ENGLAND and CANADA.—A Journey between OLD and NEW WESTMINSTER, by Sandford Fleming, C.E., C.M.G. etc.
Eastern Journey_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Western Journey____________

George Philip & Son London & Liverpool.

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ENGLAND AND CANADA.

A SUMMER TOUR

BETWEEN

OLD AND NEW WESTMINSTER

WITH HISTORICAL NOTES.

BY
SANDFORD FLEMING, C.E., C.M.G., Etc.

MONTREAL:
DAWSON BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
1884.

Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year 1884, by
Sandford Fleming,
in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

GAZETTE PRINTING COMPANY, MONTREAL.

TO
The Right Honourable the Marquis of Lorne, K.T.
G.C.M.G., P.C., &C., &C.,
ONE OF CANADA’S TRUEST AND WARMEST FRIENDS,
WITH SINCERE RESPECT
THIS RECORD OF A JOURNEY FROM THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL TO THE
PACIFIC OCEAN, THROUGH CANADIAN TERRITORY,
IS DEDICATED.

CONTENTS.

ENGLAND AND CANADA.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.

If we carry ourselves in imagination to that part of North America nearest to Europe, we find that we have reached the most easterly coast of the Island of Newfoundland, an outlying portion of the continent. Standing on Cape Bonavista and looking from this promontory over the waste of waters, we discover that between the Equator and Greenland the Atlantic Ocean is generally of much greater width in every other parallel than opposite our present position: that its breadth rapidly increases as we proceed southward, if but a few degrees of latitude, and that, in the parallels of New York or Philadelphia, the ocean is more than double the width. Towards the continent of Europe the first land the eye rests upon is that of the British Islands. Four centuries back the first recorded discoverer of Newfoundland sailed from those shores, and from the time of the Tudor monarchs this stretch of ocean has been unceasingly traversed by European ships. It has thus been the cradle of ocean navigation. Adventurous men, who planted the early settlement of America, crossed to the new world on this narrow belt. The vessels which carried them were indeed frail craft compared with the creations of modern ship-building. But, step by step, they were enlarged and developed to the magnificent clipper, which again has been supplanted by the still more magnificent ocean steamer.

In old days, even in a sailing vessel of large tonnage, a sea voyage was frequently accompanied with much misery. It was not uncommon for emigrants to be detained at sea as many weeks as now days are needed for the voyage. Ships might be retarded or driven back by adverse gales, or they might remain in mid-ocean, becalmed in water as unruffled as a mirror of glass. Steam has revolutionized these conditions. Instead of ships being turned far from their course by contrary winds, or with flapping canvas waiting for a fair breeze, we behold on the waters of the Atlantic fleets of swift steamers, carrying thousands of passengers to and fro with the regularity of the daily post between two neighbouring cities. However formidable the voyage once was, its greater drawbacks are now removed. A steam ferry has been practically established between the two continents, and transportation is effected with scarcely less regularity than between opposite banks of a navigable river. The path of the ocean steamer has in reality become, as it were, the Queen’s highway; and were anything wanting to facilitate intercourse, we possess it in the telegraph. If this belt of ocean has been the nursery of the ocean steamers, it has also given birth to ocean telegraphy. In no part of the world are so many submarine cables laid along the ocean bed as in this direction. We live in a period when instantaneous communications from continent to continent are as easily effected as from county to county. Year by year the facilities of intercourse, both by steamship and by telegraph, are increasing in a manner to bind closer than ever, by the ties of mutual benefit and common interest, the different members of the British family. On the one hand, the Canadian is enabled to visit the old land, where his traditions have been gathered, and where there is a history in which he can claim an inherited participation. On the other, it provides the youth of the Mother Country with an outlet by which he may gain a home with a kindred people, who revere the same memories, and who will cordially welcome his labour and energies to aid in strengthening and consolidating the institutions of that portion of the Empire.

From a multiplicity of causes, there are different shades of character and thought to distinguish the several members of the British family. They are called into being by geographical position, by race, by climate and other influences. Diversities exist, and why should it not be so? It is a shallow and unwise pretension which would ignore the fact. The inhabitants of neighbouring counties, even the members of one family, have not the same characteristics or identical likes and dislikes. As in the family so in the state. It is natural, and in some respects advantageous, that varieties of character and power should be traceable; on the other hand, as the family likeness may be seen in a group of individuals, however in many respects they may differ, an essential unity of national life and sentiment may be found one and the same amid characteristics the most divergent. The people of Canada and of England differ as the current coin of the realm differs. While in the currency there are dissimilarities of name, of value, of colour and of metal, all are impressed with the stamp of the one sovereign; so in the people there are diversities, but all can be recognized as British subjects.

If we turn our eyes in the direction opposite to Europe, we find Newfoundland situated as a barrier between the outer ocean and an inner sea; the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Whatever its destiny, Newfoundland is the one portion of British North America which has not allied her fortunes with the Canadian Dominion. Geographically, the island stands as a gigantic breakwater to shelter from the surges of the Atlantic the continent to the west, and to protect the entrance of the St. Lawrence.

The Gulf of St. Lawrence has been compared to the Baltic, but, unlike the Baltic, having but one narrow channel of entry, it is approachable from the ocean by two wide navigable openings. These passages—the Straits of Belle Isle and St. Paul—lie to the north and south of Newfoundland. Around this inner Baltic-like sea we behold the Maritime Provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island, to which may be added the eastern portion of Quebec. These Provinces occupy an extensive coast line, indented with bays and capacious harbours, presenting all the facilities for shipping, commerce and fisheries. They are bound together, and to the other Provinces of the Dominion, by one trade, one tariff and by one common nationality; on the other hand, they have each distinct local institutions for their own domestic government.

Continuing our glance westward, a thousand miles from Bonavista, beyond the ancient fortress of Quebec, we behold Montreal, the commercial metropolis of the Dominion. Here are seen ocean steamers of the largest class discharging cargoes loaded twelve days back in Liverpool, Glasgow and other parts of Europe. Advancing our view another thousand miles, over cultivated fields and flourishing cities and lakes of unrivalled magnitude, our vision carries us through deep forests beyond the Province of Ontario to the confines of Manitoba, in the middle of the continent. Still another thousand miles to the west, across prairies abounding with a fabulous fertility of soil, we reach the foot-hills of a snow-capped mountain range, concealing the country which lies beyond it. To penetrate this barrier we must advance by the known passes, and for hundreds of miles follow deep defiles, traversing further mountain ranges, until we reach the wide grassy plateau interspersed with picturesque lakes in the heart of British Columbia. We may still pierce another serrated wall of mountains by a deep and rugged valley, and, by following a tortuous and foaming river to its mouth, we meet the flow of tide of another ocean far greater in extent than that which lies behind us.

Carrying our vision beyond the shore of the western mainland, across a strait similar to that separating England from Europe, we see the Island of Vancouver, washed by currents warmed in the seas of Asia. Vancouver Island is not quite so large as England, but it enjoys the same climatic conditions, and possesses in profusion many of the same mineral treasures.

British Columbia is the youngest colony of the Empire, and until recently was practically the most distant from the Imperial centre. Its chief city bears the name of Her Majesty. The sun does not rise on Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, until eight hours after it gilds the towers of Westminster. One-third of the complete circle of the globe separates the Imperial capital from the capital of the Pacific Province, but no land intervenes which is not British, and the whole distance is under the shadow of the one national flag.

In imagination we first glanced across the ocean at its narrowest limit. Turning our glance landward, we have looked across a continent at its greatest width. All we have scanned, from sea to sea, is Canada. The vast proportions of the Dominion, its varied features, its lakes and rivers, mountains and plains, its sources of wealth and magnificent scenery, are but little known to Englishmen. A country to be known must be seen. It is not enough to examine a terrestrial globe or ponder over maps and geographies in order to form an estimate of the character of half a continent. They suggest but a faint idea of territorial extent. You must traverse its different sections, and bestow time in examining its fields and forests, its natural landscape, its cities and its civilization.

There are few, indeed, who possess anything like an adequate conception of the immense extent and resources of the Dominion. It is scarcely possible even for Canadians themselves to conceive the wealth of territory and the varied magnificence of scenery and the productive capacity of the land, the destinies of which it is their privilege to control.

During the past summer (1883), circumstances induced the writer to visit England, to recross the Atlantic, and make a journey through the whole extent of Canada to the Pacific coast. The railway took him to the base of the Rocky Mountains. From thence he entered the passes, and by pack-horse and on foot he followed the route proposed to be taken by the Canadian Pacific Railway through British Columbia.

As is customary in such circumstances, the writer sent home, at convenient opportunities, a diary of his daily progress. He is aware that the notes of travel which have interest for a circle of intimate friends, have often but slender claim to public attention. These notes, however, give a sketch of the first continuous journey ever made, indeed the only one yet attempted, through the whole longitudinal extent of the Dominion by the route taken. From the interest which has been attached to his notes of travel, the writer has been prevailed upon to prepare them for publication, and, with the view of supplying such information as the future traveller may desire, a few historical notes have been included in the narrative.

Canada is certainly not within the actual geographical limits of the Mother Land, yet it is no mere rhetorical phrase to say that this half of the North American continent has become an integral part of the Empire. Seventeen years ago, when the British North American Act of 1867, creating the Dominion, passed the Imperial Parliament, British and Canadian statesmen laid the foundation of a great future for the confederated provinces. From that date Canada has steadily, step by step, done her part to realize all that was then foreshadowed of her future. She undertook to establish a highway for commerce through her forests, prairies and mountains, to connect the most distant Provinces. In a short time the national highway will be opened from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and Canada will become a recognized central commercial link between England and Asia.

The writer ventures to think that the record of the journey he made, will show how closely England and Canada are brought together by the modern agencies of steam and electricity. Equally it will be obvious, how easily the British subject in Canada may revivify old associations; and how the denizen of the United Kingdom can, without discomfort, visit the whole extent of the Dominion, to enjoy the varied scenery in the many forms in which it is presented. The writer sincerely hopes that what he ventures now to submit may be instrumental in leading others to enjoy what proved to him a delightful summer tour by sea and land. It is not without diffidence that he yields to the wish expressed for the publication of his notes. He is desirous, however, of establishing that such a journey as he has accomplished presents many other points of attraction independent of the beauty of the scenery and novelty of the associations. There is much to repay enquiry in the examination of our system of government and of the institutions of the several Provinces; in ethnological developments; and in geological and kindred scientific researches. It will be found, too, that there is a past history which gives attraction to many a scene, and in all that constitutes and promotes the advance of nations there is presented much of varied interest worthy of investigation.

The writer does not hide from himself the fact that, in describing scenes and events, he may say much that is well known to many. He makes no pretension to original research. His endeavour is simply to present the notes of his journey side by side with some leading historical facts, in a way which may admit of generalization and be useful to the ordinary reader. Hence it is not impossible that the professional littérateur may, with a certain cynicism, consider that the following pages contain much that is not worth the record.

The two voyages across the ocean and the journey over the continent embraced a total distance travelled of about 14,000 miles, the eastern and western portions of which began and ended at Halifax.

CHAPTER II.
HALIFAX TO LIVERPOOL.

Halifax—Cunard Line—Intercolonial Railway—Truro—Travelling by Pullman—New Brunswick—Miramichi—Great Fires in New Brunswick—Salmon Fishing—Micmac Indians—Rimouski—S. S. Parisian—The first Ocean Steamer the Royal William—Incidents of Ocean Voyage—Arrival.

Halifax, selected for its excellence as a harbour in connection with its geographical position, is well known throughout the world as one of the most important stations for the British Navy. For upwards of a century it has been pre-eminently the Admiralty port for the British fleet in North Atlantic waters, and it was its superiority as a harbour in all respects which determined the demolition of Louisburg in 1756. It was held that no second naval arsenal was required in proximity to Halifax, and consequently not one stone was left standing upon another at Louisburg after its second capture. The enterprise of the city has intimately connected its name with the history of the navigation of the ocean. Ships of Nova Scotia may be seen on every sea, and it is here that the centre has been, around which the commerce of the Province revolved. It was in Halifax that the Cunard Steamship Company took its origin, under the distinguished family who have so long lived there: an organization which may well be considered one of the most successful known. For nearly half a century the record of their immense fleet shows that not a passenger has been lost or a letter miscarried. The irreverent Frederick the Great was wont to say that Providence was generally on the side of large armies. His own good fortune in the field was owing, however, mainly to his supervision of the simplest detail and attention to discipline. In a similar manner the unprecedented success and the perfect organization of the Cunard Company must be traced to the unwonted care and vigilance continually observed in connection with the enterprise. The principle laid down by Mr. Cunard was that nothing was to be left to chance; that the best of all material and workmanship was to be obtained in the construction of his steamers; that the crew were to be subjected to the strictest discipline; and that no possible care or precaution, even in the simplest detail, was to be omitted. The result of these efforts from the initiation of the company is seen in the magnificent Cunard fleet: a noble monument to the name it bears.

My connection with Halifax sprang from my relationship with the Intercolonial Railway, the explorations of which I was appointed to conduct in 1863, and of which I remained Chief Engineer until its completion in 1876. My acquaintance with this locality consequently extends back twenty years. I have formed there many warm friendships, which I am happy to think I still retain, and scarcely a year goes by without my passing some portion of the summer months at that delightful suburb of Halifax known as the “Northwest Arm.”

In common with all who have been connected with Halifax, I must express my humble view of the charm which the place possesses. Its scenery of wood, hill and dale; its ample expanse of water in all forms; its healthy climate and fresh air; its cool evening breezes in the heat of summer; its pleasant drives and the varied features of its daily life; all leave an impression not easily forgotten. But when to these recognized advantages the social elements of Halifax are added, it is held by common consent that there are few cities more attractive. And when we remember the well-bred, travelled men, many of whom also highly educated, to be met among the officers of the garrison and on board the ships at the station, with their continuous efforts to return the hospitalities of the citizens, we all must acknowledge that Halifax, in its social aspects, possesses features and a charm peculiar to itself.

A line of steamers runs from Halifax to Liverpool, but I had taken my passage by the steamer “Parisian,” of the Allan Line. The weekly steamer of this line, as a rule, leaves her moorings in front of Quebec at a fixed hour on the forenoon of Saturday. The traveller ordinarily goes on board the tender an hour earlier. But a train leaves Toronto, 480 miles west of Quebec, on the evening of Friday, connecting at Montreal on Saturday morning with an express mail train for Rimouski, a point on the St. Lawrence about 200 miles below Quebec. By this means letters can be posted at Toronto, indeed at nearly all the cities in Canada west of Quebec, to the last moment. This express mail, which makes rapid time, reaches Rimouski late on Saturday night. By it, passengers who have been unable to embark at Quebec may take the steamer, as it always remains off Rimouski to receive the mail. Travellers to Europe from the Maritime Provinces may also embark at Rimouski by taking the regular train over the Intercolonial Railway from St. John or Halifax. The latter is the route which I followed.

On the afternoon of the 15th June I said goodbye to my family at the station at Halifax, and with my youngest daughter I started for England. The day was bright and beautiful; indeed, although sea fogs prevail at certain seasons of the year, I know no latitude where the air is purer than it is in Nova Scotia, or where nature, during summer, is more attractive. There were several of my friends on the train, and when the sadness of parting passed away there was everything to make the trip cheerful.

After leaving Halifax we have supper at Truro, a large, clean-looking Nova Scotian town, situated on one of the heads of the Bay of Fundy. Truro, however, was not always so clean and cheerful looking as it is to-day. At one time it was conspicuous for its dark and dingy appearance, and it has to thank the visit of the Prince of Wales, nearly a quarter of a century back, for the change. The Prince had landed at Halifax, and was expected to pass through Truro in a few days. Meetings were held to devise means to do honour to the Royal visitor. I think it was Mr. Hiram Hyde who said that “evergreen arches would be out of place unless the town presented a clean face.” He moved a resolution, which was unanimously adopted, that a schooner load of lime lying in the bay should be secured, and every one be obliged to turn out with whitewash brushes. In forty-eight hours Truro was so metamorphosed as not to seem the same place, and so well satisfied were the inhabitants that they have kept its face clean ever since.

To continue. We are at the Truro refreshment room. One never criticizes railway meals too severely, at least those who are much accustomed to travel. The golden rule on such occasions is to open your mouth, shut your eyes, and take what is placed before you. If things are to your liking, then you can “give them the painted flourish of your praise.”

Our route passes over the Cobequid Mountains, and at Amherst, on another inlet of the Bay of Fundy, you may have further refreshments at ten o’clock. Then comes the night’s rest in the Pullman. To the denizens of this continent the Pullman is a necessity. In a country of narrow geographical limit nothing is more pleasant than a few hours in an ordinary first class English carriage. But we do not count our trips by hours on the western continent. Often we do so by days. Sitting up all night in one of the old carriages, which many yet from circumstances are obliged to do, was one of the small miseries of life. The want of rest, the cramped position, the foul air, the banging of doors, frequently the crowd of passengers, had all to be endured; and who of that date cannot remember the extreme discomfort to which the traveller was compelled to submit as best he could. With a Pullman you have comparative quiet, and with well-mannered and competent officials, who keep the car heated only to an endurable temperature and properly ventilated, you have all the auxiliaries of comfort. What dream is there in the Arabian Nights equal to the realization of finding yourself in a comfortable bed, with all the accessories of home, travelling at the rate of forty miles an hour?

