indefinite future, among a few emigrant labourers, far away from home, with irregular means of communication, having to drudge through the heat of summer and the cold of winter? Last Saturday, for example, 98° in the shade, working in the broiling sun, pitching hay in a great hurry for fear of rain. In the loft where we were packing the hay, there were myself and another fellow, and it was so terribly hot and stuffy there, that the fellow fainted, and the whole of the work fell on me. When I came out of the loft, every time in the broiling sun, it seemed positively cool comparatively. course that was an exceptional day, and haying is the worst and hardest work in the year. That day we worked till ten, and packed the hay by lantern light. I walked upstairs, lay down on my bed, and slept till morning just as I was, I was so tired out. I am staying to find out how much determination I have, so as to find out in time whether I am morally and physically

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strong enough for the work I have chosen myself. By the time this reaches home, holidays will have begun. It will be the time I shall miss home most, but I shall know I have done more in the game of life since last August than all the other years put together. I must write to grandmamma the first opportunity, but I have not much time now; we often work till nine, then I tumble into bed as quickly as possible.*

TO HIS MOTHER.

One

The Farm, July 26, 1881.—I have just read your and father's letter. Firstly, business. pair of fisherman's boots, and one pair of thick common boots will do splendidly. Moccasins are useless in a farm, on account of the manure and stuff which soaks through. I used them

* When he could get away, he was always made welcome to a substantial supper by a kind friend, from whose house his letters were always written, his parents most gratefully acknowledge this thoughtful kindness.

last winter when working in the bush. Both Mr. and Mrs. Smith kindly wish me to come back when I have worked my time out, and I probably shall. I go out there every Sunday, and I slept there Saturday night. I am afraid my last letter was not a very reassuring one, but I was rather downhearted. I hope you saw that, and knew it was only a passing fit. Now I shall describe to you a Canadian harvest. Our farm is 270 acres, mostly laid out in grain. The men are as follows:The boss. Jem, hired from May to October. Sam ditto. Ted (self), July and August. All living in the house. Pattinson, a Lincolnshire man, from near Wisbeach, hired by the day. Niel, hired by the day. Boss drives the reaper; Jem, Sam, Pattinson, Niel are the binders; Ted, shocker. We start, say a twenty-acre field of fall wheat, as follows: Directly after breakfast, 6 a.m., Jem starts for the field; mows it all round, with Sam beginning the

other side; Niel and Pattinson, following, are binding. I, meantime, am harnessing the boss's team, and getting two pailfuls of water with oatmeal in it. When all this is done, we wait till the reaper has taken four turns, then each binder has a row, then we all start; the machine making four rounds to the four binders one. I, myself, always close behind, shocking them up directly they are thrown from the binders' hands. Last week we cut thirty-six acres of fall wheat, bound and shocked it; and six of barley. One day and a half was wet. We have now fourteen more of fall wheat, and eight of barley, to cut. Then we draw it all into the barns, and thrash it out; and start on the oats, peas, and spring wheat. No stacks here, because the grain grows in the stack directly. I enclose a bit out of the Toronto Globe, about the north-west territory. Of course it is greatly exaggerated; but there is probably some foundation for what it says. If all goes well, I shall

launch out my little craft next March. I shall get my grant, and then see which is best-to hire out for the summer, and draw wood in winter for building directly spring comes on, or what. I should like to work through the summer near my own lot, building my hut in the odd hours, and at the same time making friends with my employer, so that he will take an interest in me, and give me a hand and good advice. When I am settled, I shall get you to find me some intending emigrants, as labour up here is scarce in harvest and seeding time. I am beginning to have some confidence in myself. My plans don't assume such large proportions; my ideas are connecting themselves; and, in short, I am beginning to feel that when I say I will do it, the thing must be done, through thick and through thin. I am my own tutor, but my purse, this time five years, will be my examiner, and dollars and cents will represent the marks I have made in the pre