PREFACE

To present a picture of the early settlements of Ontario and enter into the daily life of the pioneers is a most fascinating task. As we visit these historic districts and mingle with the descendants of the men and women who built the first log cabins in the forest, we imbibe the spirit of their simple life. Many of the old landmarks recall the stories of strange experiences we have so often heard, and the presence of the very flesh and blood of the first actors in the drama of the long struggle in the wilderness makes the scene all the more realistic. We think we can discern in the honest faces and general demeanour of these living links in our history something which indicates a deep-rooted sense of citizenship and a consciousness of a responsibility in keeping inviolate the traditions of their ancestors.

In the following pages I have endeavoured to bring the reader into closer touch with the first settlers. Many excellent historical works have traced the development of our province and laid before us the achievements of our public men. In vain may we turn over volume after volume in our search for information concerning the evolution of the homestead, and the customs and peculiarities of the common folk of long ago.

For the most part the sources of my information have been original documents and interviews with old men and women, many of whom have since passed away. Even from such sources it is an easy matter to fall into error; but I have discarded what I feared was not trustworthy, and believe that I can confidently ask the reader to accept the general statements of facts as thoroughly reliable.

I wish to acknowledge the receipt of many valuable suggestions from the Honourable Mr. Justice Riddell of Osgoode Hall, Toronto, and Dr. James H. Coyne of St. Thomas. I am also deeply indebted to Dr. M. R. Morden of Adrian, Michigan; the late Peter Bristol of Napanee, and Elisha Ruttan of Adolphustown, for much useful information regarding the pioneers.

W. S. H.

Napanee, Ontario,

December 1st, 1915.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

1. The First Settlers of Upper Canada

2. Building and Furnishing the Log Cabin

3. The Struggle with the Forest

4. Early Courts and Elections

5. School Teachers and Preachers

6. Provisions and Public Highways

7. Doctors, Domestic Remedies, and Funerals

PIONEER LIFE AMONG
THE LOYALISTS

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST SETTLERS OF UPPER CANADA

One of the unexpected outcomes of the Revolutionary War was the effective settlement of what afterwards became known as Upper Canada. Up to that time the greater part of this rich territory was a wilderness, to which the white man had attached little value, except in respect to the part it played, through its chain of forts, in giving access to the great fur-producing tracts of the interior of the continent. Although the French governors had frequently advocated the introduction of settlers into this part of Canada, with a view to establishing the supremacy of France more securely upon the Great Lakes, very little had been accomplished in that direction.

The net result was a few military posts along the border and a French settlement in the neighbourhood of Detroit. The entire European population grouped about a few centres did not exceed 2,000. Throughout the rest of this territory, where now we find busy towns, thriving villages, and well-equipped farms, one might have travelled for weeks without meeting a human being, save, perhaps, a solitary trapper, with a small bundle of peltries upon his back.

That the rich farm lands of what is now the banner province of Canada were apparently so long overlooked might appear strange, if we do not bear in mind that there was no shortage of territory well adapted to agricultural purposes on the Atlantic seaboard and on the lower St. Lawrence. It must also be remembered that the fur trade had for nearly two centuries held first place in the regard of the governing bodies of Canada, and that little care was bestowed upon the agricultural possibilities of the lands bordering upon the Upper St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes.

The manner in which the settlements were begun was more remarkable than the long delay in beginning them. In most instances, new territories have been opened up for settlement by a few hardy pioneers, whose numbers were added to, year after year; but here we have a whole colony, coming in as one body, taking up all the desirable lands in the front concessions of a score of townships.

The Loyalists were above the ordinary type of emigrants who, too frequently, having made a failure of life in their native surroundings, seek other fields in which to begin anew their struggle for existence. When the thirteen British colonies declared their independence, there were many thousands of their best citizens, men of means and influence, who looked upon the British flag as their best safe-guard of freedom and justice, and they declined to take up arms against their Motherland. Their loyalty brought down upon their heads the wrath of the leaders of the revolutionary movement. Their property was confiscated, some were thrown into prison, and, in a few instances, the death penalty was inflicted, for no other offence than their allegiance to the British Crown. In the face of such threatened dangers thousands rallied to the standard of the king, and many more, who for various reasons, did not enlist in the army, made no secret of their loyalty to their sovereign. When hostilities were concluded, the persecutions still continued, and the Loyalists found themselves little better than outcasts from their own homes. Giving up all hope of regaining their property or receiving compensation for their losses, they set about to seek new homes under the flag for which they had sacrificed so much. Thousands went to England, many more thousands emigrated to the British West Indies, Nova Scotia, and what is now New Brunswick, and large numbers were attracted to the rich farm lands in that territory which was afterwards known as Upper Canada.

