n the masters of families, are
pretty near as useless as their lords.

You will scarce believe me, when I tell you, that I have seen, at
the farm next us, two children, a very beautiful boy and girl, of about
eleven years old, assisted by their grandmother, reaping a field of
oats, whilst the lazy father, a strong fellow of thirty two, lay on the
grass, smoaking his pipe, about twenty yards from them: the old people
and children work here; those in the age of strength and health only
take their pleasure.

_A propos_ to smoaking, 'tis common to see here boys of three
years old, sitting at their doors, smoaking their pipes, as grave and
composed as little old Chinese men on a chimney.

You ask me after our fruits: we have, as I am told, an immensity of
cranberries all the year; when the snow melts away in spring, they are
said to be found under it as fresh and as good as in autumn:
strawberries and rasberries grow wild in profusion; you cannot walk a
step in the fields without treading on the former: great plenty of
currants, plumbs, apples, and pears; a few cherries and grapes, but not
in much perfection: excellent musk melons, and water melons in
abundance, but not so good in proportion as the musk. Not a peach, nor
any thing of the kind; this I am however convinced is less the fault
of the climate than of the people, who are too indolent to take pains
for any thing more than is absolutely necessary to their existence.
They might have any fruit here but gooseberries, for which the summer
is too hot; there are bushes in the woods, and some have been brought
from England, but the fruit falls off before it is ripe. The wild
fruits here, especially those of the bramble kind, are in much greater
variety and perfection than in England.

When I speak of the natural productions of the country, I should not
forget that hemp and hops grow every where in the woods; I should
imagine the former might be cultivated here with great success, if the
people could be persuaded to cultivate any thing.

A little corn of every kind, a little hay, a little tobacco, half a
dozen apple trees, a few onions and cabbages, make the whole of a
Canadian plantation. There is scarce a flower, except those in the
woods, where there is a variety of the most beautiful shrubs I ever
saw; the wild cherry, of which the woods are full, is equally charming
in flower and in fruit; and, in my opinion, at least equals the
arbutus.

They sow their wheat in