The picture might be drawn differently. It is
a hideous fence; it is very often ill made and
allowed to fall into disorder and decay; to
become inefficient and slovenly beyond description.
And to this it is peculiarly liable.

When rail-stuff runs short, which from the
reckless destruction of timber in Canada it is already
doing in many places, various substitutes are
resorted to. One is found in Tamarack poles.
We lately made a little expedition to obtain
some. We were a party of four; three axes,
and the driver of the sleigh. We started as
early as possible in the morning, to make the
utmost of the short daylight. We had to cross
a bay about three miles wide on the ice, already
covered with deep snow, against a blinding
snow-storm driving full in our faces. There was no
tracked road at this point, and, if we had lost
sight of both shores, as we did as nearly as
possible, we might have been in a predicament. It
is well on such occasions to be provided with a
compass; I had one formerly, but some
considerate person relieved me from the responsibility
of it. On gaining the opposite shore, we got
under the lee of some high ground, and made
better weather, as we had anticipated. We were
not long in reaching our destination, a neat
rough-cut farm-house with a verandah (a
verandah is the touchstone of your thriving
Canadian farmer), standing back from the road the
widtli of a small door-yard, as the Canadian's
call it, with some little attempt at ornamental
cultivation, as I knew, though now covered with
snow, and enclosed within a neat white fence
and gate. In this sort of thing there is a marked
improvement of late.

We found Mr. Hindmarsh, the proprietor,
astir and busy about the every morning's earliest
occupation of foddering his cattle. He was at
that moment giving pea-straw to his sheep with
a large four-pronged wooden fork. Canadian
farm-buildings are almost invariably good;
enclosing a yard on three sides, affording complete
shelter, and open to the south only. Here the
whole live stock of the farm take refuge, and
herd together during the severe winter; being,
except the working horses, seldom housed, and
doing very well with ordinary care.

Mr. Hindmarsh is a very good example of his
class. It would be difficult to imagine a man
in a more independent position. He is entirely
his own master; he has no landlord, squire, nor
rector to exact from him any deference or
allegiance; his farm is his own, and he cultivates
it with the labour of his own hands and of those
of his sons; he has been accustomed and innured
to this system from his boyhood, and he finds in
it no hardship nor degradation.

After the usual preliminary greetings, I
ventured to ask if Mrs. Hindmarsh were well.

"Well, no, sir, she ain't. One day last week,
I disremember now which it was, we took tea with
some friends, to Bolton. When we came hum
in the evening it stormed considerable, and my
wife she sot in her wet clothes, and got kind o'
chilled. But I guess she's better."

"I am glad to hear that."

Our business was soon arranged. We are
to be at liberty to go into the swamp and cut
as many tamarack poles as we please at the
rate of twelve and a half dollars per thousand.
Small ones and tops, only fit for stakes, to be
thrown into the bargain, together with as much
dry wood for fuel (and incomparable for the
purpose) as we think it worth while to take. Mr.
Hindmarsh then asks us to come in to dinner at
twelve o'clock, and offers to show us the way to
ihe swamp.

Under his guidance we pass through four or
five fields, laying down the snake fences wherever
there is least drift, and making our own track
through the snow. Descending a short "pitch,"
we are in the swamp, and Mr. Hindmarsh, pointing
out to us a narrow track cut straight through
it as far as the eye can reach, tells us to follow
it as far as we like, and cut where we please, and
returns to get his breakfast.

It was the first time I had been in a tamarack
swamp, and its novelty interested me. Its
dead level of two feet of muck over clay, as
Mr. Hindmarsh described it, was now frozen
hard, and covered with snow. There was no
underbrush, nor any trees of any description
whatever except the tamarack, which grew as
thick as they could stand, straight as an arrow,
and averaging about forty feet in height. There
is a solemnity about a scene of this kind; the
solitude and silence are unbroken; the
weather, gusty outside, is here calm and still as
death.

It is no time, however, for sentiment or
meditation, and we set to work. The tamarack
belongs to the coniferæ, but is deciduous, and is
so like the larch in other respects that they
would generally be held to be one and the same,
though I do not think they are. It is soft and
easy to chop, but excessively heavy to handle
when green; sinking in water like lead. To lift
the twelve-foot poles on to the sleigh, up to the
knees in snow, and encumbered with the brush
stripped from the tops, was most laborious
work; and starting the load through such a
depth of snow put the horses' pluck and mettle
to the test. While three of us chopped, the
fourth drew the poles out of the swamp and
deposited them in a convenient spot for fetching
away after work.

At twelve o'clock we go to Mr. Hindmarsh's
house to dinner. We entered from a room which
was formerly the kitchen, but which has been
converted into a dining-room. The Canadian
farmer used to be contented to dine in his
kitchen. His house contained, besides the sleeping
chambers, another apartment, which was called
the room. This was a bare place, with whitewashed
walls, painted floor, a few chairs and tables stuck
up against the walls, and probably a bed in one
corner. Such as it was this was his reception-room:
but this is all altered now. The master
of the ceremonies is abroad. Through a
half-opened door we had a glimpse of Mr.
Hindmarsh's drawing-room. It is not a bad travesty
of an European drawing-room. It is carpeted,
curtained, and supposed to be altogether ornamental,