In the autumn of 1783 a great body of emigrants sailed from New York, and, coming around through the Gulf of St. Lawrence, wintered at Sorel, in the present province of Quebec. In the following June they proceeded by means of flat-bottomed boats, to the land provided for them. By far the greater number settled in the new townships laid out, under instructions from Governor Haldimand, on the St. Lawrence, and as far west as the head of the Bay of Quinte. Only a few went farther west and settled in the neighbourhood of Niagara and Detroit.

During the next four years straggling bands of one or more families came by different routes to share the fortunes of the first great army of settlers, and the strictest care was exercised by the authorities to see that none but those who had demonstrated their loyalty to the British cause were admitted to the new settlements.

The appellation "United Empire Loyalist" was not conferred indiscriminately upon all applicants, but was a "Mark of Honour" bestowed only upon those who had taken their stand for the unity of the Empire, and who had allied themselves with the Royalists before the Treaty of Separation in 1783. The terms of the proclamation creating this new Canadian aristocracy were broad enough to embrace practically all of the first settlers of 1784, and those who arrived during the succeeding four years.

In 1788 representations were made to the governor, Lord Dorchester, that there were across the border many relatives of the Loyalists, and other persons, who, although they had not joined the royal standard, were favourably disposed towards the British. With the view of securing a further body of desirable settlers, Lord Dorchester gave instructions that all applicants, who upon examination proved to be unexceptionable in their loyalty and good character, should be given certificates of location for lots of not more than two hundred acres to each: but upon the express condition that they should become bona fide settlers. Never were the portals of a new settlement more scrupulously guarded. None but the strong and determined would in any event venture north to hew out a home in the forest, and the government took good care that only those who were likely to become good citizens were admitted.

When, by the Constitutional Act of 1791, the separate provinces of Upper and Lower Canada were created, the lieutenant-governor of Upper Canada, John Graves Simcoe, threw the gate wide open and issued a proclamation inviting emigrants to enter the new province, without any adequate provision for enquiring into their loyalty or character. Among those responding to the governor's invitation were some who had actually borne arms against the king. Many of the Loyalists resented this lack of discrimination and complained that the favours, which should have been reserved for those only who had remained faithful in their allegiance to the king, were being showered upon his enemies.[#]

[#] Life and Letters of the Honourable Richard Cartwright, page 93.

These criticisms upon the character of the new-comers were, no doubt, well merited in some cases; but, whatever views they may have entertained during the stormy days of the revolution, they could have had only one object in coming to Canada, and that was to better their condition. They did not need to be told that their interests were identical with those of the earlier settlers who had entered the country at a time when it was more difficult to gain admission. They were not entitled to receive the "Mark of Honour", but before many years had passed all differences had been forgotten and they and the Loyalists worked together for the common good.

The main body of Loyalists, the settlers of 1784, to the number of about ten thousand, came in organized bands, some being remnants of the battalions that had been engaged in the war, and, in some cases, they were under the command of the same officers whom they had followed while upon active service. They, however, were not military organizations in the sense in which we view the term to-day; they were not fighting machines, but were bent upon a peaceful mission. In anticipation of their coming, the government surveyors had been busy for months in laying out the townships. The newcomers were experienced farmers, and understood well the advantages of a home upon the shores of a body of fresh water. In a country, where as yet there were no roads, the water afforded an easy means of communication by boats in the summer, and by sleds upon the ice in winter. They also looked forward to the future, when their flocks and herds, pasturing upon the cleared lands, could find abundance of water to drink without leaving their enclosures. Many of them had previously lived near to the bays, lakes, and rivers of their native States, and had learned to love the companionship of the water.

The longer one has lived upon the banks of a stream or the shores of a bay, the more loath is one to live amid surroundings of a different character. There is a charm about the presence of the water which baffles any effort to describe it. There is a sublime majesty about a mountain, a weird loneliness about a desert, an appealing mystery about a prairie, but a body of water, particularly a small navigable one, seems to comport with all one's moods.

