In twenty years from the time Governor Simcoe established his capital at Newark, on the Niagara River, after being sworn in as Governor of western Canada (his incumbency being the real commencement of the settlement of Upper Canada), began the War of 1812 between Great Britain and the United States. Our peaceably disposed and struggling Canadians, trying to subdue the forest and to procure a livelihood, were horrified to have a war on their hands. They could ill afford to leave their small clearings in the forest, where they garnered their small crops, to go and fight. Not one of them, however, for a single moment thought of aiding the United States or of remaining neutral. Canada was their home, and Canada they would defend. From 12,000 in 1792 in Upper Canada, 40,000 were now within its boundaries, endeavoring to make homes for themselves. We have the fact plainly told that, although at least one-third of all the inhabitants in 1812 were born in the United States, or were descendants of those who were born there, not one of them swerved in his loyalty to Canada, his adopted country. This is saying a very great deal, for it was in no sense Canada’s quarrel with the United States. If Great Britain chose to overhaul United States merchantmen for deserting from the Royal navy, it is certain that Canada could not be held responsible for any such high-handed act. Canadians generally at the breaking out of the war, whether of United States origin or from the British Isles direct, felt that Great Britain had been very assertive towards the United States, and had also been rather inclined to be exacting. Such was the feeling generally. No one, however, for a moment wavered. All were loyal and all obeyed the summons to join the militia and begin active service. Britain’s quarrel with the United States, in obedience to the mandate of some Cabinet Ministers safely ensconced in their sumptuous offices in London, worked incalculable hardships to the struggling settlers in the depths of our Canadian forests. To vividly realize how very intolerant of any discussion of public matters of that day the Family Compact was, a personal narrative will be found interesting. Roger Conant, one day in the autumn, went from his home in Darlington to York. He had been requisitioned by the British officers just out from England (and whom he respected) to take an ox-cart [Illustration: NEWARK (NIAGARA), 1813. (From the J. Ross Robertson collection.) ]