Driving through Ontario in June, the eye continually dwells upon a sea of green, with scarcely any interlude of rock, swamp or broken land. It is simply a succession of well-cultivated farms, mostly trim and nicely kept and well fenced. In many respects our province resembles old England, for, with all our vandalism, we have left a few groves of native forest trees, which here and there dot the landscape, and present to the view a beautiful, impenetrable, clearly-defined wall of green, raised, of course, above the level green of the crops below at the surface and extending up to their very bases. Our fences have, indeed, presented a decided improvement during the past few years. Very many of the boundary fences beside the highways are straight board fences, or straight rail and post fences. Hedges, of course, we cannot boast of. But our fences up to date present a clearly defined boundary of farms, and form a bounded highway straight and clear, sixty-six feet wide. In many of our still timbered portions of the province the old zig-zag rail fence is in use. But we have now in most places in the province passed by that day, and can no longer build such fences, for it is too great a waste of timber, though in some respects it’s the best and strongest fence we can possibly build, and will last the longest. But its days are numbered, and the fences of the future will be wire fences, which are now legal in our province. They have their advantages, principally in allowing the winds of winter to pass freely through and preventing drifts on the roads. By an Act of our Ontario Legislature, township councils can by law allow owners who will build wire fences before their farms to enclose six feet of the road allowance. Many persons are already taking advantage of that Act, but at all events the roads must be left fifty-four feet wide, taking off six feet from each side. Road-work is in June quite general all over the province, and when driving along the highways one has to pass now and again over a few rods of awfully rough, unfinished patches of road. Sometimes the turnpiking is only half completed, or again the gravel has been left in great heaps, which give to your carriage the motion of a vessel at sea as it passes over the lumps. A few days, however, will remedy all that, as the road-work gets completed. Brawny, sunburnt farmers, wearing their straw hats, and with shirt sleeves rolled up, gather in groups under a “pathmaster,” and perform the requisite number of days “working for the King,” as it is termed. No doubt our fellows are quite as honest as any one would be under like circumstances, but we have yet to learn that any one has ever injured himself by road-work while so “working for the King” on the roads.