It would have been difficult to convince some of our pious and sainted grandmothers that our lakes, bays, and rivers did not leave their moral effect upon those who lived along their shores. Who is so dead to the influences of his surroundings that he has not stood spell-bound upon the shore as the boisterous waves broke with an angry roar at his feet? No sooner has one wave spent its energy than another, with a fury as relentless, rushes madly forward, followed by countless others; and yet there is no apparent loss of power. Or who could sit unmoved, upon a moonlight night, and look upon the silver sheen upon the placid bosom of the water, and not feel the inspiring presence of that grand object lesson of "Peace! Perfect Peace!"? Why should it not be a part of the divine plan of the Creator to mould our characters by these evidences of His power and omnipresence?

CHAPTER II

BUILDING AND FURNISHING THE LOG CABIN

When the first Loyalists landed at the different points along the shores, the lots had not yet, in most cases, been marked out by the surveyors; and they were obliged to wait several weeks before the "drawings" could take place. They had brought with them a number of military tents, which had seen service during the Revolutionary War. Camping out in tents, as a recreation for a few weeks during the summer, is still looked upon as a rather pleasing pastime. It was, however, very annoying to the Loyalists. They had left their homes across the border several months before, to enable them to be ready to take possession of their new homes in the early spring, and every day lost meant one day less for them to prepare for the coming winter.

They had no alternative but to pitch their tents near where they had landed, and wait until the surveyors had completed their work. Several weeks were thus passed in idleness, and the first summer was far spent before the "drawings" took place. This was a simple process. Small pieces of paper, upon which were written the numbers of the lots to be apportioned, were placed in a hat, and the surveyor, with a map spread out before him, superintended the operation. The officers came first, and drew their lots in the first concession, fronting upon the water. As each drew forth a piece of paper from the hat, the surveyor entered his name upon the corresponding number upon the map. After the officers had been served, the other members of the company went through the same ceremony. During the few weeks that they had been waiting, some had made short trips through the forest, and had observed favourable locations, and after the "drawings" were completed, there was more or less trafficking in lots, and exchanging locations for a consideration; but for the most part each accepted the lot drawn, and hurried away to his future home.

The white village upon the shore was soon a scene of great confusion. Each family secured a few days' rations from the government supplies, packed up the tent and their other belongings, and set out through the lonely forest. Unless one has visited a section of Canada from which none of the timber has yet been removed, it is difficult to form a proper conception of the condition of the older settled portions one hundred and thirty years ago. The debris of the forest lay rotting as it had fallen, the swamps were undrained, the rivers and creeks were unbridged, and the only roads were the blazed trails left by the surveying parties. The clearing up and draining of the farms has brought about a great change in the low lands. Large impassable creeks have been reduced to small streams that can be crossed with ease, and the swamps, which threatened to mire any who ventured over them a century ago, furnish now a safe and firm foothold.

It was with difficulty that the lots could be located, as there was nothing to indicate the boundary lines but the "markers" placed by the surveyors. When the little family group arrived at their destination, they pitched their tent again, and the housewife busied herself in preparing their first meal in their new home, while the husband surveyed his domain, noting the character of the soil, the presence of creeks, mounds, and other conditions favourable for the first clearing and the erection of a house. That the selection was in most cases wisely made, is attested to-day by the excellent natural surroundings of the old homesteads.

As they partook of their first meal in their wilderness home they contrasted their primitive surroundings with the comforts and luxuries they had left behind them; but, with no regret for the sacrifices they had made, they laid their plans for the future. On the morrow the father, and the sons if there were any, and not infrequently the mother, too, set out to do battle with the forest. The short-handled ship axe, not much heavier than the modern hatchet, was their principal weapon. They laboured with a will and cleared a space large enough for the cabin.

There was no cellar nor foundation, as for our buildings of to-day. A small excavation, to be reached through a trap-door in the floor by means of a short ladder, served the purpose of the former, and a boulder placed under the ends of the base-logs at each corner of the building was ample support for the walls. It was slow work felling the huge pines, cutting them into proper lengths, hewing them into shape, and laying them into position; but slowly the building rose until it attained the height of nine feet. Then the rafters were set in position. Then, too, the chimney was commenced. A stone foundation was carefully built up to the level of the floor and crowned with flat stones, to serve as the hearth. The huge fire-place was then built of stones, and above it was erected a chimney in a manner similar to the house, but instead of using logs, small sticks, two or three inches in diameter, were laid tier upon tier in the form of a hollow rectangle. It was carried a foot or two above the peak and plastered over with clay, inside and out. In many of the early dwellings there were no chimneys, and the smoke was allowed to escape through a hole in the roof as best it could.

