified me, that I jumped out of the window and went home. An investigation followed, and I was whipped by my father and sent back. Poor old Dominie, he has long since put by his stick, and passed beyond the reach of unruly boys. Thus

I passed on from teacher to teacher, staying at home in the summer and resuming my books again in the winter. Sometimes I went to the old school house up the road, or to the one in an opposite direction, which was larger, and where there was generally a better teacher. But it was much farther, and I had to set off early in the cold frosty mornings with my books and dinner basket, often through deep snow and drifts. At night I had to get home in time to help to feed the cattle and get in the wood for the fires. The school houses then were generally small and uncomfortable, and the teachers were often of a very inferior order. The school system of Canada, which has since been moulded by the skilful hand of Dr. Ryerson into one of the best in the world, and will give to his industry and genius a more enduring name than stone or brass, was in my day very imperfect indeed. It was,

perhaps, up with the times. But when the advantages which the youth of this country possess now, are compared with the small facilities we had of