took me to the logging camp as camp boy. During the second winter he hired me to Matthew and Lewis Dunbar as a cook for their wood camp. I cooked for six men and received five dollars a month. I was used very kindly by the Dunbars, but that winter in the woods seemed a long, long winter. The only book in camp was the Bible. There were, however, newspapers and playing cards. In the spring my father used the fifteen dollars received for my three months' work to purchase a cow. I served the Dunbars the third winter, as cook, for six dollars a month, and worked the ensuing summer on farms at about twenty-five cents per day. During the fourth winter I worked for the Dunbars and Timothy Snow at seven dollars per month, and the summer following worked on a farm for Benjamin Cayford at seven dollars. Cayford was a merciless tyrant, and sometimes compelled his men to work in the field till nine o'clock at night. These details of wages paid and work done, uninteresting in themselves, serve to show the value of a boy's work (I was not yet fifteen) and what was expected of the average boy, for mine was no exceptional case nor was my father more exacting than others in his station in life. He was in poor health, and had a large family of boys. We were eight in number, and of these I was one of the most robust and able to assist in the support of the family.

This year I persuaded my father to sell me my time, which amounted to five years, which he reluctantly did, accepting two hundred and fifty dollars as an equivalent. It was my ambition to go West. Horace Greeley had not uttered the talismanic words, "Go West, young man," but I believed that by going West I would be better able to advance my own interests and assist my parents. My father signed the necessary paper relinquishing my time, which was printed in the Skowhegan Clarion. From this time until I was nineteen years old I worked on the river and on farms, worked continuously and beyond my strength. I worked another summer for Cayford, but have no pleasant recollections of him, for on his farm I was sadly overworked, being often called to work before sunrise and kept at work after sunset. I worked two winters cooking in the woods for Capt. Asa Steward, of Bloomfield, one of the best men I ever served, a kind hearted, honest Christian. He gave me good counsel and good wages besides. In the fall of 1835 I went into the woods to work for Capt. Eb. Snow, of Madison. Like Cayford, he was a merciless tyrant and abusive to his men. I left his camp before my engagement closed, not being able to endure his abuse longer. This is the only time in which I failed to keep a labor engagement. I finished the winter with Capt. Asa Steward, but my eyes became so inflamed from the smoke of the camp that I was obliged to abandon cooking.

During this winter occurred an incident that came near having a serious and even fatal termination. There were three of us, Simeon Goodrich, Jimmie Able and myself, who went down the Kennebec to the Forks, a distance of twelve miles from camp. A deep, damp snow had fallen the night previous, and through this snow, reaching above our knees, we trudged wearily till Able gave out. We carried him a short distance, but becoming exhausted ourselves, laid him down in the snow. To remain with him would be to imperil the lives of all; by hurrying on we might be able to send a party to bring him in. We carefully made for him a bed of fir boughs and placed loose garments over him and under him, and as he was sick, weak and faint, gave him a draught of liquid opodeldoc, and leaving the bottle with him, hurried on. We traveled the last mile through an opening. Snow drifted deeply. We dragged our bodies through the drifts in the direction of a glimmering light, which proved to be Sturgis' hotel, which we reached at 11 o'clock p. m. A team was sent back immediately for the lost Able by a road of which we knew