And that was perfectly true then as now. Look at the farmer in Ontario who rolls up his shirt sleeves and follows the plough, who does as much work himself as he possibly can, and only hires for doing that which he can’t do himself, and you will find that farmer succeeding. We have been getting in Ontario of late another class of farmers whom I wish to speak of. They are the sons of men of means in Britain. Usually they are about twenty years of age, and have just left their schools and homes. Every avenue at home being so full, they are sent to Canada to learn farming, with the parent’s view of buying them a farm as soon as they have learned the occupation. Sometimes these persons pay a small sum to our good farmers, annually, to be taught farming, but they are to work at the same time the same as a hired man. Such a one has worn good clothes all his life, and the transition from a tight-fitting, neat suit to garments suitable for shovelling manure into the waggon is very sudden and hard to endure. A blister or two is on his hands at night, and his back aches from bending so many times all day with his fork for the billets of manure out of the heap. That night he tosses upon his bed, for his bones even are tired and ache, but he is up betimes next morning and at it again, only to find that he has more blisters on his hands again in the evening. If he sticks to it he soon gets accustomed to the work, his blistered hands get all calloused over, blisters are no more dreaded, and he stands his work well. Those who stick to the work succeed and learn to farm well, but in very many cases he gives up and goes to town, and waits, all anxiety, for the next remittance from home. For a couple of years the remittances come to him pretty regularly, and our young would-be farmer is a gentleman about town. During those two years, however, some very urgent letters have been written home for money, and thus far they have not failed to draw. At this lapse of time, and after the receipt of so many letters asking for money, it begins to dawn upon the parental mind that the son is not sticking to the farm in Canada. Reluctantly and grieving, the parent makes up his mind to send no more until his son will begin to do something himself. Our would-be farmer then gets some light occupation, and does not fail to continue to write for money. Mamma, with a mother’s love, may still send over a few pounds, but if all the pounds cease to come, go to work he must at last. It is hard to get at what these young men really will do in the end. Some even get so low as to drive a circus waggon, while others work as day laborers in some of our manufactories. When some months roll round, and the parents at home find that their son is still alive and promising amends, past offences are condoned and more remittances follow. And so the years and months slip by, money-less at times and again flush.