Soon after leaving Amherst we crossed the Missiquash, the river which separates Nova Scotia from New Brunswick. It has some historic import of which I will speak hereafter. Our course is now through New Brunswick to the River Restigouche, on the north side of which lies the Province of Quebec. The whole distance through the three Provinces embraces a variety of scenes of great interest to me, as many years of my life were passed in the construction of the Intercolonial Railway.

It was not until after the American Revolution that New Brunswick was looked upon as a colony. Five thousand of the United Empire Loyalists arrived at St. John in the British fleet in 1783, one hundred years ago. It became a Province in 1786. No little of its history is in connection with its terrible fires. That of Miramichi in 1825; of St. John in 1837, when, in the heart of a rigorous winter, nearly the whole business part of the city was destroyed; and again of St. John in 1877, when, in the short space of nine hours, 200 acres of buildings were levelled to the ground, and fully two-thirds of the entire city laid in ashes. During the night the train passes through the scene of the first disaster, which left some 6,000 square miles in a state of devastation. The summer had been unusually hot and dry. On the first day of October, 1825, the inhabitants of the valley of the Miramichi were disturbed by immense forest fires in the neighbourhood of the settlements. The smoke with great heat continued for seven days, when the fire extended to the settlements, defying all efforts to extinguish it, and sweeping away all that lay before it. The town of Newcastle was consumed, as also Douglastown with all the smaller outlying settlements. The devastation continued along the northern side of the river for one hundred miles. Hundreds of settlers and thousands of cattle were lost. The number of wild animals which were burned was also very great. Even the salmon perished in the smaller streams, owing to the intense heat. To this date the trace of the fire is distinctly seen in the character of the trees which have grown upon the burnt district. A gale increased the violence of the fire, so that its fury was uncontrollable. In many cases the inhabitants, not looking for such a calamity, were suddenly awakened in their beds by the alarm of danger. A few minutes’ delay would have led to their destruction. Many were unable to save themselves. Not a few owed their preservation to the fact that their farms were near the river, in which they threw themselves, and escaped by clinging to logs. The loss of life to those at a distance from the river, where escape was impossible, must have been serious. Many of the survivors were dreadfully mutilated, and in the distant settlements few escaped to tell their dreadful experience.

In the morning we reached Campbellton, on the Restigouche, at the head of the Bay Chaleur, and we have a royal breakfast of salmon fresh from the nets. Some of our friends on the train are enthusiastic fishermen. Col. Chalmers, recently from India, and the Rev. Mr. Townend, Garrison Chaplain at Halifax, are among the number. They are bound for the fishing pools on the Restigouche, and are in high spirits. They learn here that the run of salmon up the river is unprecedentedly large, and their excitement is intense. My sympathies are with them, for fishing to me is a most pleasant recreation. If I am not a skillful, I am at least a devout, disciple of Isaac Walton.

At the station I met some of my old Micmac Indian friends, some of whom I have known for twenty years, and who accompanied me in my various wanderings in the wilds of New Brunswick. I have a strong and kindly feeling for these children of the forest. Personally I have found their simplicity of character not the sham which many claim it to be. There are exceptions, but, as a rule, in their relations to me, they have proved honest and faithful. Although perfectly undemonstrative, they never forget a kind act or word. Such is my experience, and I have had much to do with Indians of nearly every tribe between the Atlantic and the Pacific. It has been my invariable good fortune to come in contact with those among them to whom I could at any time have trusted my life. We shook hands all round. Breakfast, however, has only left time for a few words. The train starts, and as it leaves the station I receive from my dusky friends a hearty bò jou! bò jou!

We are still in New Brunswick, but in half an hour we cross the Restigouche and enter the Province of Quebec near the Metapedia station. Here our friends of the rod leave us with our best wishes for their success. The Railway now follows the River Metapedia, and the run up the valley is all we could wish. The day was fine; no morning could be more bright. The curves in the track are frequent but unavoidable, and how few who whirl over them ever think of the labour bestowed in order to reduce them to a minimum! In the Metapedia many splendid salmon pools are found. Mr. George Stephen, President of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company, has the most pleasant of fishing boxes here, pleasantly situated within sight of the passing train at Causapscal. H. R. H. Princess Louise and Prince Leopold remained for some weeks here three years ago. Mr. Stephen is himself a keen sportsman, and never lets a season pass without spending a holiday at Causapscal. He had arrived the day previous with a party of friends.

In the middle of the afternoon we reached Rimouski, where we left the train and placed ourselves in the hands of Madame Lepage, who keeps a comfortable pension at this place. This landlady’s untiring devotion to the comforts of her guests is on a par with the glow of her sparkling black eyes. She is the mother of a large family, some of whom are grown up, yet she retains all her youthful vivacity and naiveté.

Rimouski is a large straggling French Canadian town, the last of any importance in the Province of Quebec to the east, if we except the thriving village of Matane. It is chiefly remarkable for its ecclesiastical and educational institutions. There is another peculiarity; the largeness of the family in many households. It is no uncommon matter to find a family of from fifteen to twenty children. Not long ago I heard of a case of a family of eighteen, and there was a question of an orphan to be taken, for whose nurture nothing was to be paid, its parents having died under circumstances of privation and poverty. “Let it come and take its chance with our children,” said this excellent French Canadian mother, and it was so resolved.

Travellers to Europe, like ourselves, have their letters and telegrams directed to Rimouski in case of more or less last words being necessary. I was very glad to find good news in those I received. I went to the station to meet the train for the south. There I found more fishermen bound for the Restigouche, New Yorkers, who now come yearly to our waters, a class who do not fish for the pot, but are sportsmen. Among them were Mr. Dean Sage and Mr. Worden, with a party of friends.

At 10 o’clock p.m., the mail train having arrived, we took the tender for the steamer, which lay off in the stream. Sir Alex. Galt was on the train, on his way back from Halifax, where he had taken part in a public banquet given to his successor as High Commissioner for Canada in London; Sir Charles Tupper. I was in hopes that he, too, was starting for England, but to my disappointment he continued his journey to Montreal.

We reach the wharf on the branch railway, where the tender is lying. The arrangements are not quite perfect. The wharf itself is of unusual length, but it only reaches shallow water at low tide. In consequence the capacity of the tender is limited, and, although strongly built, it rolls disagreeably in rough weather, to the discomfort of passengers who are indifferent sailors.

We embarked on the “Parisian,” and at once found our way to the cabins allotted to us. A friend had previously consoled us by saying that they were the worst in the ship. They were directly under the scuppers used for pouring the ashes overboard, the disagreeable noise of which operation we were expecting to hear every hour in the night. We did not, however, experience much inconvenience on this score, as for the greater part of the voyage, our cabin was on the windward side, which is never used at sea for the discharge of refuse.

The passenger list placed in our hands contained several familiar names. There were Canadian Cabinet Ministers and Montreal merchants, with their wives and families, and there were friends whom we expected to meet, some of them we found in the saloon before retiring for the night.

Trips by ocean steamers have much the same features, and, while the changes and vicissitudes of fog, rain and fine weather are all important in the little floating community, they have little concern for the outer world. To sufferers from sea-sickness, an ocean trip is a terror. Medical men say, in a general way, that the infliction should be welcomed, for it brings health, but I have seen those prostrated by it who have been so depressed that I can not but think that if this theory be true the improvement to health will be dearly purchased by the penalty. Such, however, are the exceptions. With most people one or two days’ depression is generally the extent of the infliction. Personally I cannot complain. Nature has made me an excellent sailor. With no remarkable appetite, I have never missed a meal on board ship, nor ever found the call to dinner unwelcome.

Our first morning commenced with fog, but it cleared away as we coasted along the somewhat bold shore of Gaspé in smooth water. There is always divine service on these vessels on Sunday. The Church of England form is as a rule adhered to, which is read by the captain or doctor if no clergyman be present. If a clergyman be found among the passengers he is generally invited to conduct divine service, and any Protestant form is admitted. On the present occasion the Rev. C. Hall, Presbyterian minister of Brooklyn, N. Y., officiated. The service was simple and appropriate, and the sermon admirable. The day turned out fine, and the water so smooth that in the afternoon every passenger was on deck. Our course being to the south of the Island of Newfoundland, we passed the Magdalen Islands and the Bird Rocks, and we think of the vast number of ships which have ploughed these waters on their way to and from Quebec and Montreal. It is now fifty years since “The Royal William” steamed homewards on the same course we are now following. Much interest begins to centre in “The Royal William.” It is claimed that she was one of the pioneers of steamers, if not the very first steamer which crossed the Atlantic under steam the whole distance. She was built in Canada. She left Quebec on the 18th August, 1833, coaled at Pictou, in Nova Scotia, and arrived at Gravesend on the 11th September. She did not return to Canada, as she was sold by her owners to the Spanish Government. Her model is preserved by the Historical Society of Quebec. Some of these particulars I had from the lips of one of the officers of “The Royal William,” who died a quarter of a century ago.

There is but one counter claim to the distinction. A ship named the “Savannah” crossed the Atlantic from the port of that name in the Southern United States to Liverpool in 1819. She had machinery for propulsion of a somewhat rude description, which seemed to be attached as an auxiliary power to be used when the wind failed. There is nothing to show that it was continuously employed. I have recently heard from a friend in Savannah on the subject, and I quote from his letter: “She was 18 days on the voyage. She resembled very much in mould an old United States war frigate. The hull was surmounted with a stack and three masts—fore, main and mizzen—and was provided with side wheels of a primitive pattern, left wholly exposed to view, and so arranged that they could at any time be unshipped and the vessel navigated by sails only.”

On Monday before 2 a.m. we pass out of the Gulf by the Strait of St. Paul into the open Atlantic, and still the water continues perfectly smooth. There is a slight fog, which passes away, and we behold nothing but the world of waters around us. The moon appears, and we have an evening on deck long to be remembered. Everything stands out clear and distinct, but the shadows are dark and heavy. The moon casts its line of rippling light across the waves, and the ship glides onward, almost weird-like in its motion.

One of the pleasures, as well as penalties, of travelling is to be asked to make one at whist. It is a pleasure to take part in a single rubber if played without stakes, but to one indifferent to cards, who does not want to win his friend’s money or lose his own, to join such a party is often no little of a sacrifice. Your reply when asked to play may take the conventional form, “With pleasure,” and in a way you feel pleasure, for you like to oblige people you care for, and you may be in an extra genial mood; but how often I have wished some other victim could have been found at such times. On this occasion I left the deck when I would have willingly remained, and took my seat at the card table.

The fog returned, and the ship went at half speed for the night. When next day came there was no fog, but there was some little rocking, which, to me, during the previous night, was but a pleasant incentive to sleep, for I did not once hear the fog whistle in its periodic roar—no pleasant sound—nor was I sensible of the dreaded rattling of the ashes emptied overboard, a nightly and unavoidable duty, and by no means a musical lullaby.

I find that several ladies are absent from breakfast this morning. A breeze springs up; a sail is hoisted; and occasionally we have fog, and now and then a cold blast, with alternations of damp and moist air. Such is the general experience in crossing the Banks. As one passenger remarked, “It is hungry weather.” The breakfast in most cases had been sparing, an enforced necessity in some instances, but the general feeling is one of being ravenous for lunch. The day passes pleasantly, possibly idly, and in the evening the whist table has its votaries. We leave the fog behind us, but the next day is cloudy. There is a light wind, and the sea is a little disturbed. Most of the passengers keep the deck. We fancy we see a whale. There is too much cloud for the moon to penetrate, so the passengers generally leave the deck to enjoy themselves quietly in the saloon. We have a bright midsummer day this 21st June after a glorious morning, and we advance eastward with all sail set. The spirits of all on board seem to rise, the sky is so blue, and the sea so bright. There is but slight motion, with which, most of the passengers are becoming familiar.

We are now half way across. We begin to calculate when we shall arrive, and what trains we shall take at Liverpool. I have many times crossed the Atlantic, but I never could understand the restlessness with which so many look for the termination of the voyage. If there were some urgent necessity for immediate action on the part of those who are travelling this impatience could be accounted for. The majority, however, are tourists for pleasure or for health, and, as for business or professional men, I never could see how a few hours one way or the other could influence their operations. To some the voyage is simply imprisonment; the condition of being at sea is a penalty they pay at the sacrifice of health and comfort. These are the exceptions. There are a large number who feel as I do, and for my part, while it would be affectation to profess to be fond of storm and tempest, a sea voyage in ordinary fine weather is one of the most pleasurable experiences of my life. I have good digestion and good spirits, and I am satisfied with the pleasant change from a life on shore. I can generally read, and I can always remain on deck, and I always have a certain feeling of regret when I think that the voyage is soon coming to an end. We are all well cared for, we form pleasant associations, and anyone who can study human nature finds no little opportunity for doing so on shipboard.

Our library, it is true, is somewhat limited, but it has a few good books. I was somewhat struck on reading during this voyage almost the last words of the celebrated Mary Somerville, who, after a most distinguished career in science, died eleven years ago at Naples. These words appear more striking to me when read on board ship. “The blue peter has long been flying at my foremast, and, now that I am in my 92nd year, I may soon expect the signal for sailing.”

We discuss our progress on all occasions. There is a general thankfulness as we advance. Towards evening the motion of the ship has increased, but we can all walk the deck. On the following day we put on more canvas, for the breeze has increased and is more favorable, and our progress is much greater. There is now considerable motion, but we have all got familiar with it, and, as sailors say, we have our sea-legs. The wind is at north-west; the day clear and bright, with a warm-looking sky, speckled with fleecy clouds. The decks are dry. We appear to be achieving wonders in speed, and we are entering into all sorts of calculations as to what extent we shall make up the seven hours’ detention by fog on the Banks of Newfoundland. Our run yesterday was 342 miles in 23½ hours. Reckoning by observed time, we lose half an hour daily by the advance made easterly. During the afternoon we have a fair breeze, with all sail set, followed by the same pleasant and agreeable evening. The passengers talk of leaving with much readiness. Well is it said that much of the pleasure of life is retrospective. “We are approaching land” is now the cry, and we commence early the next morning calculating when we shall reach Moville. Saturday afternoon is delightful. Bright gleams of sunshine appear in the intervals of occasional showers. In the evening there is a concert with readings from eight to ten. The collection is for the “Sailors’ Orphanage” at Liverpool. On account of the concert our lights are allowed to burn until midnight, and many of us remain on deck nearly to that hour. The moon is three-quarters full; we have all sail set, and we can see the reflected light of the sun in the northern sky at midnight. To me there is a strange fascination in a scene of this character, with all its accompaniments. There is a movement in the sea and a freshness in the air which give a tingle to the blood, and we seem to walk up and down the deck with an elasticity we cannot explain to ourselves.

Next morning was Sunday. I was on deck half an hour before breakfast. The land on the west coast of Ireland was in sight. The morning was most fair, and it seemed to give additional zest to the excitement produced by the approaching termination of the voyage. We learn that we shall be at Moville at 2 o’clock. We have again divine worship. A Methodist minister read the Church of England service and delivered an admirable sermon. We reach Moville, and find we have been seven days and ten hours making the run from Rimouski. I took the opportunity here to send a cablegram home; it consisted of one word, but that word contained a page of family meaning.

We passed the Giant’s Causeway, at which the passengers intently looked. We could also see Islay and the Mull of Kintyre.

In the evening we have a second service. Our eloquent friend from Brooklyn satisfied us so well the previous Sunday that we begged of him to give us another sermon. He complied with our wishes, and with equal success.

It is our last night on board; to-morrow we are to separate. Many of us on this voyage have met for the first time, and in all human probability few of us will again come side by side. There is always a feeling of sadness in thinking you do something for the last time. I can fancy even a convict leaving his cell where he has passed some years pausing upon the threshold while a rush of the old recollections, the long, sad hours cheered by gleams of hope, crowd upon him, when he will feel some strange sentiment of regret that it is the last time he looks upon the place. The feeling may last but a second, but it is an impulse of our nature which is uncontrollable.

On board ship, with a certainty of gaining port to-morrow, the last hours are passed in packing up and preparing to leave, and a feeling of regret creeps in that now so many pleasant associations are to end, and in spite of yourself some of the good qualities of those who are set down as disagreeable people come to the surface in your memory. Some few friendships are formed at sea which are perpetuated, but generally the pleasantest of our relations terminate with the voyage. It is too often the case, as in the voyage of life, that those we have learned to esteem are seen no more.

We had to lose no time in order to pass the troublesome bar at the mouth of Liverpool harbour. With vessels of the draught of the American steamers it can only be crossed at high water. The officers generally calculate what can be done from the hour they leave Moville, and regulate their speed accordingly, so as to approach it at the right moment.

No one knows better than the occupants of the cabin corresponding with our own on the opposite side of the vessel that a great many tons of ashes have been thrown overboard during the voyage: we all know that a large volume of smoke has passed out of the funnel, a proof of the great weight of fuel which has been expended in keeping the screw revolving. The draught of the ship is consequently considerably less than when we left the St. Lawrence.