In some of the first cabins the floor was of earth. If made of wood, large timbers were used, squared on the sides and hewed smooth on the upper surface. Paint was very scarce, and a painted floor was a luxury which very few could afford. A clean floor was the pride of the mistress of the house. Coarse, clean sand and hot water were the materials used to obtain it. Once a week, or oftener, the former would be applied with a heavy splint broom, and the latter with a mop. The hotter the water the quicker it would dry. While the perspiring mother was scrubbing amid clouds of steam, the tub of boiling water was a constant source of danger to her young children.

The roof was composed of thick slabs, hollowed out in the form of shallow troughs, and these were laid alternately with the hollow sides up, the convex form of one over-lapping the edges of the concave forms of those en either side. There was an opening for a door, but no lumber was to be had at any price, unless it was sawed out by the tedious process of the whip-saw, so doors there were none; but a quilt hung over the opening served the purpose. Two small windows, one on either side of the door, admitted light to the dwelling. These windows would hold four or six 7" x 9" panes of glass, but many a settler had to content himself with oiled paper instead. The sash he whittled out with his pocket-knife. Sometimes there was no attempt at transparency; and the window was opened and closed by sliding a small piece of board, set in grooves, backwards and forwards across the aperture. The interstices between the logs were filled with sticks and moss, plastered over with clay. Thus the pioneer's house was complete, and not a nail or screw was used in its construction.

When lumber became available, a plank or thick board door took the place of the quilt in the doorway. This was fastened by a strong wooden latch on the inside. The latch was lifted from without by means of a leather string attached to it and passed through a hole a few inches above, and when the inmates of the house retired for the night, or did not wish to be molested, the string was pulled inside. The old saying, "the latch-string is out", was a figurative method of expressing a welcome, or saying "the door is not barred against you." The pioneers had big hearts, and to their credit it can be said the latch-string was rarely pulled in when a stranger sought a meal or a night's lodging.

If the family were large the attic was converted into a second room by carrying the walls up a log or two higher. Poles, flattened on both sides, were laid from side to side to serve as a ceiling to the room below and as a floor for the one above. A hole left in one corner gave admittance by means of a ladder, and one small window in the gable completed the upper room.

For the same reason that there was no door, there was precious little furniture. Some of the Loyalists brought with them from their former homes a few pieces—a grandfather's chair, a chest of drawers, or a favourite bedstead; but, as a rule, there was no furniture but such as was hewed out with the axe and whittled into shape and ornamented with a pocket-knife. A pocket-knife and a pen-knife were not the same. The former was a strong knife made to serve many useful purposes, while the latter was a small knife carried mainly for the purpose of shaping quill pens.

For a bedstead, there was a platform of poles across one end of the room, about two feet above the floor, supported by inserting the ends between the logs in the wall. Bough benches with four legs served as seats, and a table was similarly constructed on a larger scale. Later on, when lumber was obtainable, these articles of furniture were replaced by more serviceable ones. The deal table, the board bench, and the old-fashioned chair with the elm bark bottom and back, woven as in a basket, were one step in advance. It not infrequently happened that in large families there were not enough seats to accommodate all, and the younger members stood up at the table during meal-time or contented themselves with a seat upon the floor. If a bedstead could be afforded it was sure to be a four-poster with tester and side curtains. "What was a tester?" do I hear someone enquire? It was a cloth canopy supported by the four tall bed-posts. Bunks were built against the walls, which served as seats in the daytime; but when opened out, served as beds at night. Mattresses were made of boughs, corn husks, straw, or feathers, and rested upon wooden slats, or more frequently cords laced from side to side and end to end of the framework of the bedstead. A trundle bed for the children was stowed away under the bedstead during the daytime and hauled out at night. This was like a large bureau drawer, with rollers or small wooden wheels on the bottom and handles in front. The handles consisted of short pieces of rope, the ends of which ran through two holes and were knotted on the inner side.

As soon as the iron could be procured, a crane was swung over the fire-place, and from it were suspended the iron tea-kettle and the griddle. The latter was a large disc upon which the pancakes were made. It was supported by an iron bale, and was large enough to hold eight or ten fair-sized cakes. The frying-pans were similar to those in use to-day, but were furnished with handles three feet long, so that they could be used over the hot coals of the fire-place. The bake-kettle was an indispensable article in every household. It was about eighteen inches in diameter, stood upon short legs, and would hold four or five two-pound loaves, or their equivalent. The coals were raked out on the hearth, the kettle set over them and more coals heaped upon the iron lid. These were replenished, above and below, from time to time, until the bread was thoroughly baked. The bake-kettle was superseded by the reflector, which was an oblong box of bright tin, enclosed on all sides but one. It was placed on the hearth with the open side next a bed of glowing coals. In it were placed the tins of dough raised a few inches from the bottom, so that the heat could circulate freely about the loaves. The upper part of the reflector was removable, to enable the housewife to inspect the contents.

