Cause-wet

and I can only just walk now. socks, holes in my shoes, no dinner, and sixteen miles to walk in heavy snow, and snow-shoes. I thank God that I ever got home; and I never should if Boulton had not beaten me every time I stopped, I was so utterly exhausted. I laugh at the whole thing now, but I did not whilst my feet were being thawed out. Carelessness, nothing else, except perhaps a slow circulation. My farm, eighteen acres broken, a house, or rather shanty, and stable. I shall have to go down below almost directly, probably to buy a team; they are so expensive up here, and bad too. It will pay me, as I get the ride back for nothing, and I don't want to have my horses dying in the stable, as most of the teams for sale up here do. Boulton wants $350 for his two mares, one twelve, the other fifteen years old. I can get a decent youngish team down below for $225, and it costs $75 to bring them up. I know a party in Ontario, whom I can depend upon

to choose a good team for me, so I shan't be swindled; and I can't depend on myself entirely, of course. I got a delightful letter from Eton to-day, a jolly letter, and so kind. Everard also wrote, short and pithy. . . . Love to all.

...

TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER.

Shore Lake Farm, April 21, 1882.—I have not written for a month: I plead guilty. I have received the sums, £600, Bank of Montreal, £50, Bank of England notes. I am not going to thank you for the above now, because I cannot; but I shall be back some time in the next four years, and then I will thank you. God grant I may repay you one hundredfold for your kindness to me, by leading a steady and upright life; showing that you have not misplaced your kindness. I will explain why I cannot get more than a certain amount of land. Manitoba is settled up. There is no more homesteading; I bought mine from a private individual.

The

great aim of the Canadian Government is to prevent speculation; and the laws are so framed that an individual cannot have more than 360 acres in his possession. A colonization company can take up 1,000,000 in D, if it like, but a single individual can't. Dash made his money in town lots-a species of gambling; in fact I would rather sit down and play a game of Nap, at $5 points, because I might have some idea of what I was doing. I intend to farm steadily for two or three years, then when I am older I may possibly speculate in land a bit. I possess 320 acres, 15 of which are broken. I rent Boulton's place at a nominal cost, 38 acres of which are broken; so I shall have 53 acres in crop.

Wheat Boulton's place.-Field across the river, 16 acres; 28 bushels; seed, gold drop. My place.-9-acre field; 15 bushels; seed, Scotch pips, red. 4-acre field; 8 ditto.

Oats: Boulton's place.-Field in front of house, 8 acres; 24 bushels, black and white.

Field behind house, 10 acres; 30 bushels, black and white.

Barley: My place.-1 acre; 3 bushels, hulless. Timothy Boulton's place.-4 acres.

Now this was my line of argument. If I ran my own place alone I should have to do it by myself; it would keep me going pretty briskly, but would not keep an extra man. Now, by running Boulton's place, I can afford to hire a good and experienced man, and whilst keeping him occupied learn myself, as of course I am totally ignorant of breaking, sowing, etc. This summer I hope to build a granary and a house; a shanty and a stable I have already. Possibly I may turn the present stable into a hog-pen, and build another stable instead of a house,I have not settled yet. It is 9.30 p.m., and I have just been out to give the horses their oats, and see that they are all right before going to bed. Can you picture me all alone, no one nearer than three-quarters of a mile? Cook for

myself, bake for myself, wash for myself, and eat my meals, go to bed, get up, all by myself. This is Friday. Next Tuesday, Bob Irving, my hired man, a jolly, hard-working labourer comes; have known him for the last five months, and have never seen him without a smile upon his face. I expect we shall get through our summer's work in style. I got a nice letter from Frank, and another equally nice from Aunt Emma last mail. By-the-bye, I have never told you why I have not written for so long. I was in Winnipeg for four days, and it took me six days to get there, and six to come back; and every place was so full, I could not get a place to write in away from home. I could not find Palmer. I found a batch of emigrants who knew him, but they did not know where he was lodging. You see that, on account of the storms, no mail either arrived here or left, for three weeks; indeed, we had only one mail for five weeks: the roads were blocked