There is now no fog; the weather is fine; there is everything to encourage the attempt to run in, and it proves successful. On this occasion, had we been twenty minutes later, we should have had to remain outside until another tide. The lights of Galloway and the Isle of Man were passed before the most of us retired last night. We all awoke early; at a quarter to five we had crossed the bar; the “Parisian” was in the Mersey; the tender came alongside the ship, and very soon afterwards I stood again on English ground.

CHAPTER III.
ENGLAND.

Willie Gordon—Custom House Annoyances—Cable Telegram—Post Office Annoyances—London—Spurgeon’s Tabernacle—An Ancestral Home—English and United States Hotels—English Reserve—A Railway Accident—The Land’s End—A Deaf Guest.

As I stood on the landing stage at Liverpool awaiting patiently and with resignation for the Customs officers to allow the removal of our luggage, a host of recollections ran through my mind. My thoughts went back twenty years to another occasion when I landed from an ocean steamer at an hour equally early. My memory has been aided by one of those works which appear so frequently from the New York press, so fertile in this species of encyclopædiac literature, endeavouring to embrace in a few pages the truths learned only by a life’s experience. The small volume tells you what not to do, and it sententiously sets forth its philosophy in a series of paragraphs. There are ninety-five pages of this philanthropic effort, with about four hundred negative injunctions. The title of the book is “Don’t.” The injunction that struck my eye most forcibly may be taken as no bad type of the teaching of the book. It runs, “Don’t” is the first word of every sentence. “Don’t go with your boots unpolished, but don’t have the polishing done in the public highways.” These words met my eye as I was engaged in these pages, and they brought back the feelings which passed through my mind on the morning I left the “Parisian.”

My thoughts reverted to my visit to the Mother Country after eighteen years’ absence; the first made by me since I left home in 1845. I was a passenger on the “United Kingdom,” due at Glasgow. She had passed up the Clyde during the night, and arrived opposite the Broomielaw in the early morning. The night previous the passengers were in the best of humour, and the stewards had been kept up late attending to us. We were all in high spirits, and without exception delighted at returning to Scotland. I was particularly impatient to get ashore, to touch the sacred ground of my native land. I arose that morning one of the first of the passengers, before the stewards were visible. The ship was in the stream off the Broomielaw. A boat came to the side. I jumped into her and went ashore. I strolled along the quay. My foot was not literally on “my native heath,” but I enjoyed intensely the pleasure we all feel in revisiting our native shores, and in being near the scenes from which we have been long absent. Everything seemed so fresh and charming. I had no definite purpose in my wandering, but I was at home; it was Scotland. In my semi-reverie I was interrupted by a young voice in the purest Clydesdale Doric saying “hae yer butes brushed?” I looked down mechanically at my feet, and found that the cabin bootblack of our vessel had neglected this duty, probably owing to the irregular hours of the last night on board. Moreover, it was the first word addressed to myself, and I should have felt bound to accept the offer if it had been unnecessary in the fullest sense. I commenced conversation with the boy. He was very young. I summoned to my aid my best Scotch for the occasion. His name was Willie Gordon, and he told me his widowed mother was a washerwoman, that he had a number of brothers and sisters younger than himself, that his earnings amounted to about half a crown a week, and that between him and his mother they managed to earn ten shillings in that time. “And how do you live, Willie?” “Reel weel,” replied the boy, with the cheeriest of voices. “And now, Willie,” I said, when I had paid him his fee, “it is many years since I have been here. I want to see the places of greatest interest in Glasgow.” “Ou, sir,” he promptly said, “ye shuld gang ta see Corbett’s eatin hoose.” “Do you know the way there?” I asked. “Fine, sir. I ken the way vary weel. I’ll gang wi ye tae the door,” and his face looked even happier than before. I accepted his guidance, and, if my recollection is correct, the place was in Jamaica street. The boy walked by my side carrying his brushes and box, and chatted gaily of himself and his life. Apparently no prince could be happier. We reached the renowned establishment he had named. It was a species of home which a benevolent citizen had instituted, on the same principle on which the coffee taverns are now established: to furnish an early hot cup of tea or coffee to men going to work, to offer some other refreshment than whiskey and beer, to give a meal at cost price with all the comfort possible with cleanliness good cheer and airy rooms, warm in winter. After some hesitation, and persuasion on my part, Willie shyly entered with me. The menu was on the wall. Porridge and milk one penny, large cup of coffee one penny, bread and butter, thick, one penny, eggs and toast one penny, &c., &c.; everything, one penny. I cannot say that I give a precise account of what appeared, but it was essentially as I describe it. We were a little early even for that establishment, so Willie and I sat down. The buxom matron gave us some account of the place and its doings. The Duke of Argyle had dined with her a few days before. She told us the establishment was well patronized and prosperous. The time soon came for our order, for we were the first to be served. I set forth what I required for myself, and that was no light breakfast, as I had a sea appetite, sharpened by the early morning walk. I directed the attendant to bring the same order in double proportions for the boy, so that we had a splendid déjeuner. My little companion was in ecstasies. Never was hospitality bestowed on a more grateful recipient. He would not leave me, and he seemed bound to make a morning of it, and from time to time graciously volunteered, “I’ll tak ye ony gait, Sir.” His customers were forgotten, but I trust he did not suffer from his devotion to me, for I did my best to remedy his neglect of professional duty. He followed me from place to place, carrying the implements of his day’s work, and he seemed anxious to do something for the trifling kindness I had shown him and the few pence I had paid for his breakfast. But I was more than compensated by the pleasure I myself received. I listened to all he said with fresh interest, for he was open, earnest, honest and simple-minded. He was deeply attached to his mother, and was evidently proud to be able to add to her slender earnings, which were just enough to keep her and her family from want. He certainly seemed determined to do all in his power to make her comfortable. He never lost sight of me till I left by the eleven o’clock train, and my last remembrance, on my departure from Glasgow on that occasion as the train moved out, was seeing Willie waving his brushes and boot-box enthusiastically in the air. I often wonder what Willie’s fate is. He appeared to me to be of the material to succeed in life. In Canada he certainly would have worked his way up. I never heard of him again, but I certainly shall not be greatly astonished to hear of Sir William Gordon, distinguished Lord Provost of Glasgow.

One of the nuisances of travelling throughout the world is the ordeal of passing the Custom House. Frequently the traveller from Canada thinks the infliction at Liverpool is pushed a little further than is requisite. What can we smuggle from Canada? I know quite well that there is generally a very loose conscience as to the contents of a lady’s trunk, considered under the aspect of its fiscal obligations, but surely some form of declaration might be drawn up by means of which honourable men and women would be spared this grievous and irritating delay. Apart from the delay, it is no agreeable matter to open out your carefully packed portmanteau. To ladies it is particularly offensive to have their dresses turned over and the contents of their trunks handled by strangers. Canadians, while crossing their own frontier, find the Custom House officers of the United States, as a rule, particularly courteous, and, on giving a straightforward declaration that they have nothing dutiable, they are generally allowed to pass at once. Liverpool may not be alone in strictly exacting all that the law allows, but is this course at all necessary or wise? It cannot increase the revenue, for the additional expense of collection must more than absorb the trifling receipts. And one is not kindly impressed with this reception, especially when we feel that it is totally unnecessary. We cross the ocean from Canada with peculiar feelings of pride and sentiment to visit our Mother Land, and it is somewhat of a severe wrench to be treated as foreigners by the Customs authorities on our arrival; I will not say uncivilly or wrongfully, but as if we were adventurers going to England on some plundering tour. It is certainly no petty annoyance to Canadians, when they make their entry into a land they are taught to call “home,” to have their sense of common honesty thus challenged at the threshold. Anything which is brought from Canada can only be some trifling present, such as Indian work, to some relative in the Old Country; and if, possibly, a few pounds be lost to the exchequer, it is made up a thousandfold by the good will arising from being courteously treated on the first landing on English soil. Would it not suffice if every ordinary passenger were required to make a declaration in some such form as the following?: “I am a Canadian subject. I declare upon my honour that my baggage contains nothing whatever for sale. I have with me my personal effects for my own use only.” Or it may be added, “I have a few gifts for old friends, of little or no commercial value.”

Perhaps some British statesman might not think these suggestions beneath his notice. Let him send a competent agent to examine and report upon this subject. He will probably discover that the whole nuisance can be swept away without inflicting the slightest injury on the national exchequer. It would form no discreditable sentence in a statesman’s epitaph to read that “he did away with the needless and offensive restrictions imposed on British subjects from the outer empire visiting the Imperial centre.”

Having at last passed the Custom House, I drove to Rock Ferry, one of the most pleasant suburbs of Liverpool, to visit a family I was acquainted with, and with them I passed a most enjoyable day. The greeting I received was most cordial and gratifying. In the afternoon I started for London, leaving my daughter behind me, and I found myself once more whirling through the green meadows and cultivated fields of England. I was alone, but I did not feel solitary. How charming everything looked! The air was fresh with passing showers, and the rain played for some quarter of an hour on the landscape only to make it look fresher and fairer, and, when the sun came out, more full of poetry. Why, we are at Harrow-on-the-Hill! Has time gone so quickly? There is so much to think about, so many fresh scenes to gaze upon, and so many events seem to crowd into the hours that the traveller, in his bewilderment, loses count of time.

I am again in London, at Batt’s hotel, Dover street, and I walk to the Empire Club to learn if there are any letters for me. I am disappointed to find there is no cablegram. I despatched one from Moville, and one word in reply would have told me if all was well. I recollect well the depression I experienced at the time at not receiving news. It was an inexplicable feeling; not exactly one of impatience or disappointment, but rather of keen anxiety. “Why should there be silence,” I murmur, when everything points to the necessity for a reply.

Next day my business took me to the city, and I returned as rapidly as I could. In the afternoon, to relieve my suspense, I went to the Geological Society’s rooms, and mechanically looked over the books and specimens. I wandered into the rooms of the Royal Society, and found before me the well known features of Mary Somerville as they are preserved in her bust. I then strolled into the parks and down to the Club, and still no cablegram. These facts are of no interest to any but the writer, but possibly they may suggest, not simply to the transmitter of telegrams but to the officials who pass them through their hands, how much often depends upon their care and attention, and that there is something more required than simply receiving and recording a message. There is the duty of seeing to its proper delivery, and it was precisely on this ground that my trouble took its root.

I was three days in London when I received a telegram from Mr. George Stephen, President of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company, stating that he was desirous that I should proceed to British Columbia as soon as possible. It was my acceptance of this proposition which has led to the production of these pages, but at that hour I felt that Mr. Stephen’s communication only increased my bewilderment. My telegraphic address was properly registered at the General Post Office in London, and it had been used over and over again during my annual visits to England. The cablegram I had just received bore the registered address, and yet I had received no message from my family in Halifax. I have often sent cablegrams, and never more than twenty-four hours elapsed before receiving a reply. Consequently I again telegraphed, plainly stating my anxiety, and then wandered out to call on some friends. Later in the evening I at last found an answer, and, in order that it might not again miscarry, the sender put on my address five additional words, held as quite unnecessary, at two shillings each, making ten shillings extra to pay. On my return to Canada I learned that no less than three cablegrams had been sent to me, each one of which remains to this day undelivered. Two of the despatches were sent before, one subsequently to, the message last mentioned. All were properly addressed. I felt it a public duty to write to the Secretary of the Post Office Department in London, but no satisfactory explanation has yet been given. Life is a mass of trifles, as a rule. The exceptions are our griefs and our sufferings, our triumphs and joys; the latter, as a French writer says, “counting by minutes, the former by epochs.” I passed three particularly unpleasant days during this period, my own personal affair, of course, and one in which the world may seem to have no interest. But the public has really a deep interest in having a more perfect system of Atlantic telegraphy than we now possess, and the facts I have described, have their moral. At least it is to be hoped that the authorities may remember that anyone separated by the ocean from his correspondents is not content that telegrams should be delayed for days, and still less content not to have them delivered at all.

I was a month in England, chiefly in London, remaining until the 26th of July. I must say that when in London I often thought of, although I can not fully endorse, the words of that enthusiastic Londoner who held that it was the “best place in the world for nine months in the year, and he did not know a better for the other three.” In London you can gratify nearly every taste, and although it always takes money to secure the necessaries and luxuries of life, especially in great cities, still, if one can content himself with living modestly, it does not require a wonderfully large income to enjoy the legitimate excitements and amusements of London. In this respect it is a marked contrast to New York, where, generally speaking, a large income must be at your command for even a moderate degree of respectable comfort.

In London, to those who cannot afford a carriage, there is a cab, and those who have no such aspirations as a “hansom” can take the omnibus. It is not necessary to go to the orchestra stalls to see a performance, nor are you obliged to pay six guineas per week for your lodgings or one pound for your dinner. The reading room of the British Museum is open to every respectable, well-ordered person. You can look at some of the best pictures in the world for nothing, and, if you are a student of history and literature, there are localities within the ancient boundaries of the city which you cannot regard without emotion. You have two of the noblest cathedrals in the world; Westminster Abbey, with its six centuries of history, and with its tombs and monuments, setting forth tangibly the evidences of the past national life. Then you have Wren’s classical masterpiece St. Paul’s, one of the most perfect and commanding edifices ever erected anywhere. Its interior has never been completed. Will it ever be so? Yet, as Wren’s epitaph tells us, if you wish to see his monument “look around you.”

Again, in London, by way of recreation, you have public parks, river-side resorts, and by the river itself and underground railway you can easily reach many pleasant haunts about the suburbs. Indeed, by the aid of the steamboat or rail you can take the most charming outings any person can desire to have. London may be said to be inexhaustible.

As one of the directors of the Hudson Bay Company I had often to visit the city, and some very pleasant relationships grew out of my attendance at the various board meetings. I was constantly meeting Canadians, and certainly we hold together in a peculiar way when away from the Dominion. It is a strong link we are all bound by, and yet we would find it hard to explain why. Even men who are not particularly civil to one another in Canada will cross each other’s path with pleasure when from home, and intimacies never anticipated are formed, and associations entered upon once thought impossible.

One of my visits was to Spurgeon’s Tabernacle. The name is familiar to everyone, and as I had been many times in London without hearing this celebrated preacher, I was anxious not to return to Canada without making the attempt. I was told to be in good time, and, acting on the suggestion, I obtained a good seat, and formed, I should suppose, one of four thousand people. Just in front of me, strange to say, I beheld a familiar form, which I recollected last to have seen at Queen’s College convocation, Kingston: the Premier of Ontario! Mr. Oliver Mowat was the gentleman who was seated two pews in front of me. He was the last person I expected to meet in such a place, as I did not even know he was in England. He was the only one in that vast assemblage I recognized. Spurgeon is, undoubtedly, worthy of his great reputation, and on this particular Sunday his sermon was forcible, marked by rare good sense, and perfectly adapted to his auditory. I felt fully rewarded for my effort to be present. When the service was over I had a few words with Mr. Mowat, but our interview was but short, for I had an engagement, and it was necessary for me to hurry to the Waterloo Station to take the train for Guildford, in order to reach —— Park, in its neighbourhood.

This was a most agreeable visit to me. I do not think there is any country but England where scenes and associations are known such as I there witnessed. At the station a carriage met us, for I found myself in company with a gentleman going to the same hospitable mansion. He was an Irish M. P. On our entering the grounds we passed amidst grand old elms, along a noble avenue, and through walks beautiful with roses, ivy and laurel. My welcome was most courteous and graceful. There were several guests, but it was my privilege to sleep in the haunted room. The walls were hung with tapestry; the floor was of oak; the fireplace was a huge structure of sculptured stone from floor to ceiling. No ghost disturbed my slumbers, and, in the words of Macbeth, “I slept in spite of thunder.” I awoke at dawn, and drew back the heavy curtains to admit the light. It was about sunrise. Shall I ever forget that magnificent view from the old windows, with their quaint transoms and quarterings, and circular heads! the sight of those fine old trees, stately beeches, tall ancient elms, venerable blue beech, and many a noble oak of from two to three centuries’ growth! It was one of those old ancestral domains, with glades, avenues and forest, which seem to take you out of the present world and back in thought to one altogether different, in many of its conditions, from the life of to-day. The most carefully developed homestead of old Boston, or one of the finest mansions on the Hudson, with the outline of mountain scenery, and its associate stream; any one of the well built halls south of the Potomac, elaborated with all the wealth of the planter; or even one of our own palatial Canadian residences; all appear a thing of yesterday as compared with that stately edifice, with its delightful lawns, walks and avenues, which bear the ancient impress of their date and of their early greatness. No doubt these paths were trod by men in the troublous times of Henry VIII. and his three children, men who then may have debated mooted points of history in this very neighbourhood. There is a tradition also that the virgin Queen has looked upon this same landscape “in maiden meditation fancy free.”

The morning was peculiarly fine, and as I opened the window to admit the pure, fresh air I really breathed again to enjoy it, and inhale the perfume of foliage and of the garden flowers; flowers whose ancestors may have traced three centuries of life, at least the early known plants indigenous to English soil; while those of foreign origin could boast of sires, perhaps, the first of their genus brought from the Continent. The air was vocal with music; the trees seemed peopled with scores of blackbirds and mavis, and there was many a proverbial “early bird” busy with the yet earlier worm, who had gained so little by his rising. All nature seemed teeming with life and gladness. I can only here acknowledge the courtesy I received from my host and hostess. The hours passed away unclouded by the slightest shadow, and I know no more pleasant memory than that of my visit to this English ancestral home.