The reflector in time gave way to the bake-oven, which was built in the wall next the fire-place, so that one chimney would serve for both, or the oven was built outdoors under the same roof as the smoke-house. The latter was a comparatively air-tight brick or stone chamber used for smoking beef, and the hams and shoulders of the pigs. Before the advent of the smoke-house, strips of beef required for summer use were dried by suspending them from pegs in the chimney.

The reflector was sometimes used for roasting meat, but where the family could afford it, a roaster was kept for that purpose. The roaster was smaller than the reflector, but constructed in a similar manner and, running from end to end through the centre, was a small iron bar, one end of which terminated in a small handle or crank. This bar, called a spit, was run through the piece of meat, and by turning the handle from time to time the meat was revolved and every portion of the surface was in turn brought next the fire. The drippings from the meat were caught in a dripping-pan placed underneath for the purpose. These drippings were used for basting the roasting meat, and this was done with a long-handled basting spoon through an opening in the back, which could be easily closed at will.

As there were no matches in the early days, the fire was kept constantly burning, and when not required the coals were covered over with ashes, where they would remain alive for hours. Occasionally the coals would die out and then one of the younger members was sent away to a neighbour to obtain a pan of live ones. Most families were skilled in making a fire by striking sparks from a flint upon a dry combustible substance, or by rapidly revolving one dry piece of pine against another, as the Indians used to do; but these practices were slow and were not resorted to except in extreme cases.

The blazing logs in the fire-place furnished ample light during the winter evenings. The inventive genius of man has since produced the kerosene lamp, gas, acetylene, electricity, and other illuminants, but none of these can furnish the bright welcome of the pine knots blazing about the old-fashioned back-log. If any other artificial light was required, the tallow dip was the only alternative. This dip was a tallow candle, in use before moulds were introduced. A kettle was placed over the coals with five or six inches of water in the bottom. When the water was brought to the boiling point there was added the melted tallow. This remained on the surface of the water. The only service the water was intended to render was to support the tallow by raising it so many inches above the bottom of the kettle, where it could be used much more easily than it could if it remained at the bottom. The candle wicks were twisted with a loop at one end, which was slipped over a small stick. Five or six wicks would be thus suspended from the stick and slowly dipped into the liquid tallow, by which process the wicks became saturated. As soon as the tallow congealed they were dipped in again, and the operation repeated until the wick was surrounded by a thick coating of tallow very similar to the ordinary wax or tallow candle of to-day, but not so smooth or uniform in size as those made at a later period in the moulds.

Dishes were as scarce as cooking utensils. A few earthenware plates, bowls, and a platter were displayed upon a shelf; and they were all the house could boast of. Others were whittled out of the fine-grained wood of the poplar and served the purpose fairly well until the Yankee peddler arrived with the more desirable pewter ware.

A corner cupboard, from whose mysterious depths, even in our time, our grandmothers used to produce such stores of cookies, doughnuts, tarts, and pies, completed the equipment of the first house of the pioneer.

CHAPTER III

THE STRUGGLE WITH THE FOREST

Unless the site for the homestead was conveniently near a spring or other never-failing supply of fresh water, one of the settler's first requirements was a well. The location for this was, as a rule, determined by a divining-rod of witch-hazel in the hands of an expert. Confidence in this method of ascertaining the presence of water has not yet died out (the writer witnessed the payment of five dollars last summer for a service of this kind). When the well was dug and stoned up, heavy poles were laid over it to protect it. A pole, terminating in a crotch several feet above the ground, was planted ten or twelve feet from the well—the height depending upon the depth of the well. In this crotch rested another pole, called a "sweep", from the small end of which, suspended over the centre of the well, hung the bucket. The sweep was so balanced that its heavy end would lift the bucket of water from the well with very little effort upon the part of the operator.

During the first season, barns and stables were not required, as the settler had neither stock nor crop of grain. When he did need barns and stables, they were built of logs in the same manner as the house.

A small clearing about the house was made the first year, and in this was planted some turnip seed. This patch was carefully guarded and yielded a small crop of roots, which were stored away for winter use in a root-cellar built for the purpose. The root-cellar was a small, rough enclosure of logs, built in a bank or the side of a hill and covered over with earth.

