was now swollen, and feeling all round it, Mrs Simmins declared there was no fracture of the skull and that the blow had only stunned him.  ’Well for him that he is a thick-headed Scotchman or he would have been killed,’ she remarked.  Taking a fleam from her pocket, she lanced the lump and let it bleed freely.  ’If bruised blood is left to get into the system, there will be a fever, in which many a man has died.’  Allan fell asleep and when he woke it was to ask for a drink.

Aug. 16—­Allan woke this morning all right, except feeling giddy.  He will never again have as narrow an escape with his life.  The tree he was felling, a big maple, in falling toppled over a dead tree beside it, which was so rotten that it fell in a shower of pieces.

Aug. 18.—­Went to see the swamp and glad to find it was drier.  The water has got vent and is seeping into the creek.  Could walk on parts that would not carry before.  Looked it over to plan how to drain it.  Gordon, who was with me, said, Cut a ditch up the centre.  I showed him that would not do when the swamp came to be plowed.  The right way was to cut a ditch across the head and have it empty into another along the south side to the creek.  Looked at me in wonder as he asked if I ever expected to plow it.  Said I would grow grain on it before other three years.  On returning he and I did a bit of underbrushing, piling as much of the brush as we could round the felled timber to help to burn it.

Aug. 19—­Kept underbrushing all day.

Aug. 20—­So hot gave the ax a rest.  In the afternoon a thunderstorm.  The downpour tested the roof of the stable, which leaked in only one place, where a scoop had split.

Aug. 21—­Quite cool with a brisk northerly breeze.  Wife and myself started for Toronto, and never enjoyed a walk more.  Did us good to watch the clearances as we passed along.  Fall wheat all cut and stacked.  Barley being cradled and oats looking extra heavy though short in the straw.  The sight of gardens and patches of potatoes pleased Ailie, and we both were surprised by the Indian corn, which we never saw before.  It was tasseling.  The bell was ringing when we reached Toronto and had to ask our way to the Presbyterian church.  The crowd was going to the Episcopal and Methodist churches.  The service was dry and cold, but it did us both good to worship with our fellows once more and join in the psalms.  As we were walking away I heard somebody behind us call, Andrew Anderson, and looking back saw Mrs Bambray.  Told her we were going to the tavern for dinner.  ‘Thee shall go to no tavern on the seventh day,’ and slipping her arm into my wife’s, led us to her house.  Pointing to a door she told me to go in and I would see what I never saw in Scotland, and led my wife upstairs.  Opening the door I found myself in a backshed, with Bambray rubbing ointment on a negro’s arm.  The man was a runaway slave and had arrived that morning on a schooner from Oswego.  Bambray