I was highly pleased, on my return to Batt’s Hotel, to receive intimation that my daughter was shortly to join me in London. There is a certain solitude in a London hotel, which is much the opposite of the continental life, and entirely distinct from the table d’hote system of this continent. In England the desire is to secure extreme quiet and privacy, while on this side of the Atlantic every auxiliary is provided for publicity and freedom of movement. This is especially the case in the United States. In Canada it may be said that a middle course is taken. In many large hotels on this continent, in addition to the drawing and breakfast rooms, parlours and halls and writing and news rooms are open, where papers are furnished and sold, seats at the theatre obtained, telegrams sent, books, especially cheap editions of novels, purchased, with photographs of the professional beauties, leading politicians and other celebrated people. All of these places are marked by busy, bustling life. The dining room, from its opening in the morning till a late hour at night, is one scene of animation, be the meal what it may. Some of the beau sexe even visit the breakfast room with elaborate toilets, and many a pair of earrings glitter in the sun’s early rays. A walk up and down the wide passage or hall at any hour is proper and regular, and it is stated that it is often the only exercise indulged in by many living in the great hotels of the United States, the street car furnishing the invariable means of locomotion. In the large cities the hotels are situated, as a rule, on the main streets. There are always rooms where one may from the windows look upon the crowds passing and repassing. Thus a drama of ever-changing life can be comfortably witnessed from an armchair placed at the right point of observation. There is no such thing as loneliness. Almost everyone is ready, more than ready, to converse with you. If you yourself are courteous and civil you will probably find those around you equally so, whether they be guests or belong to the establishment. With a little tact and judgment you can always obtain useful information. My experience likewise is that the information is invariably correct: for there never seems to be any hesitation in a negative reply when those you address are not acquainted with the particular point of inquiry. The gentleman who presides over the cigars, the controller of the papers and the photographs and the official of the bar, an important field of action in a high class hotel, each and all make it a point of duty impressively to patronize your local ignorance when you ask for information. In an English hotel the general rule is for no one person to speak to another. If you do venture on the proceeding, Heaven only knows what reply you may receive. In the class divisions of the Mother Country there may be social danger in not observing the lines defined by etiquette. There are always men of good address and appearance who are not unknown to the police, and whose photographs may be destined at no distant period to figure in the Rogues’ Gallery. But such men are to be found in all countries. Whatever necessity there may be for prudence and circumspection, it has struck me that there is really no ground for that absolute uncompromising offensiveness of manner which often well-meaning men in England feel bound to show to any person who addresses them, as the joke goes, “to whom they have not been introduced.”

If you are quite alone very little experience in the English hotel is enough to throw you back on yourself, and to depress even a gay and blithsome nature. You walk with a listless air through the corridors, you take your meals with a sort of mechanical impassiveness which you cannot help feeling, and you seem to drop into the crowd of reserved, self-contained individuals, who act as if they thought that courtesy to a stranger was a national crime. I do not speak of the clubs, where, if you are a member, you can always meet some acquaintance. But comparatively few Canadians visit England who are club men. I know no solitude so dreary, nor any atmosphere so wearying, as that of the London hotel in a first class lateral street when you have nobody to speak to, where you can see scarcely a living soul out of the window, where the only noise is the distant rumble of vehicles in the neighbouring thoroughfare, and where, when you are tired with reading or writing, you have no recourse but to put on your hat and sally out into the street.

A circumstance crosses my mind as I am writing which gives some insight into English life and character. It happened to a friend, now no more, with whom I had crossed the Atlantic. He was travelling from Liverpool to London, and took his place in the railway carriage, sitting on the back middle seat, while opposite in the corner seats were two gentlemen, each with a newspaper. The train had been an hour on its journey, but the silence was unbroken. At last my friend spoke. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I am L—— D——. I have come from ——”, and he named a city in the Dominion. “I have been a merchant for fifty years, and now I am living in ease. I am eighty-three years of age, and, like the large majority of Canadians, I have two eyes and one tongue, and, like a great many of my countrymen, I feel a pleasure in using them. My eyes feel the period of time they have done me service. I cannot read from the motion, but I can take part in a conversation. My business in Britain is to see my daughters. One is married to an officer quartered at the Royal barracks in Dublin. I am just returning from a visit to her, and I am on my way to see my second daughter, whose husband is stationed at Woolwich. Having now introduced myself, I trust, gentlemen, you will not look upon me as a pickpocket or anything of that sort.” One of the gentlemen carefully drew out his card-case and gave his card. This example was followed by his opposite neighbour. “What, gentlemen,” my friend said, looking at the cards through his spectacles, which he deliberately put on, “you do not seem to know one another; let me introduce you.” At the same moment he crossed his arms and presented the card of the one to the other. The curtest and least definable bow was given. One query followed another, and my friend had a great deal to say and much to enquire about. He had occupied the highest position in the city he came from, and had mixed a good deal with the men of his world. The three or four hours which followed were most pleasing to the trio. My friend’s fellow travellers were county men, and he was cordially invited to spend a week with each of them. The invitations were accepted, the acquaintance renewed, he met with the most cordial English welcome, and the visits proved to be particularly agreeable to all parties.

In my experience, and in that of others who come under the name of Canadians, whose fortunes now lie in the Dominion, whatever our place of birth, all that the Englishman wants to know regarding us is that we are Canadians; in other words, that we are not dubious members of an uncertain phase of English society. We then at once receive the most genial courtesy and kindness; real, true, honest, hospitable kindness. I reason from this that we must be outside the circle in which this frigid intercourse is observed as a protection. We are in England for a brief time; then we pass from the scene, and there is no fear entertained on the part of our English neighbours of forming an unpleasant and unprofitable, that is scarcely the word, an embarrassing, relationship. I have heard the explanation given for this peculiarity that its very defects spring from the loyalty of character which marks the high-bred Englishman. The theory is that, if he knows you once, he is always to know you. He wishes to run no risk of being placed in a false position, and hence avoids any intercourse which, although in a way agreeable to him, he will not accept at the cost of his own self-respect. And there are men who in no way incur blame for want of courtesy in a railway carriage, but they will pass their fellow traveller after a week’s interval as if they had never seen him. It may be urged that those who live in the state of society which obtains in England are the best able to understand its conditions and the wisdom of its laws. It is quite possible that this mode of treatment of a stranger may be commended by experience. There are many examples where the opposite course has led to trouble, but prudence and good sense would surely avoid annoyance, and they are requisite under all circumstances. But is it not also advisable to avoid the extraordinary discourtesy with which sometimes a remark from a stranger is received, as if it were designed to serve some deliberate scheme of wrong, or to lead up to some act of swindling and imposture. Surely we may always be able to detect any attempt of this kind and protect ourselves; and in all conditions of life good manners cost little and entail no risk.

In one of my excursions from London I was travelling by the Great Western Railway. A lady and gentleman were in the same compartment. I made the third. Shortly after leaving Paddington the lady suffered from a spark in her eye, certainly a most painful annoyance. Her fellow passenger appeared much troubled and as much bewildered. Neither seemed to know what to do, and the lady did not conceal how much she suffered. I ventured to address the gentleman, and said, as was the case, that I had frequently experienced this unfortunate accident, and that if the eye was kept moist the pain would be lessened. He barely answered me. The lady continued in pain. The train stopped for three minutes at Swindon. I took my flask, made a rush to the refreshment room, carefully washed the cup, filled it with water, and brought it to the carriage. I offered it, I believe with ordinary good manners, to the gentleman, and suggested that a handkerchief moistened with cold water should be applied to the eye. My offer was curtly declined! There was nothing more to be done. I threw the water out of the window, replaced my flask in my travelling bag, and turned to my book. I did not forget the incident during my trip, nor, indeed, have I ever done so.

I continued on my journey, and proceeded to visit some friends in the West of England, after which I found my way to the Land’s End, which I felt a great desire to see. I went to Torquay, and the sight of so many invalids in Bath chairs made me melancholy; to Dartmouth, at the entrance of the River Dart, near the birthplace of the great Sir Walter Raleigh; to Totness, to Davenport and to Penzance; thence to the treeless, bleak-looking district of the Land’s End, to look at a landscape which I shall always remember.

At a little inn on the most westerly point of England I found I could get a chop and a glass of ale. Having ordered luncheon, I strolled out in the meantime to have a look at the blue water and the wide expanse of ocean. The place is certainly solitary enough, but in its way the boldness of the landscape and the never-ceasing roar of the waves elevated it from dreariness. I returned to the room of the inn and found a gentleman seated at the table. I had a perfect recollection of my experience in the railway carriage a few days previously. But it seemed to me to meet a stranger at this spot, seldom visited, gave a guarantee of a certain similarity of tastes, and that it might possibly be agreeable to both to exchange a few words. Indeed, I thought it would be perfect folly for us to remain together in silence for about half an hour as if ignorant of the presence of each other. I therefore made up my mind that, at any rate, the fault should not be mine, and that I would make bold to break the ice. We were certainly not introduced, but at all risks I would make an effort to begin by saying some ordinary words about the weather. The sky was cloudy and the air cold, but I raised my voice to a cheerful tone and said, “It is rather raw to-day, sir.” The gentleman addressed took not the slightest notice of what I had said! And how ridiculous and embarrassing it did seem to me at the time to think that two rational beings should be lunching together at a little round table in the last house in England in solemn silence! I fear that not a few disagreeable thoughts passed through my mind, but I could do nothing. In due time I was ready to return to Penzance. I entered the vehicle which had brought me hither, and at no great distance away from the inn we passed the individual I had lunched with, walking by himself. I took the opportunity, when out of hearing, of asking the driver if he knew who he was. I received the reply that he was a deaf and dumb gentleman who lived in the neighbourhood!

CHAPTER IV.
ENGLAND—(Continued).

Marquis of Salisbury—Classical studies—Henley Regatta—Red Lion—London Dinner to Lord Dufferin—His Speech—Greenwich—Fisheries Exhibition—Bray—The Vicar—The Thames—Minehead—The Polynesian.

I was exceedingly glad to be joined by my daughter in London, because much depended on her arrival. We had many places to see together, and she was to accompany me on a visit to some friends in the country, who had extended to us a very warm invitation. During this visit we met all the kindness we could have even fancied, at one of those English homes, standing among old trees, with ivy-covered walls, and gardens full of roses of all colours and in the greatest perfection.

We returned to London, as I had matters to attend to at the offices of the Hudson Bay Company, the Colonial Office, and the office of the High Commissioner for Canada.

Shortly after my arrival the Marquis of Salisbury distributed the prizes at King’s College, and his remarks on the occasion struck me forcibly. Owing to my connection with Queen’s University, Kingston, it had become my duty, however imperfectly I might have performed it, to approach the same question: the extent to which classical studies should form the basis of education. Lord Salisbury pointed out, with all the polish which marks his utterances, that intellectual capacity is as varied as any other of God’s creations; that many minds have little inclination for study: and that to devote the best years of life to the acquisition of an imperfect acquaintance with Greek and Latin was most unwise and barren of good results. Lord Salisbury proceeded to say:

“I cannot but feel, in reading this list, how singularly privileged the present generation is in the studies they are invited to pursue. In my time, and before my time, for I was just at the end of the darker period, there were only two possible lines of study—classics and mathematics. Mathematics was looked upon in many quarters with considerable jealousy and doubt. Classics was the one food tendered to all appetites and all stomachs. I do not wish to say a word in depreciation of classics. It would be as sensible to speak in depreciation of wheat and oats because wheat will not grow in the North of Scotland and oats will not grow at the equator. But people are coming gradually, if they have not come fully, to the conclusion that the intellectual capacity is as various as any other of nature’s creations, and that there are as many different kinds of minds, open to as many different kinds of treatment, as there are soils on the surface of the earth; and that it is as reasonable to try to force all minds to grow classics, or to grow mathematics, or to grow history, as it would be to force all soils to grow fruit, or grass, or corn. This is an enormous gain to the present generation. For what happened in the last generation, or two generations ago, was this, that those minds which were fitted for education in classics received full development, while those minds not fitted for that treatment were stunted and turned from intellectual pursuits altogether. There is no greater privilege of the present generation than the full conception at which we have arrived of the fact that almost every intellect is, if it be properly treated, capable of high development. But whether that development be reached or not depends upon the judgment with which its capacities are nurtured and its early efforts encouraged. Now, in this list I am very glad to see that modern history and the English language and literature occupy a very distinguished position.

“I have the greatest possible respect for the educational establishments in which I was brought up, but I never look back without a feeling of some bitterness to the many hours during which I was compelled to produce the most execrable Latin verse in the world. I believe that if a commission of distinguished men were appointed to discover what is the most perfectly useless accomplishment to which the human mind can be turned a large majority would agree that versification in the dead languages was that accomplishment. On that account, I suppose, we were compelled in the last generation, whether we were fitted or not, to devote a considerable time to it, and, if it is any compensation to you for the severe examination you have to undergo, think of the agonies of unpoetical minds set to compose poetical effusions, which you are happily spared.”

Lord Salisbury dwelt upon the number of examinations to which everybody in the military and civil services is subjected, and instanced one official who had passed through thirty-six examinations. In his own able way he declared his opposition to the system of cramming, by which the mere surface of knowledge is floated over with facts, cunningly grouped together, soon to be forgotten and never of true value.

Hot weather is sometimes experienced in London, but it is a different heat from that of Canada, and by no means to be compared with it in temperature. Few people dress to meet the summer in England, and in winter the sole addition is the great coat. A fur cap is unknown. The round silk hat, so much abused, holds its own, summer and winter, against all attempts to banish it. Although the days are hot, the nights are generally cool. Any extraordinarily hot weather is exceedingly oppressive to the Londoner.

It was during the warm days that I went to Henley, to join a party who had engaged to be present at the regatta. With a Canadian friend I took the train to Maidenhead, thence by the branch railway to Henley, one of the most striking landscapes in the valley of the Thames, remarkable for its many beauties. The river here is broad, and runs between undulating hills covered with foliage. We cross the old stone bridge at Henley in order to find our friends among the many carriages. No more pleasant spectacle could have been seen. It presented only the sunny and holiday side of life. It was as different from the mixed mass of human beings of all classes and conditions you meet at the Derby or the other horse races near the metropolis as can be imagined. All was order, quietude and irreproachable respectability. There were no drinking booths, no gambling, no shrieking out the “odds,” none of the professional rough element in search of a “good thing.” We were among the most elaborate toilets. No one but looked her best. Probably nowhere do we see more thoroughly this one phase of English life than at the Henley regatta. The scenery is English, the people are English; we have the theoretical English staidness and propriety. The amusement is English. What struck me was the absence of all excitement. This indifference appeared to me remarkable. Indeed, the only exhibition of interest was that shown by the oarsmen, who were young men in perfect condition, with muscles well trained and developed, and who bent enthusiastically to their work. I did not hear a single cheer. I never before nor since beheld such an orderly crowd, if I may apply that word to an assemblage of so many distinguished people. I noticed that those who came under my observation were generally light-haired or brown, with fair complexions. It seemed to me, judging from appearances, as if the regatta was looked upon as a very ordinary affair in itself, and that it was more an occasion for the well-dressed mass of people to meet together. There evidently was a theory that some one boat must come in first, and, as it generally happened that there was a foregone conclusion as to who the winner would be, there was nothing to call for enthusiasm. Certainly none was shown.

We did not find our friends, although we searched diligently for them on both sides of the river. After giving up the attempt reluctantly, we resolved to take luncheon at the renowned old hostelry, the “Red Lion,” celebrated as the inn where Shenstone wrote his lines in praise of an inn, perhaps his only lines now generally remembered. The “Red Lion” did not belie its ancient reputation. There is always a pleasure in visiting these haunts of a former generation. There is little of modern finery and frippery about them, but you find the actual comforts of life above criticism. Nowhere can be seen a whiter cloth, brighter glass, finer bread, sweeter butter, juicier meat or a more royal tankard of English ale, whose praises Chaucer might have sung.

We took the 6.10 evening train to Maidenhead, and then walked to our friends’ place. We found that they had driven to Henley, excepting those who kindly received us. The party, however, came back in good time, having heard of us through a common friend, recently an Aide-de-camp on the General’s staff in Halifax. We had met him at the regatta, and asked intelligence of the party. He had succeeded where we had failed, and had found those of whom we were in search.

We returned to London. Finding we had now about a fortnight to remain, we mapped out our plans in order to see what we could do in that time. We saw all the public sights which our engagements enabled us to do. I cannot say that I was greatly impressed with the pictures of the Royal Academy. Several were good, but I did not find a large number of surpassing excellence, I was much struck by a water-colour drawing of mountain scenery, with a bridge and stream, Kirbrücher Stadden in Switzerland, by Arthur Croft. We went to the theatre, and saw Irving in “The Bells” and “Impulse” at the St. James; to a promenade concert at the Botanical Gardens, Regent’s Park and to Wimbledon. Through the courtesy of Col. Otter, in command of the Canadian camp, we were invited to an at home given by him, where we saw a great many Canadian friends. We also met some distinguished military people. We were gratified to learn all about the success of our marksmen. The rain, however, was exceptionally heavy during the whole day, and most unfortunately there was no going beyond the shelter of the canvas tents.