Little further progress could be made in the new home until more land was cleared, stock introduced, and farming operations begun in earnest. The clearing was accomplished only after many years, as the land was densely wooded, and even with the aid of the cross-cut saw and the oxen it was slow work getting ready for the plow. The farmers worked early and late battling with the forest, single-handed and in "bees"; cutting and burning the valuable timber, which to-day would yield a fortune; then, the only return from this timber was the potash made from the ashes. The stumps were most unyielding, particularly those of the pine; and all kinds of contrivances were devised to uproot them. Sometimes they were burned out, but this was a slow process, and a large portion of the soil about them would be injured by the fire. Blasting powder was used and many patterns of stump machines were employed, but the most common and perhaps the most satisfactory method was to sever the roots that could be easily reached, hitch a logging-chain to one side, bring it up over the top and let the oxen tip over the stump by sheer brute force. The pine stumps made excellent fuel for the fire-places and were also used for fences.

The word "potash" is indicative of the process of its manufacture and the chief article from which it was made. It was in great demand as a bleaching agent and was extensively used in the making of soap. Shiploads of it were annually exported from Canada. Nearly every farmer had a leach, a large V-shaped vat, which he filled with ashes. Over these he poured a quantity of water, which filtered through the ashes, dissolved, took up in solution the alkaline salts, and trickled out of the bottom in the form of lye. A certain amount of this liquid was required for the manufacture of soft soap for the farmer's own use. This was made by adding some animal fat to the lye and boiling it down for several hours. The ordinary fire-place provided all the ashes needed for this purpose. The large quantity made from burning the timber in clearing up the land was carried one stage farther for convenience in handling. The lye was boiled down in a huge kettle capable of holding fifty gallons or more, and, when it reached the proper consistency, it was transferred to a large iron pot, known as a cooler, where it congealed into a solid, and in that form received the name of potash. When the country store-keeper became firmly established he received it in exchange for his merchandise, and not infrequently purchased the ashes and manufactured it himself upon a large scale. Some of the farmers hauled their ashes in with their oxen; but the merchant also kept one or more teams thus employed, when not engaged in drawing his goods to and from the nearest shipping point. Up and down the concessions the creaking ash-wagons went, gathering in all that was left of the once proud forest that had been cleared away to make room for the plow. Convenient to the store was an ash-yard, with half a dozen leaches in operation, and the fires were kept roaring under the kettles. Here the wagons unloaded the ashes upon a platform suspended from one end of an evenly balanced beam, while iron weights of fifty-six pounds each, or some other fractional part of the long ton, were placed upon a smaller platform suspended from the other end of the beam. This was the customary method of weighing bulky substances that could not be conveniently weighed by the steelyards.

When the first crop of grain was obtained, it was harvested with the crude implements of the day and conveyed to the threshing floor. As a rule this consisted of a bare piece of ground, sometimes covered with boards or flat stones, but more frequently the bare earth had no covering. Here the grain was pounded out with a flail, and Nature supplied the fanning-mill; the mixed grain and chaff were tossed into the air during a stiff breeze, and the chaff was blown away.

To convert the wheat into flour was a more difficult matter. The government had provided a few little hand-mills, but they were not adapted to the purpose; so that the settler took a lesson from the Indian, burned a large hole in the top of an oak stump and pounded the wheat to a powder with a pestle or a cannon ball suspended from the end of a sweep. It was not many years before government mills were erected at different points, where there was a sufficient supply of water-power. The localities thus served suffered little inconvenience, as compared with less favoured districts.

Ten, fifteen, or twenty years wrought a great change in the wilderness home. Small clearings were everywhere to be seen. Barns had been built, the houses had been enlarged, and the melodious tinkling of bells betrayed the presence of cattle. Sheep and swine were also found on every farm, but they had to be guarded to protect them from marauding bears and wolves. Of horses there were but few. Awkward as the ox may appear, he was more than a match for the horse in finding a sure footing among the stumps, logs, and fallen timbers. Breaking in "Buck and Bright" to come under the yoke and to respond to the "gee", "haw", and the snap of the whip was a tedious undertaking, but was successfully accomplished.

