ngs of one, two, three, or even
four years, compared with a whole life of labour and poverty," was the
remark of a poor labourer, who was recounting to us the other day some
of the hardships he had met with in this country. He said he "knew they
were only for a short time, and that by industry he should soon get over
them."

I have already seen two of our poor neighbours that left the parish a
twelvemonth ago; they are settled in Canada Company lots, and are
getting on well. They have some few acres cleared and cropped, but are
obliged to "_hire out_", to enable their families to live, working on
their own land when they can. The men are in good spirits, and say "they
shall in a few years have many comforts about them that they never could
have got at home, had they worked late and early; but they complain that
their wives are always pining for home, and lamenting that ever they
crossed the seas." This seems to be the general complaint with all
classes; the women are discontented and unhappy. Few enter with their
whole heart into a settler's life. They miss the little domestic
comforts they had been used to enjoy; they regret the friends and
relations they left in the old country; and they cannot endure the
loneliness of the backwoods.

This prospect does not discourage me: I know I shall find plenty of
occupation within-doors, and I have sources of enjoyment when I walk
abroad that will keep me from being dull. Besides, have I not a right to
be cheerful and contented for the sake of my beloved partner? The change
is not greater for me than him; and if for his sake I have voluntarily
left home, and friends, and country, shall I therefore sadden him by
useless regrets? I am always inclined to subscribe to that sentiment of
my favourite poet, Goldsmith,--

"Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find."

But I shall very soon be put to the test, as we leave this town to-
morrow by ten o'clock. The purchase of the Lake lot is concluded. There
are three acres chopped and a shanty up; but the shanty is not a
habitable dwelling, being merely an open shed that was put up by the
choppers as a temporary shelter; so we shall have to build a house. Late
enough we are; too late to get in a full crop, as the land is merely
chopped, not cleared, and it is too late now to log and burn the fallow,
and get the seed-wheat in: but it will be ready for spring crops. We
paid five dollars and a half per