One event of no ordinary importance which we witnessed was the banquet to Lord Dufferin at the Empire Club. Lord Bury presided. Sir Charles Tupper and the Honourable Alexander Mackenzie both spoke very effectively. It struck me that in each case their speeches were admirable. Neither of them occupied more than ten or fifteen minutes, and what they said had the impress of careful consideration and finish, for it was dignified, concise and appropriate. I have no recollection of having heard either of those well known public men speak to better advantage, and it was a matter of great regret to all of us that their speeches were not reported. The dining room of the club is not large; it can hold no more than sixty at most, so the number who could attend was limited, much to the disappointment of many. We were all of us glad to see Lord Dufferin. He was quite unchanged. He had the same high-bred charm of manner, and that polished courtesy which becomes him so well and is never out of place. We did not sit down to dinner until 8.30, so it was late when we separated. There was something in Lord Dufferin’s speech which made it more than a mere after-dinner address, something so striking, so statesmanlike, that I deem it my duty to include it in these chapters:

My Lords and Gentlemen,—If there is one thing more embarrassing than another to a person on commencing a public speech it is to find his oratorical ground suddenly cut away from beneath his feet. I had fully intended to claim your indulgence on the grounds so eloquently referred to by my noble friend, and I can assure you that that indulgence is as much needed as I have ever experienced it, for, however easy it may be to speak with an empty head, it is very difficult to do so with a full heart. In rising, however, to return my warmest thanks for the kind manner in which you have drunk my health, I cannot help asking myself with some anxiety what title I possess to the good-will of my entertainers. Your chairman has been pleased to refer in very flattering terms to my public services: but I fear that the reason of your cordiality is further to seek than anything which can be found in the indulgent observation, I hope, on the present occasion, of the members of the Empire Club, and I think I am not wrong in conjecturing that I am indebted for the signal honour which you have conferred upon me, not so much to my individual merits, as to the fact that for the last twelve years of my life I have been unremittingly occupied in promoting and maintaining the Imperial, as distinguished from the domestic, interests of our common country. In Canada, at St. Petersburg, at Constantinople and in Egypt, I can conscientiously say that home politics, with all their irritating associations, have faded from my view, and that my one thought by day and night has been to safeguard, to protect and to extend the honour, the influence and the commerce of England with the foreign Governments or else to draw still more closely together those ties of affectionate regard by which she is united to one of her most powerful, most loyal and most devoted colonies. Well, then, gentlemen, under these circumstances, I think I may be pardoned if I have come to look at England, this sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this other Eden-beaming paradise, this happy breed of men, this precious stone set in a silver sea; not as she displays herself in the recriminatory warfare of parliamentary strife, or in the polemical declamation of the platform, but in an aspect softened by distance and regarded as the happy home of a noble and united people, whom it is an honour to serve, and for whose sake it would be a privilege to make the greatest sacrifices. I do not say this in any spirit of selfish and vulgar “Jingoism,” although I must admit that by their profession ambassadors and colonial governors are bound to be a little “jingo.” I have come to regard England in the same light as she is regarded by those great communities who are carrying her laws, her liberties, her constitutional institutions and her language into every portion of the world, many of whose most distinguished representatives are present here to-night, and to whom it is the especial function of this club to extend the right hand of brotherhood and affection. Gentlemen, I am well aware that many of our most influential thinkers are almost disposed to stand aghast at the accumulative responsibility and increasing calls upon our resources, and the ever-widening vulnerability entailed by England’s imperial position. Certainly, the outlook counsels both prudence and, above all, preparation. After all, the life of nations and individuals in many respects resemble each other, and each of us is aware that his daily burden of care, anxiety and responsibility gathers weight and strength in proportion to the expansion of his faculties, the accumulation of his wealth, the energy of his endeavours and the extension of his influence. Why, gentlemen, even the children that people our homes are so many hostages given to fortune; and the wives of our bosoms—I say this beneath my breath—are very apt each of them to open a startling chapter of accidents; but what man of spirit has ever turned his back upon the opportunity, or refused to enter upon the tender obligations of a love-lit fireside for fear of increasing his responsibilities, entailed by a fuller, ampler and more perfect existence? But, my lords and gentlemen, even did she desire it, I believe that the time is too late for England to seek to disinherit herself of that noble destiny with which I firmly believe she has been endowed. The same hidden hand which planted the tree of constitutional liberty within her borders, and thus called upon her to become the mother of parliaments, has sent forth her children to possess and fructify the waste places of the earth. How a desert in every direction has been turned into a paradise of plenty those who are present can best tell. I believe that, great as have been the changes which have already occurred, our children are destined to see even still more glorious accomplishments. One of the greatest statisticians of modern times, a man of singularly sober judgment, has calculated that ere the next century has reached its close the English speaking population of the globe will have already exceeded one hundred millions of human beings. Of these, in all probability, forty millions will be found in Canada alone, and an equal proportion along the coast of Africa and in our great Australian possessions. If these great communities are united in a common bond of interest, if they are co-ordinated and impelled by a common interest, what an enormous influence, as compared with that of any other nationality, whether for good or evil, whether considered from a moral or material point of view, are they destined to exercise! But, gentlemen, that they will remain Englishmen who can doubt! The chops and changes on an accelerated momentum of human progress forbid all accurate prediction. These enormous forces, operating over such a large space, defy all prescience and human wisdom to direct the current of events; but one thing, at all events, is certain, and that is that these great communities will be deeply impressed by English ideas, by English literature, by English institutions and by English habits of thought. That this shall long continue to be the case is, I am sure, the earnest wish of those whom I am addressing. It is their desire that our statesmen should so conduct the relations of this country with their colonial dependencies as to cherish and maintain those affectionate ties by which they are so remarkably and distinctly bound to the Mother Country. One thing, at all events, is certain: that the people of England will never again allow their Government to repeat the error which resulted in the separation of the United States. Whatever may be our present relations with the great transatlantic republic, it is certain that, had it not been for the violent disruption that occurred, those relations would now have been even more mutually advantageous. The catastrophe, unhappily, was brought about by the Ministry of the day being incapable of appreciating and understanding the force and direction of colonial sentiment. Now, my lords and gentlemen, I believe that statesmen can make no greater mistake than not accurately to comprehend the enormous part which sentiment plays in human affairs. By far the greater number of the wars which have devastated the globe have been produced and generated by outraged sentiment rather than by the pursuit of material advantages. Even commerce itself, the most unsentimental and matter-of-fact of interests, is wont for long periods of time to follow in the track of custom, habit and sentiment. This was a fact which for a long time the English people failed to comprehend. They failed to comprehend the desire which the colonies had to have their kinship recognised. Happily, however, the increased facilities of communication and the necessities and exigencies of trade have changed all this, and I believe that now there is not a man in England who does not understand, and to whose imagination it has not been forcibly brought home, that beyond the circuit of the narrow seas which confine this island are vast territories, inhabited by powerful communities who are actuated by ideas similar to our own, who are proud to own allegiance to Queen Victoria, whose material resources are greater than those possessed by his own country, and whose ultimate power may, perhaps, exceed the power of Great Britain. And yet these great communities of noble, high-spirited, industrious Englishmen, if only they are properly dealt with, and if only their feelings and just exigencies are duly considered, will never have a higher ambition than to be allowed to continue as co-heirs with England in her illustrious career, associated with her in her gigantic empire, and sharers in her fortunes, whether they be for good or evil, until the end of time. Gentlemen, such are the sentiments and opinions which I believe this club has been founded to encourage and propagate, and I felt that in rising to return thanks for the great and signal honour which you have done me, and for which really I cannot find words sufficient to thank you, I could not do so in a more acceptable manner than by telling you with what enthusiasm and with what sincerity of conviction I myself subscribe to these sentiments.

One of my pleasantest recollections of London dates about ten days before my departure for Canada. When the heat was tempered by a fresh breeze, a party of us met by appointment on one of the wharves near London Bridge. We owed the invitation to a Canadian who, like myself, was from the north of the Tweed. He introduced me to our host, one of his oldest friends, a friendship which had lasted from boyhood. Our host had engaged a steamer to take his guests down the river to the large establishment of which he is the leading mind. I believe I am safe in saying that thousands of people are employed in these works. We went through the various departments, and to do so took some hours. Some of the ladies of the party thought they had accomplished miles of pedestrianism. They were greatly interested in what they saw, and before they left were delighted, for our host, who has a heart as large as the business he controls, presented from the factory to each of our party a substantial mark of his regard.

We returned to Greenwich, the very name is redolent of fish dinners and whitebait to the Londoner, and twenty-one of us sat down at the great round table in the bow window of the “Ship Hotel.” We were not in a mood to criticise our entertainment. Had we been so, we could only have found something additional to praise. We had good appetites, were in the best of humour, and felt prepared to do justice to the profusion of dainties set before us. Our host had visited Canada nearly half a century ago, and he spoke of his experience in what is now a highly cultivated district, but was then very thinly populated. His youthful days came back to him, and he referred to a pair of bright eyes he encountered at a picnic on the shores of Lake Simcoe which very nearly made him a Canadian. I do not know what prominent position amongst us he might not now have occupied had the possessor of the bright eyes affirmed her conquest.

We are not, in Canada, a people particularly demonstrative in our own land, but away from home, when those of us who are bound by friendly associations come side by side, no meeting can be more gay or pleasant. It was especially so on this occasion, and our host had the satisfaction of seeing all his good cheer thoroughly appreciated by his guests. It was ten o’clock before we separated, and found our way back to London.

The Fisheries Exhibition was then the event of the season. In London or Paris there is always something going on which everybody feels bound to see, and not to have the privilege or opportunity of seeing places you, in an undefined way, in such a secondary position that you appear to be excluded. The question is not always if the spectacle or exhibition, or other notoriety of the moment, will repay the time and attention given to witnessing it. The leading consideration is that it is something to be seen, and it is never of any use running counter to the tide of the community in which you live and move. Very often a good deal of trouble is taken, and frequently no small amount of money expended, to pass through some ordeal of this character, which brings no addition to our information and but little satisfaction.

The Fisheries Exhibition, however, was not of this character. Many must have been surprised at the part played in it by Canada, and at the richness and variety of her exhibits. Scarcely anything could have been designed to set forth better to the London world the vastness of the resources of the Dominion than this exhibition, and to bring before the English people an idea of the extensive fishing grounds it possesses. Many would then learn for the first time that our fisheries are not confined to the St. Lawrence and the lakes. Canada has an immense extent of sea coast in the Maritime Provinces frequented by shoals of fish, for which these waters have been famous since the first discovery of America. The almost virgin waters of British Columbia swarm with fish of the finest description, and Canada possesses the whole of Hudson Bay and the northern coast of America in which to develop her enterprise and industry. What country in the world can boast of such great and prolific fish fields on three oceans, all open to enterprise.

One of the agreeable associations connected with the exhibition was the fête in aid of the English Church at Berlin, and in commemoration of the silver wedding of the Crown Princess of Germany, Her Majesty’s eldest daughter. It seemed to me that there was a constant rush of visitors till midnight. The spectacle was a brilliant one, as much on account of the great crowd of people who were there as from the light and glitter of the scene itself. The newspapers mentioned the number present as 6,000, and they truly described it as a fairy scene. The whole place was bright with many-coloured lamps, Chinese lanterns and electric lights. One of the striking features was the tea party of the Chinese court, where a veritable Chinese grandee presided with her daughter. The Marchioness Tseng seemed to me a type of liberality. It could scarcely be political exigency which led this lady and her family to intervene in aid of an Anglican Church in the heart of a Lutheran population. The Duke and Duchess of Albany assisted her. Fans were sold here, the recommendation of which was that they had been specially painted by the Chinese Minister himself and embroidered and worked by the Marchioness and her daughter. It struck me that if this display be typical of the industry of the Chinese family our western civilization is much behind in the path of productive labour. There were to be seen also an English refreshment room, and an “American” bar, under the direction of Mrs. Lowell, attended by all the United States beauties in London, whose personal charms, supplemented by New York taste in dress, not a little influenced the price of what was served. The Countess of Dufferin was there. She seemed quite in her element, doing her best to promote the general gaiety and brightness of the scene. A distinguished naval officer, whose name has penetrated wherever the English language is spoken, Lord Charles Beresford, assisted Lady Dufferin. It was their duty to preside over the fish pond, where the small charge of five shillings was paid for the use of the rod and line. There seemed to be an unlimited supply of fish. The successful anglers generally brought up something which excited shouts of laughter. One fisherman would land a nightcap, another a toy of some sort, and so on. The Prince and Princess of Wales came about eleven o’clock, which added in no little degree to the excitement of the scene. What must strike strangers on British soil is the admirable order which prevails during an exhibition of this kind. It is seldom that any unpleasantness occurs. We did not remain until the close, but it was late before we reached home.

It was my good fortune to spend some pleasant days with my friends at their charming and hospitable house within four miles of Windsor. A few hours in the country is always a congenial change even to the inveterate London-loving resident of the capital. It was equally so with myself. I awoke at my friend’s pleasant home one bright Sunday morning. Some of the family started for the old church at Bray, and invited me to accompany them. We pass along a winding road, between hedges of hawthorn, with here and there fine old trees, some of them with trunks as much as five and six feet in diameter, relics of Windsor Forest. The country is somewhat flat, but it is rendered peculiarly attractive by its fertility and the richness of the foliage. Windsor Castle stands out boldly in the landscape, and to-day the Imperial Standard on the Round Tower shows that Her Majesty is at her ancient home.

We reached the cross roads, with a finger post directing us to Windsor and to Bray. Following the road to the latter, we came upon “Jesus Hospital,” founded, we read on the inscription over the gateway in quaint old English characters, by William Goddard in 1627. His statue over the entrance looks upon a plot of garden flowers. On the inscription we further learn that “he hath provided for forty poor people forever.” Then we are told that there is no admission for vagrants, or unlicensed hawkers, or dogs.

We attended service at Bray Church, an old edifice dating, in some parts, from the beginning or middle of the fifteenth century. The square tower tells a story of a later date.

Who has not heard of Simon Aleyn, the Vicar? His memory is still as fresh as it was three centuries back, when he died. He lived from the time of Henry VIII. to that of Elizabeth, and was an Anglican, a Presbyterian or a Papist as was expedient. It does no harm to repeat old Fuller’s words, although they appear in the guide book: “He had seen some martyrs burned at Windsor, and found this too hot for his tender temper. This Vicar being taxed by one with being a turncoat and an inconsistent changling, ‘Not so,’ said he, ‘for I have always kept my principle, which is to live and die Vicar of Bray.’” After the service we walked through the churchyard, and, Scotchman-like, I looked among the tombstones to see if there were any Dugalds, Donalds or Macs. There were none. I never before felt so much being in the heart of England. There was not a record of one Scotchman having died here, and I thought they had penetrated everywhere. I can well recollect making a trip to the west coast a few years back. It was during the period when the Honourable A. Mackenzie was Premier of Canada. I was then an officer of the Canadian Government on leave. I visited Truro, the most southern city in England, and on entering the principal business street the first sign I saw was that of Alexander Mackenzie & Co. I certainly thought then I was a long way from Scotland, and still further from all Canadian associations. I have been in many strange and remote corners of the globe on both continents, but I was never before in a place where there was no trace of the ubiquitous, enterprising and energetic north-country man. And yet it was a Vicar of the church which I had just attended who curtly refused to pay a bill of James the First at Maidenhead. That monarch, on a certain occasion, having outrode his hunting escort, and being hungry, begged leave to join the Vicar and curate at dinner. His Majesty seems to have been in excellent humour. He told so many stories that the two listeners, who did not know their Royal guest, laughed as they seldom did. The bill came, the King had no money, and asked his companions to pay for him. The Vicar declined, it would seem, somewhat irately. The curate was more kindly disposed, and paid the bill. In the meantime the retinue arrived, and with it recognition of the Royal person. The Vicar threw himself on his knees, and asked pardon for his harshness. James told him he should not disturb him in his vicarage, but that he should always remain Vicar of Bray. The genial curate he would make a Canon of Windsor, so that he would look down on both him and his vicarage.

On returning from the church we strolled by the river, which, from Oxford to London, is renowned as boating water, and we saw many skiffs and pleasure boats upon it. It is here that Monkey Island is situated, so often visited from Windsor and Eton. The houses in the neighbourhood are all suggestive of comfort; they are surrounded with abundance of flowers, and have all a look of cleanliness, and an aspect both cheerful and inviting.

We return home by another route. Our walk is a good mile and a half, in the course of which we are caught in the rain and take shelter in a cottage. Some one remembers that it is St. Swithin’s Day, the 15th of July, and according to the tradition, if it rains on that day, it will rain for forty days. We revert in thought to those ancient historians, the most sceptical of whom, while they very summarily got rid of the portents and miracles of their own time, hesitated to reject the traditions of their ancestors. However there is a break in the clouds and we reach the house.

Even with the dread of the realization of the prophecy, we take an afternoon walk and return at five, just in time to escape another St. Swithin shower. In the evening we go again to church. I experience that which is not always the case in the Anglican service. The lessons are remarkably well read, the words properly and distinctly pronounced, the sentences not dropped in tone at the end and run into one another, and above all with an entire absence of affectation. I learn that the reader is Mr. Wallace, who has lately taken high honours at Oxford.