The general store made its appearance, but the pioneer had learned to be independent and still supplied most of his own wants. He raised his own flax, and when it was ripe he pulled it by hand, tied it into small sheaves so that it would dry quickly, and shocked it up. When it was cured, it was taken to the barn and threshed out with a flail. The straw was then spread out on the ground and left for two or three weeks, until it had rotted sufficiently to permit the stalks to be broken without severing the outer rind, which supplied the shreds. The object was to get it in such a condition that this outer part could be freed from the inner. It was first put through a crackle, which was a bench four feet long, composed of three or four boards standing on their edges and just far enough apart, that three or four similar boards, framed together and operated from a hinge like a pair of nut-crackers, would, when closed down, drop into the several spaces between the lower boards. The straw was passed over the lower boards at right angles, and the operator raised and lowered the upper frame, bringing it down on the flax, breaking the stalks, and loosening the outer shreds from the inner pulp. To remove the pulp the stalks were then drawn over a heckle, which was a board with scores of long nails protruding through. This combed the coarser pulp away, when the same process was repeated over a finer heckle, which left the shreds ready to be spun into thread on a spinning wheel similar to, but smaller than that used in spinning wool. The thread was then bleached, dyed, wound into balls, and passed on to the weaver. The farmer also raised his own sheep, sheared them, and washed and carded the wool.

Every maiden served her apprenticeship at the spinning wheel, and her education was not complete until she had learned how to spin the yarn, pass it over the swift, and prepare it for the loom, which had become a part of the equipment of nearly every house. The linen, flannel, and fullcloth for the entire family were made upon the premises. Service was more sought after than style, particularly in the "everyday clothes"; and, if the mother or maiden aunt could not cut and make a suit, the first itinerant tailor who happened along was installed as a member of the household for a fortnight and fitted out the whole family for the next year.

The boots and shoes were also homemade, or at least made at home. Somewhere about every farm was to be found a tanning-trough, in which a cowhide would be immersed for three weeks in a weak solution of lye to remove the hair and any particles of flesh still adhering to the skin. It was then transferred to a tub containing a solution of oak bark and left for several months, after which it was softened by kneading and rubbing, and was then ready to be made up. The making of the boots required considerable skill. A man can wear and obtain good service from an ill-made suit of clothes, but a poor-fitting pair of boots is an abomination likely to get the wearer into all sorts of trouble. Corns and bunions are not of modern origin, but have afflicted the human race ever since boots were first worn. A kit of shoemaker's tools, composed of a last, hammer, awls, and needles, was to be found in every house; and some member of the family was usually expert in adding a half-sole or applying a patch; few, however, attempted to make the boots. The travelling shoemaker went about from house to house and performed this service. A few years later every neighbourhood had its tannery, and every village its one or more shoemakers. The tanner took his toll for each hide; and the shoemaker, for a bag of potatoes, a roll of butter, or a side of pork, would turn out a pair of boots, which would long outwear the factory-made article of to-day.

The skins of the bear, fox, and racoon furnished fur caps for the winter; and the rye straw supplied the material for straw hats for summer. In nearly every house some one would be found capable of producing the finished articles from these raw materials. The milliner, as such, would have had a hard time in earning a living a hundred years ago, as head-gear at that time was worn to protect the head.

The life of the early settlers was not all work and drudgery. They had their hours of recreation, and what is best of all, they had the happy faculty, in many matters, of making play out of work. This was accomplished by means of "bees". There were logging bees, raising bees, stumping bees, and husking bees for the men, while the women had their quilting bees and paring bees. The whole neighbourhood would be invited to these gatherings. It may be that upon the whole they did not accomplish more than could have been done single-handed, except at the raisings, which required many hands to lift the large timbers into place; but work was not the only object in view. Man is a gregarious animal and loves to mingle with his fellow men. The occasions for public meetings of any kind during the first few years were very rare. There were no fairs, concerts, lectures, or other public entertainments, not even a church, school, or political meeting, so, in their wisdom, the early settlers devised these gatherings for work—and work they did. but, Oh! the joy of it! All the latest news gathered from every quarter was discussed, notes were compared on the progress made in the clearings, the wags and clowns furbished up their latest jokes, and all enjoyed themselves in disposing of the good things brought forth from the corner cupboard.

Perhaps some special mention should be made of the logging bee, since it stands out as the only one of these jolly gatherings that was regarded as a necessary evil, particularly by the female members of the family. Perhaps the grimy appearance of the visitors had something to do with the esteem in which they were held at such times. The logging bee followed the burning of the fallow, which consumed the underbrush, the tops and branches of the trees, and left the charred trunks to be disposed of. In handling these, the workers soon became black as negroes; and the nature of the work seemed to demand an extraordinary consumption of whiskey. Anyway, the liquor was consumed; the men frequently became disorderly, and concluded the bee with one or more drunken fights. It was this feature of the logging bees that made them unpopular with the women.

