These constitute pretty nearly the sum total. This is not a fancy sketch. I have heard the story many a time from the lips of the little old grandmother [Footnote: The writer is one of her grandsons. The incident will be found in Dr. Ryerson's book.] who was of the party. She lived to rear a family of nine children, and to see most of them married and well settled; to exchange the log house for a large and comfortable home, and to die peacefully at a good old age. It is hardly possible for us to conceive the difficulties that beset the first settlers, nor the hardships and privations which they endured. They were not infrequently reduced to the very verge of starvation, yet they struggled on. Tree after tree fell before the axe, and the small clearing was turned to immediate account. A few necessaries of life were produced, and even these, limited and meagre as they were, were the beginnings of comfort. Comfort, indeed! but far removed not only from them, but from the idea we associate with the term. I have in my younger days taken grist to the mill, as the farmers say. But I can assure you I would prefer declining the task of carrying bags of wheat upon my back for three miles, and then paddling them in a canoe down to the Kingston Mills, [Footnote: This mill was built by the British Government in the first settlement of the Province for the benefit of the settlers.] and back again to Adolphustown--about seventy miles--after which resuming the pleasing exercise of backing them home. [Footnote: This was an early experience of my grandfather, which he liked to relate in his old age to young men.] Such things do not fatigue one much to talk about, but I fancy the reality would fit closer to the backs of some of our young exquisites than would be agreeable. Nor do we, when we stick up our noses at the plainer fare of some of our neighbours, remember often what a feast our fathers and mothers would have thought even a crust of bread. How often--alas, how often!--were they compelled to use anything they could put their hands upon, in order to keep soul and body together. Could we, the sons of these men, go through this? I am afraid, with one consent, we would say "No." But time rolled on. The openings in the forest grew larger and wider. The log cabins began to multiply, and the curling smoke, rising here and there above the woods, told a silent but more cheerful tale. There dwelt a neighbour--miles away, perhaps--but a neighbour, nevertheless. If you would like an idea of the proximity of humanity, and the luxury of society in those days, just place a few miles of dense woods between yourself and your nearest neighbour, and you will have a faint conception of the delights of a home in the forest.