The weather at this time turned exceedingly cold, and the Londoner may recollect this exceptional wave of low temperature. The newspapers declared that the thermometer fell to a degree lower than it read on Christmas day. I never heard any explanation of this abnormal depression in July, but last year was marked by remarkable phenomena. The terrible earthquakes in the south of Europe and in the Indian Ocean betokened the activity of extraordinary forces. We are, indeed, fortunate in our experience throughout the British Empire that hitherto no portion of it has suffered by such terrible convulsions, and that the extent of them is limited to a fall of the temperature or an excess of rainfall.

I again receive a telegram to know when I will leave for Canada and proceed to British Columbia. I had already arranged to leave London by the 20th, but I felt that my plans must be altered, and that I would be obliged to give up the idea of spending a week in Scotland.

Previous to starting for Liverpool I had arranged to visit some friends in Somersetshire. The route is by the Great Western Railway and the branch line to Taunton. As I passed from Bristol to the latter place the appearance of the country reminded me of the reclaimed marsh land at the head of the Bay of Fundy; and the turbid water of the Bristol Channel was very much the same in colour as that of the bay. The country is admirably adapted for grazing, and large herds of beautiful cattle; Herefords, Devons, and Shorthorns were to be seen along the route.

We reached our destination at Minehead, and here our friends, who were originally from Nova Scotia, gave us that warm welcome which we everywhere received in England. Not the least of the pleasant associations connected with this visit was the charming scenery from the hills behind the town, which command a view of the Bristol Channel east of Ilfracombe and the distant mountains of South Wales. The foliage of the west of England is always particularly striking to anyone from Canada. Trees and plants which, with us, can only be raised under glass, are found in luxurious abundance. There is a profusion of walnut, myrtle, wistaria, laurestina, bay, ivy, and roses, which give a rich variety to the flora of the parks and gardens, leaving nothing to be desired. The drives are unrivalled; often through narrow lanes; with high hedgerows blooming with flowers such as, at least, I have never seen out of England. One of our drives took us to Exmoor, the only district of England, as I was informed, where stag-hunting is still enjoyed yearly. At Exmoor I gathered a bunch of heather which, on the higher levels, has an extensive growth. On Sunday there was a christening at the church, in which we were all interested, and through which one of the names born by the humble writer of these pages may be remembered a few years after his own race is run. There was an old church in the neighbourhood which we visited, as a north country man would say, “in the gloaming.” There was, however, light enough to see in the dusk a marble statue of Queen Anne near the altar, which might easily pass for the Virgin. There is a chained Bible on the stand as in the first days when the people were called to hear it read. I could not say what the date of the Bible was; whether one of Tyndall’s or Archbishop Cranmer’s, or one more modern. The pews were separated from each other by high divisions, five or six feet in height, so that those who desired to pray unseen could do so. Certainly they were not favourable to the display of any finish in dress worn by their occupants, and which now makes such a marked feature in what are called, I borrow the phrase, fashionable churches.

On Monday we had to leave, and it is often hard to say good-bye under such circumstances. Is it not one of the hardships of life that we have to undergo these separations? But often our pleasantest memories are crowded into the narrow space of such brief visits. Our destination is Liverpool; we leave by the morning train at eight o’clock, and reach Bristol to take the connecting train to Liverpool. We pass by the world-renowned Stratford-on-Avon, by Burton, for which place the unrivalled pale ale of Bass and Allsopp have obtained an almost equally extended reputation. As we crossed the silvery Trent I wondered if any calculation had ever been made as to the quantity of its water which had found itself transferred to every clime in the shape of bitter beer. We soon leave Birmingham behind and pass through the hills and dales of Derbyshire; a district celebrated for its loveliness and beauty. The panorama which is seen even from the carriage window is worth the trip. It is, indeed, something to say you have looked upon it. At half-past six we are again in Liverpool. Tuesday and Wednesday we enjoy the society of some old friends, and on Thursday we embark on the Allan line steamer “Polynesian,” and start on our way over the western waters to Canada.

CHAPTER V.
ENGLAND TO CANADA.

The Ocean Voyage—Its Comfort—Moville—Mail Coach Road of Old Days—Impressive Service on Deck—Comfort on the Vessel—Rimouski—Halifax.

We are off this Thursday, 26th July, and underway at three p.m. As is usually the case we have a pleasant run down the Mersey to the Irish Sea. With few exceptions the passengers are all strangers, one to the other, and we remain on deck, no few of us speculating as to “who is who?” We dine at four the first day. There is a printed list of passengers on the plate of each as we take our seats at the tables which have been assigned to us, perhaps in some cases by a little pre-arrangement with the purser. In the evening we pass close to the Isle of Man with its bold headlands and picturesque coast line, but few of us appear to be inclined to stay up late. There is always an excitement, and consequent rebound, in leaving the land where we have passed some weeks, whatever the associations we have separated from, and whatever future may lie before us. The first night at sea is generally quiet; it is true you have always your inveterate whist player who wants to get up a rubber as if it was the one duty of life not to lose an opportunity of gaining the odd trick. And you have the perpetual smoker who looks upon leisure as specially designed for the enjoyment of the pipe or cigar, as if the sole charm of life lay in tobacco!

The whole conditions of an ocean voyage have, of late years, been much changed. A voyage in the modern steamship is more like a yacht trip. Indeed, excepting the yachts of men of colossal fortunes, the yacht suffers by comparison with the steamship. In the latter you have a bed clean and comfortable, with all the auxiliaries of the toilet. On nearly all the best ships you have hot and cold baths. Some vessels carry a professional barber; and I have known a chiropodist to be in attendance. If you want more bedding, or hot water, or any other et cetera you ask for and obtain it. You have a cabin as large and comfortable as it is possible to have under the circumstances, and if you chose to pay for it you can have it to yourself, and thus obtain all the privacy of an anchorite. Your state-room, as it is called, is cleaned daily, and it is open to you whenever you see fit to enter; you have a large saloon in which you take your meals, sit, read, or write, or play chess or whist; where ladies can group themselves in order to carry on their embroidery, or to undertake less pretentious, if more useful work. Generally there is a separate saloon, for ladies, in an airy part of the ship, where, if they are not free from nausea or depression, they can retire and be as private as they desire. You have the best of food, thoroughly and carefully cooked, with the most obsequious of attendants whom you are generally expected to reward at the end of the voyage, and you feel yourself second to no one in the world you are in. There are no troublesome experiences on points of etiquette or ceremony; you never receive a lesson of your insignificance, although if it be particularly sought for, it can be obtained. You have fresh air, bright skies, and the ocean that

“Glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form
Glasses itself in tempests.”

is your constant monitor. All you seem to want is a sea-stomach and firmness on your feet. As a rule, a few days, often a few hours, will give you both. To those who are not sea-sick what life is more pleasant? You have all sorts of people on board, and the sea seems to act as a sort of leveller of individualism. Although there are men and women who are known to have spoken to nobody, and who have walked up and down during almost the whole voyage in perfect solitude, wrapped up in themselves, as if no contact with others were permissible. On seeing these people I have thought of Æsop’s mountain in labour, and pitied the poor little mouse brought into the world with such effort.

There are storms at sea, naturally, but you have a crew in the highest state of discipline; you have a ship as strong as money and iron can make it; you have an engine of wondrous power and a marvel of perfection in machinery. Competition, energy, and enterprise, have so multiplied the means of travel that you may pass from one continent to the other with comfort, and for not much more money than the sum you pay for the same period of time at one of the high class hotels in London or New York. You have no extras to pay for in the steamship except wine or beer.

According to your feeling you can give a douceur to the steward who attends to your room, and if need be nurses you in sickness, and to the steward who waits upon you at table. The only items you have to pay extra for, as before stated, are beer and wine, if you choose to order either. You are not remarkable either in avoiding or using them, for never was there so unrestrained a matter of taste as in this respect at the saloon table.

It is Friday: we have passed the first night at sea, and we take an early tepid salt water bath. We are now steaming up Lough Foyle to Moville, where the mails containing letters posted in London on Thursday night, are put on board. Thus the clear business day of Thursday is gained by English correspondents. The weather is delightful. Some of the party go on shore as the steamer is seven hours in advance of the train with the mails.

There is nothing specially attractive on this part of the Irish coast it is true, still it is always pleasant to touch terra firma as a change, and it is always a break during the hours that we are lying at anchor. We remain at Moville until three o’clock, when the “Polynesian” starts. The weather continues bright and clear, the water smooth, all is pleasant on deck, where all the passengers are present. The only spectacle to which I can compare the scene is a garden party where everybody has but one thing to do, and that is to amuse and be amused, and look as charming as each one can. We all know that the best way to succeed in being genial and good-humoured is to endeavour to be so, and where can a day be better enjoyed than at sea? I am aware that tradition is against me. The poor sufferer from sea-sickness may remember this trying time, as the most dreary of his life, and this form of sickness is to many, even in a minor way, a most serious ordeal, but, as a rule, it soon passes away. I believe the best cure for those afflicted with this malady is to remain quiet, to eat sparingly, and avoid everything greasy; if there be nausea to take only toast and tea, and make the effort to get on deck. Looking at the severities of the affliction in their strongest light they are certainly by no means what they were in the old days of sailing vessels of small tonnage, and with accommodation proportioned to the craft. There were then many discomforts and privations now happily unknown. Voyages were, at that period, counted by weeks instead of days, and to one unaccustomed to the sea the Atlantic trip was no little of a penalty. It is very much owing to the reminiscences of this period that the dread of the sea now prevails. The discomforts of land travelling in the past have now ceased to be even thought of. The bad roads, the ricketty coaches, the foul air in the inside, and the suffering from cold and wet on the outside of the coach, have all passed out of mind. Even the modern novel does not dwell upon them. All that is recorded is the cheery appearance of the old-time coach on a fine evening, driving through a town, with the guard arrayed in bright uniform, with his bouquet in his buttonhole, the cynosure of all the servant girls; while the coachman handled the ribbons to the admiration and envy of all the fast young gentlemen of the place. In its way there was bitter suffering in bad weather in the course of such a journey, but the ease and comfort of railway travelling have destroyed all remembrance of it. What greater contrast can there be between the torture felt in the inside of an old stage coach going from Liverpool to London and the luxury of sitting in a Pullman car travelling the same distance? What more striking difference can there be between railway life as it is now in the journey from Brighton to London, accomplished in an hour, and the same journey performed by the old stage coaches? Railway travelling has so insensibly crept into our system that the present generation does not think of the privations of half a century ago.

One of the causes doubtless of the continuance of the prejudice against ocean navigation is the poor and inefficient steamers still in use for crossing the English Channel. There is frequently bad weather, indeed, if all that is said be true, it seldom would appear to be otherwise, and an immense percentage of those now passing to the continent suffer the tortures of sea-sickness, much as was experienced on this route half a century back. One of the channel steamers, on a fine day when the run is made in calm weather, is a spectacle. Everybody is good-tempered and in the best of humour; even the most high-minded somewhat unbend and cease to be ungenial. They appear to feel that a great penalty has been escaped, that they have passed unscathed through what is generally considered a terrible ordeal.

To such as these, whose experience has been gained in this school of travel, the escape from sea-sickness may appear impossible. They will be exceedingly surprised to learn that many make an ordinary voyage across the Atlantic without any sea-sickness at all. Some may, it is true, have a slight qualm; but half a day’s retirement and careful diet, are all that is necessary to bring back health, good spirits, and vivacity, and possibly a wonderful increase of appetite.

Such was the experience on Friday afternoon; all were pleasant and agreeable, and many, as they retired that night to rest, on the Atlantic Ocean, felt that the voyage was a delightful reality and that there was every prospect of their proving excellent sailors.

Saturday is equally pleasant, happy, and bright. The portholes are opened, and, as usual, many begin the day with a salt water bath. We pass the “Oregon,” which left Liverpool at the same time we did, but our visit to Moville enabled her to sail onward as we entered Lough Foyle. A light breeze springs up, and the swell of the ocean gives movement to the vessel which causes more or less sea-sickness and depression. Many are walking about with comfort and ease, and a few are miserable. There is dinner at 6.30; one of those sumptuous, well-served dinners which no wise man will face every day of his life, even if he can manage to obtain it. There are one hundred and fourteen saloon passengers and five children on board, but only seventeen are at table, one of them a lady, Mrs. D., of Toronto. A great contrast to yesterday’s experience. The deck is wet and uncomfortable, the rain is falling and there is a heavy fog. The planks are slippery, and with the unsteady motion of the ship, there is little to tempt one to abandon the shelter of the warm, cheery, well-lighted saloon.

On Saturday night there was a head wind, but on Sunday morning the ship was somewhat quieter, the decks were dry, and motion was practicable. There are on board two clergymen of the Anglican Church, so service is held in the saloon. We have also with us Bishop Rogers, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Chatham, New Brunswick, who holds a service in another part of the ship. We pass through a school of whales, some six of which rise above the water not far from the vessel. The majority of the ladies make an effort to appear on deck, and either sit on chairs or recline on couches extemporised with cushions, wraps and shawls; some few even attempt a promenade. Well does Shakespeare tell us that “Courage mounteth with occasion.” There are those who shake their heads at the prediction of their immediate recovery. Some few achieve wonders and attend dinner. The evening turns out fine, the air is warm, so the Rev. H. Huleatt conducts a service on deck. He is an old army chaplain, and over his white surplice wears three medals for service in the Crimea, China and Abyssinia. I was bred in, and adhere to, the Presbyterian Church, in which the forms of the Anglican Church are certainly not taught, and by many of us not favourably regarded. The persecution of the Covenanters in the seventeenth century, having in view the establishment of Anglicanism, produced results which its projectors did not conceive possible. It cannot be said that persecution always fails in its purpose, for history furnishes painful examples to the contrary. But there are few instances of its failure more remarkable than this attempt to force on the people of Scotland a form of worship which they did not favour. With certain classes and individuals the feelings which the attempt left have long since died out, but the memory of them remained for many a year. I am not one who has been trained to regard the ceremonies of the English Church with marked reverence, especially when they turn towards the “high” development. With men like myself I venture the remark that the Church of England is never so strong as when she adheres to her simplest teaching. Her ritual is never so impressive as when stripped of strained formality; it is then that, in spite of ourselves, we must feel and admire all the strength and beauty of her liturgy. It is not easy to comprehend how thoughtful men can advocate the introduction of extreme ceremonies, which even many Anglicans themselves regard as theatrical accessories. It has been my good fortune to attend the English Church service in some of the noblest cathedrals in England; at Westminster, Canterbury, Chester and St. Paul’s, unrivalled in its classic excellence: and I have at such times felt how decorous and impressive it can be made when the ritual is not encumbered with the observances which a strong party in the Church of England regard as unseemly, and which, with my feelings, I hold to be unnecessary. With this limitation this form of prayer, in my humble view, appears peculiarly adapted to the English mind and character. For more gorgeous ceremonial, I have witnessed the Mass at St. Peter’s, one of the grandest temples erected by man for the worship of his Maker. Never in any church was I ever present at a scene and service more memorable than the evening prayer on the deck of the “Polynesian.” The military chaplain, in his white surplice, appeared with the three medals on his breast and his Bible and prayerbook in his hand, walking slowly once or twice up and down the deck, by way, as he afterwards explained, “of ringing the bell.” In this manner the passengers generally were collected into picturesque groups. He took an elevated position; his white dress and his long white hair moving in the breeze, formed a striking contrast to the dark funnel, masts and spars in the background. He repeated the simple words of the Anglican liturgy in a clear, natural voice. He spoke briefly and forcibly, as possibly he had often done on the eve of battle. He conducted the singing of some of those touching hymns common to all branches of the Christian Church. The congregation, consisting of all sects and beliefs, was unaffectedly serious and devout, and many voices joined in earnest praise.

We occupied the centre of the ocean, that marked emblem of the Everlasting. Above and around us the blue vault of heaven was frescoed with fleecy clouds, radiant with the rich hues of the evening sun. On every side the rolling waters added solemnity to the scene. There were few who did not feel the spectacle itself to be a sermon not soon to be forgotten. It spoke to us all against our littleness and selfishness. As we looked beyond the bulwarks of our ship, a point in God’s endless creation, we could feel how imperfect was the teaching of sects and creeds, in view of the higher and nobler views we should aspire to: the faith which widens our sympathies as the warmth of summer expands the buds of our northern forests.

Monday again is a beautiful morning, and we are all on deck enjoying the fresh, healthful breeze and the sun, whose bright beams glitter on the face of the rolling waters, the blue sky above us with its passing clouds, and the sea in ceaseless motion all around us, wave chasing wave, chequered with varying light and shade. We are all so full of life that the afternoon is given over to games which, on shore, many of us might think somewhat undignified. At dinner the table is full. And what appetites most of us have! Some achieve perfect wonders as trencher men and women, and often in memory many of the passengers will revert to their powers in this respect. Wholly undisturbed by fears of dyspepsia, they ate with the best of appetites. The evening passed pleasantly with most of us in the saloon, which presented a scene of quiet comfort and amusement. The next morning is also enjoyable. We find we are now half way across, and we talk of making the Straits of Belleisle by Thursday. Our run at noon is 332 knots. There is a little fog, and the air is somewhat cold. The theory is expressed that we are near Greenland; that a cold blast may come from across its “icy mountains,” told of by Bishop Heber in the hymn we have heard so often.

