Nearly Every Day I
Saw Some Operation Of Canadian Farming, With Its Difficulties And
Pleasures.
Among the former is that of obtaining men to do the work.
The
wages given are five shillings per diem, and in many cases "rations"
besides. While I was at Mr. Forrest's, two men were sinking a well, and
one coolly took up his tools and walked away because only half a pound
of butter had been allowed for breakfast. Mr. Forrest possesses sixty
acres of land, fifteen of which are still in bush. The barns are very
large and substantial, more so than at home; for no produce can be left
out of doors in the winter. There were two hundred and fifty bushels of
wheat, the produce of a "thrashing bee," and various other edibles. Oxen,
huge and powerful, do all the draught-work on this farm, and their stable
looked the very perfection of comfort. Round the house "snake-fences" had
given place to those of post and rail; but a few hundred yards away was
the uncleared bush. The land thus railed round had been cleared for some
years; the grass is good, and the stumps few in number. Leaving this, we
came to the stubble of last year, where the stumps were more numerous, and
then to the land only cleared in the spring, covered thickly with charred
stumps, the soil rich and black, and wheat springing up in all directions.
Beyond this there was nothing but bush. A scramble through a bush, though
very interesting in its way, produces disagreeable consequences.
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