The afternoon tea now serves its purpose very well, but modern society has yet to discover the equal of the quilting bee as a clearing-house for gossip. To the credit of the fair sex, we should add that they rarely made use of intoxicants; but the old grannies did enjoy a few puffs from a blackened clay pipe after their meals. Both men and women were more or less addicted to the use of snuff.

Whiskey was plentiful in the good old days, but the drinking of it was not looked upon with such horror, nor attended with such disastrous consequences as in our day. This difference was probably due both to the drink and the drinker. Some people will not admit that any whiskey is bad, while others deny that any can be good; but the whiskey of a hundred years ago does not appear to have had as fierce a serpent in it as the highly-advertised brands of the present day. It possessed one virtue, and that was its cheapness. When a quart could be purchased for sixpence, a man could hardly be charged with rash extravagance in buying enough whiskey to produce the desired effect. It was considered quite the proper thing to drink upon almost any occasion, and upon the slightest provocation; and, if a member of a company received an overdose and glided under the table, it created no more sensation than if he had fallen asleep. As the population increased, taverns were set up at nearly every crossing of the roads. Some of these, especially the recognized stopping-places of the stage coaches, were quite imposing hostelries; and as the guests gathered about the huge fire-place on a winter's evening and smoked their pipes, drank their toddy, and exchanged their tales of adventure and travel, the scene was one that has no counterpart in our day. It was a form of sociability and entertainment that departed with the passing of the stage coach.

In this age of railroads and motor cars we have no conception of the discomforts of travel eighty or a hundred or more years ago. The Loyalists clung for many years to the bateaux, the flat-bottomed boats, which conveyed them over the last stage of their journey to their new homes. These boats were very popular upon the Bay of Quinte. In going west they were carried across the Carrying Place at the head of the bay by a man named Asa Weller, who kept a low wagon and a yoke of oxen ready at hand to transport the travellers from the bay to the lake and back again upon the return trip. It is needless to add that Weller's Bay was named after this enterprising teamster.

In 1816 the first stage line in Upper Canada was inaugurated between Kingston and Bath by Samuel Purdy, of Bath, and in the following year he opened a line from Kingston to York. The roads were wretched, and the fare was eighteen dollars. Fourteen years later William Weller, a son of Asa, whose business of transporting the bateaux from one body of water to the other had brought him in contact with the travelling public and acquainted him with their needs, established a bi-weekly service between the Carrying Place and York, in connection with the steamer Sir James Kempt, which carried the passengers on to Prescott. The fare from York to Prescott was £2 10s. ($10). The stage left York at four o'clock in the morning, arriving at the Carrying Place the same evening.

The very term, stage-coach, suggests to our minds a spanking four-in-hand, in brass-mounted harness, attached to a gayly-decorated conveyance. We picture them dashing through a village under the crack of the coachman's whip. Away they go, rattling over the bridge, down the turnpike, and with a shrill blast of the guard's horn, they haul up at the wayside inn, where a fat and smiling landlord escorts the passengers in to a hot dinner. Such were not the stagecoaches of our forefathers; they were simply lumber wagons without springs and covered with canvas like the prairie schooners, or plain wooden enclosures with seats suspended by leather straps. Just think of being cooped up in such an affair from sunrise to sunset—the clumsy "coach" jolting over the rough roads, dodging stumps, rocks, and fallen trees, plunging down a steep embankment, fording rivers and streams, and sinking now and then to the axles in mud!

During the summer months the mosquitoes and black flies added to the misery of the travellers. Even so, in this, as in all things, the pioneers looked not so much on the dark side of life as on the bright. The distance had to be covered; every jolt and bump brought them one step nearer their destination. The tales of the fellow travellers were entertaining and helped to shorten the way. Perhaps one was a legislator just returning from a meeting of the House, perhaps a merchant on his way to Montreal to make his year's purchase of goods, or a young adventurer from the old country spying out an opportunity to better himself in the New World. The forest had its charms, although the insects at times were abominable. As the coach passed through a clearing the yeoman, with a swing of his hat, would wish the travellers God-speed. The monotony was broken, time and again, by a glimpse of a bay or lake; and the road, in places followed the beach, where the waves broke under the horses' feet. Awaiting them at the journey's end were that rest and peace which the home alone can afford, that bright welcome of the fireside built with their own hands, and the smiles of the loved ones who had shared all their trials and victories.