All the passengers, without exception, are now accustomed to the motion of the ship. Every one appears at home. The forenoon passes quickly, and we can hardly believe that the dinner hour is near. When we all sit down at the long and well-provided tables one can hardly conceive that he is not on shore at some famed hotel in Montreal or Toronto. I am aware that I run the risk of being charged with exaggeration, but I express the result of my convictions. I am sure that my remarks will be borne out by all who have made several trips across the Atlantic. There are stormy and particularly unpleasant voyages, I know. Such I have myself experienced, but they are generally in winter; in summer they are the exception.

The evening passes in the usual pleasant way, and we all separate reluctantly when bed-time comes.

We have again another fine day, and the forenoon is marked by sunshine. During the night we passed the steamer “Parisian,” homeward bound. At noon we learn the run is 332 miles, the same as yesterday, and our chart shows us that we are due at the Straits of Belleisle at midnight. During the afternoon, at intervals, fog arises and disappears to return again, and when the fog is on the water we prudently go at half speed. We pass some icebergs, and they seem to have affected the temperature, for the air is cold. The passengers are in high spirits. The prospect of seeing land gives an impetus to the general hilarity. We expect to enter the northern passage to the St. Lawrence before morning. The trip so far has been most agreeable. The time has passed pleasantly. The group to which I was more particularly attached was always full of life and animation. One gentleman, who had retired from the army, and was going out to Canada on a sporting tour, proved to be an excellent artist, and made many amusing sketches. To another member of our group we owe particular acknowledgments for the life he inspired around him, and, if he cheered us by his unfailing good temper and charm of manner, we owe also no little to his brilliant and ready wit.

The evening was spent in asking riddles and playing card tricks. One effort led to another. Some of them were worth perpetuating. Indeed, a very interesting volume of a moderate size could be written descriptive of our trip, which would be read with no small amount of pleasure, and I have no doubt would lead to the removal of many prejudices regarding sea voyages.

We are now in the straits of Belleisle, having passed the light at five a.m. During the forenoon the weather is a little foggy, so we go at half speed. In the afternoon the fog clears away to be replaced by pleasant sunshine. There is to be an amateur concert this evening in aid of the funds of the Sailor’s Orphanage at Liverpool. Those who are directors in this matter are particularly earnest. In the meanwhile some of us write letters to post at Rimouski. I take it into my head to count how many trips I have made across the Atlantic Ocean since I left Glasgow in April, 1845. I have crossed in every kind of vessel, from a sailing ship up to the “Great Eastern,” and this present voyage I find to be my nineteenth, so I think I can speak with some confidence of what life on an ocean steamship truly is. My shortest passage was by the “Alaska,” in October, 1882, from Sandy Hook, New York, to Liverpool, in seven days and five hours, but on this occasion we were detained inside the bar in the harbour of New York for two days, owing to fog. My longest voyage was by the ship “Brilliant,” it occupied nearly six weeks.

The concert was, as usual, a success, at least everybody was pleased. Thirteen pounds sterling were collected. Those who ventured on supper partook of all the usual delicacies in vogue on these occasions, and the disciple of the pipe and cigar indulged himself for some time on deck. By half-past eleven the last of us had turned in.

It was wet the following day; we were steaming up the St. Lawrence as we took breakfast. Those who were to leave at Rimouski, of whom I was one, point out that it is the last time we may take this meal together, for we may arrive at Rimouski by night. In the afternoon we have fog, showers, and fine weather alternately. We overtake the “Hanoverian.” She had passed us during the five hours we had lost in the fog. Night comes on, and at ten o’clock we run into a dense fog. Prudence dictates that we advance “dead slow,” so I throw myself on my bed without undressing, to catch some little sleep in the interval before we are met by the Rimouski tender.

We are called at three o’clock on Saturday morning; we take a cup of coffee in the saloon, and I receive a batch of letters from my family and other correspondents. We enter the tender and arrive at the long Rimouski wharf just as dawn is breaking. My daughter and myself go southward to Halifax with three others, amongst them the venerable Bishop Rogers, of Chatham.

However pleasant the trip across the ocean has been, and although many of us found its associations most agreeable and we separate from them only by necessity, nevertheless all of us reach the shore with no little satisfaction. The fact is we are subjected to a new set of influences. We revive old associations. We see well-known scenes, and meet familiar faces. There is a change from our life of the last nine days to a new series of events and excitements. One of the first Canadians to give us a welcome was the young son of Madam Lepage, who had seen us off by the tender on 17th June.

The train carries us over the familiar Inter-Colonial Railway, nearly every spot along the line having a special claim on my recollection. The landscape is always striking in the neighbourhood of the Metapedia and Restigouche. There has been much rain and the vegetation is luxuriant. Bishop Rogers and myself revert to fifteen years ago when we crossed the Atlantic together. Then, as now, he was returning from a visit to the Holy Father at Rome. The Bishop insisted on acting as host at breakfast at Campbelton: he held that we had now entered his diocese and that he must consider us his guests. It would have pained the good old Bishop had we declined his courtesy.

We learn that the fishing on the Restigouche this season has been excellent. As usual, we have the best of fresh salmon for breakfast. We say good-bye to the Bishop, who leaves us at Newcastle, and we proceed on our journey, arriving late at night safely at our home in Halifax.

We are now in Nova Scotia, where I am delayed a few days before starting on the long land journey over the western continent.

CHAPTER VI.
NOVA SCOTIA.

Early Colonization—De Monts—Champlain—Sir William Alexander—Capture of Quebec—The Treaties—The Acadian Evangeline—Louisbourg—First Capture—Peace of Aix la Chapelle—Boundary Disputes—The Final Struggle—Deportation of the Acadians—Nova Scotia constituted a Province.

The first attempt at the colonization of Nova Scotia which was made from France was singularly unfortunate. In 1598, we read, the Marquis de la Roche left Saint Malo with a crew, almost entirely composed of convicts. He landed forty of them at Sable Island until he could select a place fit for settlement, when a westerly storm drove his ship back to France. These settlers, if they can be so called, remained unnoticed for seven years, and when they were found twelve only remained. Had it not been for De Lery, who placed some live stock here in 1518, which in the interval had greatly multiplied, they must have starved. Their houses were built of the timbers of wrecked vessels, and it would seem no little of the fuel was derived from the same source. There is a letter from one John Butt to Henry VIII., which states that in 1527, seventy years previously, he met fifteen vessels in the harbour of Newfoundland, and there is every ground to warrant the belief that individual enterprise led to constant communication between the maritime nations of Europe and America from the early days of the discovery of Newfoundland, and that very many vessels penetrated to the shores of Nova Scotia and to the St. Lawrence before the days of Verazzano and Cartier. The object being alone that of trade with the Indians, and to obtain fish, no settlement followed, and doubtless many a wreck lay on the dreary shores of the exposed island where these unfortunate men had been landed.

The first well-considered attempt at European colonization occurred under the leadership of De Monts in 1604; in which we of Canada feel the greater interest, as the founder of Canada, the illustrious Champlain, took part in it. He has himself recorded the voyage, and Lescarbot, the first chronicler of the northern portion of the continent has fully related its history. It is mentioned that when De Monts arrived, he found a free trader in one of the bays whose name is preserved, Rossignol, a marked proof which I venture to adduce as showing the frequent intercourse between the two hemispheres at that date. De Monts entered the Bay of Fundy and passed up St. Mary’s Bay, whence he proceeded to what is now known as Annapolis. Poutrincourt was of the party, and he commenced his chequered career by obtaining a grant of Port Royal from De Monts, founding a settlement there and giving it the name it bore for upwards of a century. De Monts himself passed over to Saint John whence he descended to Passamaquoddy Bay, where he built the Fort of Saint Croix. His crew suffered from scurvy during the winter. Hence he formed the opinion that the settlement was unhealthy, and accordingly he went as far south as the Penobscot. Finding the Indians unfriendly at this place, he returned to Port Royal. Here he met Pontgravé, known as the friend and associate of Champlain, who at this date first appears on the scene.

The leaders returned to France where strong influences were exercised against them. But they reappeared in 1606 and commenced in earnest to cultivate the land. A mill was constructed, and in the height of their efforts the following year notice was received from France that the monopoly of the trade in peltry given to De Monts was revoked. De Monts’ future scene of labour was the Saint Lawrence, but Poutrincourt obtained the confirmation of De Monts’ concession to him of Port Royal, accompanied by the condition that it should maintain a Jesuit Mission.

The influence which sustained this addition was all powerful, so the two Jesuits, Biard and Masse, arrived at Port Royal.[A] The Jesuits could not agree with the commander of the settlement and they departed to found a colony on the Penobscot River. But in 1613, Captain Samuel Argall, from James River, in Virginia, where a settlement had been established since 1606, sailed to fish for cod in the more northern waters. His pretensions were higher than that of a fisherman, for he carried fourteen guns and a crew of sixty men. Some Indians in perfect good faith set him on the track of the new settlements, which he at once attacked and destroyed.

No attempt was made to form a settlement from the Mother Country until 1621, when what in modern language are called the Maritime Provinces were granted to Sir William Alexander. A vessel with emigrants sailed in 1622, but owing to storms, was driven to Newfoundland. James I. died in 1625, and his death led to the complications which followed on this continent. Charles I. had determined to assist the French Protestants then besieged in Rochelle, and as a portion of his operations, Kirke’s celebrated expedition against Canada, took place in 1628. Quebec was taken. The French settlements still continued with small increments in what is known as Acadia: at Port Royal, Annapolis, to the country round Minas Bay, or the Basin of Minas from Chignecto to Cobequid, and south to Windsor and Cornwallis. There were some small settlements at Cape Sable, Cape la Have and at Canso. Fifty years after this date the total population was but little over 800, so settlement could only have taken place slowly and at intervals.

In 1632 all that is now known as British America, which lies beyond the valley of the St. Lawrence, was given over to the French by treaty. But Oliver Cromwell became Protector of England, and seized the forts of St. John and Port Royal, and, what is more, in the treaty of Westminster of 1655 held Nova Scotia as a possession. In 1658 the great Englishman died, and the discreditable days of the restoration followed. In 1662 the French Ambassador received instructions to demand restitution of the country. The English King, the pensioner of France, had no resource but compliance, although the people of Massachusetts, hearing of the proposition, sent a remonstrance against the proceeding. Its only effect was to lead to delay, for in 1667 a discreditable surrender was made by the treaty of Breda. The Governor was ordered to hand over Nova Scotia to French rule. The accession of William III. led to war, and in 1690 an expedition against Port Royal ended in its capture. But by the Peace of Ryswick, 1697, Nova Scotia was again transferred to France. Port Royal was occupied and placed in a condition of defence, and it was among the grievances of the New Englanders that it was the resort of pirates who preyed on Massachusetts commerce. War again broke out in 1702. The early attempts to capture Port Royal were not successful. Had the Governor, Subercase, been sustained from France, the conquest might have been perhaps stayed. But the support he asked was not extended, and in 1710 the place was again taken. The English Government had learned some terrible lessons on the necessity of holding the territory in this direction. The massacres at York and Oyster River in 1694 and the attempt to destroy Wells must have taught her rulers that the English colonies required some firmly seated support against such attempts. The effort of France was to connect Canada by a series of outposts with the Atlantic. A fort was built on the St. John, opposite Fredericton, Naxouat, and at the Jemseg to the south. The thinly-peopled northern parts of Maine and Massachusetts were thus constantly exposed to attack, and it was manifestly necessary to the protection of New England that a garrison of sufficient strength should be established in a locality where it would be available to meet an excursion from Canada, if French encroachments were to be resisted. It was thus that attention was directed to Port Royal, which had been taken in the expedition under Nicholson in 1710, and now received the name of Annapolis, from the reigning Queen. Halifax was then unknown, and the whole settlement of Nova Scotia consisted in what went under the name of Acadia, which did not contain 1,000 souls. It was resolved, however, to hold Nova Scotia permanently, and a garrison was left at Annapolis.

It was not until 1755, forty-five years after this date, that the deportation of the Acadians took place, and what follows in the history of Nova Scotia must be remembered in connection with the relentless policy of Governor Lawrence, which enforced their banishment.

Many have formed their idea of that measure by Mr. Longfellow’s well known poem of “Evangeline,” but it must be judged in a far wider view than what is suggested by those polished hexameters. Few can deny that the measure was one bringing much suffering with it, and that many innocent persons underwent tribulation, and that there is a hard, unbending purpose running through the proceeding to cause feelings of horror and pain. This cannot be denied. But what is all war but an unvarying scene of individual misery and wrong? A private execution of the most notorious malefactor makes an appeal to one’s more merciful feelings. The real question to be considered is; was this step a merciless, treacherous, unnecessary brutality like the massacre of Glencoe, inflicting uncalled for suffering on a defenceless people, taken unawares, who had no chance given them to avoid such a fate; or was it an act of necessary policy entailed by most pressing circumstances, by consideration for the safety of a community, which the sufferers could have avoided, without the slightest sacrifice of principle, feeling or of individual right. The fact must be clearly stated. The Acadians, as a conquered people, obtained every consideration and kindness, and for years they were called upon earnestly to be loyal and to abstain from injury to those who were now their masters. No one ever received the slightest individual injury. They were treated with justice, with forbearance, with mercy. They were assured the practice of their religion, the maintenance of their property and their personal liberty. All they were asked to do was to give a solemn assurance, to become in fact and by their lives, subjects of their conquerors. Not to side with their foes, but to defend the land on which they held their property, against its enemies, and above all to abstain from encouragement of the savage Indian, whose theory of warfare was stealthy assassination. I return to the date 1710.

Port Royal was conquered, and its conquerors clearly shewed that they intended to retain it as a possession. The inhabitants never ceased from hostility in all its forms. Parties sent out to cut wood were assassinated. Travelling beyond the fort was dangerous; for the individual it was death. The enmity of the people was kept up by the missionaries with the assurance that the fort would be attacked and retaken at the first opportunity, and that British continued possession was an impossibility. War was closed by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713, when Nova Scotia remained a British possession. The French retained the sovereignty of the Island of Cape Breton,[B] which with the Port of Louisbourg, remained an eternal threat to Nova Scotia. The Acadians were pressed by the French governor, to remove to Cape Breton. By the 14th Article of the Treaty, they had one year in which they could leave Nova Scotia. But they would not do so. At the same time, they declared to the French of Cape Breton their intention of remaining subjects of France, and that they never would take the oath of allegiance to England under any circumstances.

In 1714 Nicholson was appointed Governor of Nova Scotia, then a recognized Province. No steps appear to have been taken for some years with regard to the Acadians. The oath had been tendered and refused. It was not enforced, and they remained in this unsatisfactory condition for thirty years, when war broke out again in 1743. It was well known that, in the event of war, every Acadian would be an enemy to British rule. Mascarene was then Governor. Descended from Huguenot French, he was a man of rare ability and power. A French force attacked the fort. The attack was to have been made in connection with a French squadron. The latter not arriving, the force retired, having shewn little enterprise. The Acadians did not join the attacking army. There was a body of Indians from the main land, friendly to the English, who were sufficient to counterbalance the Nova Scotian Micmacs, and the determined defence was a guarantee against any pronounced aid from within.

If Nova Scotia was to be retained with a population ever ready to rise at the first gleam of success of the enemies of Great Britain and its religion, Louisbourg, it was evident could not be allowed to continue, a constant omen of danger and loss. Whoever first proposed the attack, and I think it must have been a necessity everywhere understood, it was Shirley, then Governor of Massachusetts, who prepared the organization by which the first taking of Louisbourg was effected, and whose energy and ability led to the expedition of 1745. William Pepperel was appointed its commander. Few such expeditions have been marked by such signal organization and completeness, a striking contrast to the contemptible result of Phipp’s expedition against Quebec in 1690, and Walker’s miserable failure in 1711. Admiral Warren commanded the naval forces. Louisbourg fell. The booty was immense, and to increase it the French flag was kept flying so that vessels from France entered the harbour to become the spoil of the conqueror. A lesson not forgotten when Boston was evacuated by the British in 1776, by the incompetent General Gage and his equally inefficient lieutenants. For the British flag, still flying on the fort, invited the English vessels unhesitatingly to sail in, if combatants, to become prisoners of war and for the stores and merchandise to be sequestrated. It is said that at Louisbourg the share of a seaman before the mast was eight hundred guineas. The efforts on the part of France to revenge this reverse were futile. The design was even to destroy Boston, but the expedition was one of the most impotent on record.

Port Royal, Annapolis seemed more easy of attainment. The commandant knowing the weakness of his garrison applied for reinforcements. On the arrival of 420 men, they were sent to Minas. A French fort was then at Chignecto. An attack was at once determined. The English troops took no precaution, as if they were in full security. Led by Acadian guides to the exact locality where the men were quartered, the French arrived at 2 o’clock in the morning on 23rd January, 1747. Snow was falling so the advance was not seen until close on the sentries. The troops, attacked in bed, made a desperate resistance, but they were defeated and capitulated. Such a result would have been impossible without the assistance of the Acadians, who led the troops precisely to the points to be attacked and withheld all knowledge of the expedition.

