the buds of the trees began to swell, they were gathered and eaten. Roots were digged out of the ground; the bark of certain trees were stripped off and consumed as food. One family lived for a fortnight on beech leaves. Everything that was supposed to be capable of alleviating the pangs of hunger, whether it yielded nutriment or not, was unhesitatingly used; and in the fifth township some were killed by eating poisonous roots. Beef bones were, in one neighbourhood, not only boiled again and again, but actually carried from house to house, to give a little taste to boiled bran, until there remained no taste in the boiling water. In the fourth township, upon the sunny side of a hill, was an early field of grain, and to this they came, from far and near, to eat the milk-like heads of grain, so soon as they had sufficiently grown, which were boiled and eaten. The daughter of the man who owned the field, and gladly gave to all, still remains with us; then, she was in the freshness of girlhood; now, she is in the autumn of a green old age, nearly a hundred. She remembers to have seen them cutting the young succulent grain, to use her own words “as thick as stumps.” This young grain was a common dish, all along the Bay, until it became ripe. One family lived several months solely on boiled oats. One day, a man came to the door of a house in Adolphustown, with a bag, and a piece of “calamink,” to exchange for flour. But the flour was low, and the future doubtful, and none could be spared. The man turned away with tears of anguish rolling down his face. The kind woman gave him a few pounds of flour; he begged to be allowed to add some bran lying on the floor, which was permitted, and he went his way.