The disgraceful peace of Aix-la-Chapelle was made in 1748. It is hard to believe that Louisbourg and Cape Breton were given back to the French under the vague clause that no conquest since the commencement of the war should be held. England, therefore, retained Nova Scotia and France Cape Breton, for the tragedy of Louisbourg to be repeated ten years later. We all recollect the toast of Blucher that the diplomatist may not lose by the pen what the soldier has gained by the sword. On this continent we have much to remind us how a few words in a treaty, indistinct and indefinite in their purport, have ignored many years of national effort, courage and determination, at the same time sacrificing remorselessly a multiplicity of private interests.

But the time had come when the quarrel between France and England should be fought out, and both powers felt that this chronic condition of war could no longer continue. In ten years the struggle had ceased. One by one the strongholds of France passed from her hands, and in ten years her flag had ceased to be a type of power on the continent. Both countries accordingly put forth their whole strength in this period: a fact of importance when the question of the treatment of the Acadians is judged. One of the first steps was the foundation of Halifax in 1749 under Cornwallis. It was done with rare organization, with perfect success. Without delay Cornwallis called upon the Acadians to take the oath of allegiance. They declined. For six years was this request avoided with ill-concealed hostility. “In fact,” said Governor Hopson in July, 1753, “what we call an Indian war is no other than a pretence for the French to commit hostilities upon His Majesty’s subjects.” The French, moreover, while recognizing the provisions of the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, drew an arbitrary boundary of Nova Scotia: that of Missiquash River, now the boundary of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia; and La Jonquière, then Governor of Canada, sent a force under La Corne to erect a chain of forts from the Bay of Fundy to Bay Verte. They constructed Fort Beauséjour. The Governor of Nova Scotia established Fort Lawrence, near the settlement of Beauséjour. In 1755 it was resolved to drive the French from their position. As was looked for, the Acadians were there on the French side, but the fort was taken and called Fort Cumberland. It was these very encroachments of the French against Nova Scotia which led to the declaration of war in May of 1756. What followed I need but cursorily mention. Louisbourg again fell in 1758; Quebec in 1759. In 1760 Louisbourg was demolished, for no other port than Halifax was needed. In six months this monument of French power, which it had taken twenty-five years to raise, was levelled to the ground. All of value was transported to Halifax, many of the boucharded stones, even, having been taken there. In this year Montreal capitulated, and De Vaudreuil signed the capitulation which gave the continent to British rule.

All these facts require to be stated when the deportation of the Acadians has to be considered. What else could be done with them in this crisis? From the period when Cornwallis first arrived, in 1749, it was the one question: how to act with a body of men disloyal to the country as it was governed. Too weak to obtain a national standing, but constantly intriguing to injure the authority they lived under but would not recognize; refusing all efforts of conciliation; and, with the guarantee of possessing personal liberty, the free practice of their religion, the enjoyment of their property, they still declined to give the slightest assurance of good behaviour or fidelity. They refused even to furnish supplies to the British garrison, and they ranged themselves actually on the side of the French expeditions. They encouraged the savage to rob, and to plunder, and to murder. They complacently looked on while a vessel was looted under their eyes, and at the same time they were subject to no direct tax and had every privilege a loyal subject could ask. European writers who have alluded to this proceeding have dwelt much on the peaceful lives and the quiet, primitive habits of most of those who suffered. That fact has never been disputed. But poetry has endeavoured to sublimate their virtues to a height they never reached. The Acadians lived in rude plenty, unmarked by the least culture. Their prejudices were only developed among themselves. They were litigious and grasping, and French writers of that date complain that the specie which they received never left their possession, for they held it back for the hour of difficulty, which would have been in no way unwelcome if it ended in driving from their midst those who, with all the exaggeration on the subject, could not be called their oppressors. In September, 1755, a considerable number of the most troublesome were seized, arbitrarily, undoubtedly, and banished from the country. What the number was which were thus scattered and shipped in transports it is hard to state. Many were left behind, as the despatches of subsequent Governors clearly establish. In Grand Pré 1,925 were collected. At Annapolis and Cumberland many took to the woods. I cannot form any other opinion than that the number 5,000 is an exaggeration. Among the papers at the Colonial Office or at Halifax the true state of the case may be found. I am quite unable, from what I can learn, to give any estimate, but the evidence leads me to think that probably less than 3,000 were so deported. A melancholy fate of suffering, sorrow and privation; for these poor creatures were sent, homeless and destitute, to other States; but there was no unnecessary hardship and cruelty shown, and their condition was not worse than that of the immigrant who in old days sought our shores.

Undoubtedly it is a chapter of human misery, this enforced exodus, but those who suffered by it could have avoided it by a line of conduct marked by no one act in any way unworthy or humiliating. All that was called for was the acceptance of an unavoidable condition of events, beyond their control, irremediable. They refused to become friends of those who made the offer of peace and conciliation in the hour of danger and difficulty. They showed themselves to be avowed enemies. For upwards of forty years they destroyed the peace of the colony, and had at length to pay the penalty their conduct exacted, which was only with reluctance adopted as a necessity which self-preservation demanded.

It is not until 1714 that Nova Scotia ranks as a British Province. There were many mutations before it took this definite form, and in connection with its history there is the record common to most of the communities of this continent: that of misapprehension and a failure to understand its importance as an American possession.

For the hundred and seventy years which Nova Scotia has continued under British rule its population has steadily increased from various sources, and as a maritime people they have placed themselves in the highest rank. Nova Scotia thus possesses the distinction of being the oldest British Province of the Dominion.

CHAPTER VII.
HALIFAX TO QUEBEC.

Home in Halifax—Start for the Pacific—The Intercolonial Railway—Major Robinson—Old Companions—The Ashburton Blunder—Quebec—The Provincial Legislature—Champlain—The Iroquois.

Arrived at my Halifax home, I made the few preparations necessary for the journey before me. In the interval, I rambled through the Dingle with my children and paddled over the north-western arm, a sheet of water of much beauty. There is always unusual pleasure in such quiet occupations, exacting neither labour, nor thought, nor any great strain upon the attention. We float along or stroll idly, as it were following the bent of our inclinations, now and then considering what lies before us, or reverting in memory to that which once has happened. Then I visited my old friends, who gave me the proverbial Halifax welcome. Two vessels of the fleet were in port, the “Northampton” and the “Canada,” the latter attracting some attention from the fact that Prince George, the second son of the Prince of Wales, was on board, performing the duties of a midshipman, as any other youngster in that position and as efficiently. A new Commander of the Forces had arrived, Lord Alexander Russell, formerly known in Canada as commanding one of the battalions of the Rifle Brigade, and the conversation of the garrison was the changes in discipline and general economy introduced, as is frequently the case by new administrators. All my friends were well and in good spirits. I had the additional pleasure of finding that the kindness of former days was unimpaired, and my whole visit was one of pleasantness.

I was four days in Halifax, and on the ninth of August, I started alone. Dr. Grant who accompanied me on my first trip to the Pacific eleven years ago, had accepted the invitation to accompany me across the Rocky Mountains, and it was arranged that he should join me in Winnipeg. My second son was also to be of the party. He was to meet me in Toronto.

My family went with me to the station. There was an unusual effort to say good-bye in starting on this long journey, but that matter has no interest here.

It is only on alternate nights that the Pullman car runs through from Halifax to Montreal. On this occasion I had to leave Halifax by the Pullman which went no further than Moncton Junction, and with the other western passengers I had to wait there for the train to arrive from St. John. We reached Moncton at two o’clock in the morning, an hour not the most convenient for effecting the change. It is among the minor miseries of travelling to be obliged to turn out at such an hour for a coming train. But the fault was my own. Had I curtailed my brief sojourn in Halifax a few hours, or had my arrangements admitted of delay for another day, I would have had the advantage of a through Pullman without the inconvenience of a break at this place. Moncton is in New Brunswick, at the junction of the lines from Halifax and St. John, whence a common course is followed to the St. Lawrence.

As I was sitting on the platform in the cool summer air before dawn, I could not but recollect that the 10th of August was one of the red letter days of my life. Thirty-one years back, on that day my railway career in Canada commenced. I was appointed as an Assistant-engineer on what was then known as the Ontario, Simcoe and Huron Railway, afterwards developed into the Northern Railway of Canada, and of which I remained chief engineer for a number of years. The Montreal and Portland Railway was under construction. The Grand Trunk Railway had just been commenced, and with the exception of some small lengths of line, such as the Lachine, the La Prairie, and the Carillon Railways, it may be said that, at that date, railways had no working existence in Canada.

The station ground at Moncton was illuminated by an electric light; to escape its piercing rays, I turned away to a seat which they did not reach. As I was thus sitting apart, my recollection went back over the last thirty-one years and to the many events which the spot suggested. The night was dark, and, excepting in the immediate neighbourhood, it seemed to be rendered darker by the light which flickered and glared directly above me. I cannot say that the dazzling “Brush” light is agreeable to me at any time, or on that occasion that my tone of thought was affected by it; but in spite of myself my mind ran over much of the past, and brought vividly before me many events long forgotten. I remembered the frequent mention of Moncton by Major Robinson in his well known report, and I felt how much I owed to his labours and to those of his efficient assistant Captain, now Sir Edmund Henderson. I thought of poor Major Pipon, who was drowned in one of the streams while gallantly striving to save the life of an Indian boy. Prominent among the actors I reverted to my friend Mr. Light, who constructed the line from Moncton to St. John, whose labours were continued on the Intercolonial Railway until its completion, and who is still actively engaged in his profession. Naturally, in connection with these memories, the whole staff of engineers who worked with me on the Intercolonial Railway passed before me, from the first long snow-shoe tramps through the forest and across the mountains in 1864 to the completion of the line in 1876. Some are no more; those who remain are scattered over this continent doing their work as manfully as they did it here, wherever their field of duty.

So far as the Intercolonial Railway appears before the public to-day, those engineers who were for years engaged in its construction are as if they never existed. I was struck with the similitude between the life of the engineer and of the soldier. There is much which is identical in the two professions. In both, privations and hardships are endured. In both, self-sacrifice is called for. In both, special qualities are demanded to gain desired results; and the possessors of them for a time obtain prominence, to pass out of mind with the necessity for their service, and to be forgotten and uncared for. It is peculiarly during an hour of patient waiting in the advanced hours of night that much of the past comes vividly before us. My mind reverted to all the incidents connected with the history of this national railway. I recalled many recollections of the Railway Commissioners whom the Government appointed at that date, and I did my best to forget many an unpleasantness. Differences of view were not unfrequent. They seemed important enough at the time, but on looking back to them now, how insignificant many of them appear. Those mistakes which permanently affect the public interests are only to be deplored. The train had just passed over the scene of one of the most glaring of these departures from a wise policy. In order to serve purely local interests, the railway was diverted many miles out of its true direction. The proper location would have cost less; the line, when completed, would have been better in an engineering point of view; the distance would have been ten miles shorter. But the local interests, in themselves insignificant, were sustained by political influence. Whatever administration was in power, there was some one prominent politician to advocate the location by the circuitous route. In this one point men on opposite sides of the House could meet on common ground, and in spite of all remonstrances[C] and regardless of the facts, their individual interests prevailed.

Thus the country was saddled with an unnecessary expense of construction of a needless increased length of line with its perpetual maintenance, and every person, and every ton of goods, entering or leaving Nova Scotia, has to pay a mileage charge of conveyance over ten extra unnecessary miles: a tax on the travelling public and the commerce of the country for ever! As I looked along the track into the darkness, I remembered that some fifteen years had passed since the troubles and unpleasantness of those days, and it came to my mind that the prominent actors in the events are dead. I was struck with the truth of our experience in the vanity of human wishes and the worse than folly of sacrificing permanent public interests for matters of passing moment.

The circumstances suggested another recollection of higher historical importance and infinitely more consequence. Moncton itself, geographically, is nearly due east of Montreal, but in order to reach this point, the Intercolonial railway has to diverge northerly nearly three degrees of latitude, through the narrow limit of territory along the St. Lawrence. The extraordinary series of negotiations which led to the establishment of the Maine boundary, is a chapter in our history which the British nation equally with Canadians would willingly forget. It is with pain and humiliation that we reflect on the ignorance of the simplest facts of the case and of the deplorable inattention to every national interest which marked the conduct of the Imperial representative, Lord Ashburton, in the settlement of that question. I had occasion, some years ago, carefully to examine the whole subject, and I could never discover that the blame of the discreditable settlement of the matter at issue is in any way chargeable to the Washington Government, as many suppose, and as I myself at one time had been taught to believe. The diplomacy of the United States was perfectly straightforward throughout. Strange as it may seem, the objectionable settlement, which leaves this painful blot on the map of the Dominion, is due to the rejection of a proposition which came from the Executive at Washington. Had the wise and just proposal made and repeated by President Jackson been accepted, there cannot be a doubt that the boundary would have been satisfactorily established, in accordance with the true spirit of the treaty of 1783. We would have been spared the bitter humiliation of the Ashburton treaty; we would have saved ten millions of dollars in the first cost of the Intercolonial railway, and Nova Scotia would have been, for all practical purposes of trade and intercourse, two hundred miles nearer the western provinces of the Dominion.

The yearly cost of maintaining and working this unnecessary length of railway represents a large sum. The direct advantages of the shorter line would have been incalculable. The transport of coal alone, at half a cent per ton per mile, reckoned on 200 miles, would effect a saving to the consumers in the Provinces of Quebec and Ontario of one dollar per ton. Such a reduction in itself would have created great activity in the mining industries of Nova Scotia, the coal fields of which are inexhaustible, but which from their distance from market are subjected to much unfavorable competition.

The train arrives in due time; a sleeping berth had been secured by telegraph, and I proceed onwards. The following evening, the train reaches the Chaudière Junction, opposite Quebec, having passed Rimouski and Rivière du Loup in the afternoon. At the latter place, generally so quiet and free from bustle, we saw an unusual number of people assembled. It was the annual excursion of the Press Association, and the members had been listening to an address from the Premier of the Dominion.

There are three ways of reaching Montreal from Quebec. The traveller may take the steamboat up the St. Lawrence, 180 miles. He may cross the river and avail himself of the North Shore Railway, or he may remain on the south side and proceed by the Grand Trunk Railway. It is now seven in the evening and the train is about starting, so I continue on the Grand Trunk route and have a second night to pass in the Pullman car. In the morning at half-past six the train enters Montreal by the famed Victoria Bridge.

To those who desire to pass a day at Quebec, the steamboat is a very pleasurable mode of travelling. The steamers on the route are well built. The accommodation is excellent, and they present a varied and animated sight during the season from the number of passengers.

I have frequently visited Quebec, and I have passed many days among its many pleasant associations. On this occasion, it was a mere point in my travels. Those who visit Canada for the first time, will certainly not hurry past this famous city as I was then doing.

Quebec will always be remarkable for its historical associations and for the exquisite beauty of its scenery. The traveller, however far he may have rambled, can not fail to recognize that the view from Durham Terrace is one of the finest he has ever seen. Some contend that it is unsurpassed. On one side is the citadel in all its strength and grandeur. On the opposite bank of the river, Point Levis stands forth with its coves and buildings and scenes of stirring life. Immediately below us the majestic river itself flows in a great, placid stream on its way to the ocean. To the north, rise the bold heights of the Laurentian range, bearing evidences of life from their base far up on the hill side. The whole scene furnishes a panorama rarely to be met. In Quebec one feels that he is on a spot where every foot of space was once of value, from the necessity of protecting the whole by works of defence. We are taken back to the European life of insecurity of two centuries ago, when every town was so protected, and yet was often ravaged and despoiled. Quebec is the one memorial of that condition of things on this continent. The city itself is built on an eminence which admits of much variety of landscape. It is a spot of great attraction which everybody visits with pleasure. The society has long been known by the genial and kindly character of its hospitality. Although its commerce is not relatively what it was in former years, it is still a centre of much activity and possesses great wealth. The commencement of a railway to the settlement at Lake St. John, to the north, entirely by Quebec capital, is a proof that the spirit of enterprise yet remains.

The city is the seat of Provincial Government. During the sitting of its Legislature it is much frequented by men busy in political life. In summer the hotels are invariably full of tourists, chiefly from the United States, hundreds often arriving daily to go over the ground of its historic associations, to enjoy the beauty of the landscape, and to observe what remains of the life of a past, of which in their own country they are without a parallel. Much of the history of Canada centres around Quebec. Many illustrious names are associated with the ancient city. The most distinguished is its founder, Samuel Champlain.

Champlain’s career in Canada dates from 1608 to 1635. He founded Quebec. He ascended the Richelieu and discovered Lake Champlain, which bears his name. He ascended from Ticonderoga to Lake George, and penetrated the valleys of the Hudson and the Mohawk. He ascended the Ottawa, passed over the height of land, and by Lake Nipissing reached Georgian Bay. He travelled the country overland from Lake Simcoe to the Trent, and by the Bay of Quinté crossed the waters of Lake Ontario to what is now the State of New York, and penetrated to one of the lakes, believed to be Lake Canandaigua. He was the first to make a map of Canada, and he published his memoirs and his travels. He, and he only, is the founder of Canada. What he effected was wonderful. Few men have been marked by such singular honesty of character. Few men have possessed so well directed a spirit of adventure, controlled by an unusually active and penetrating mind. His fortitude, his endurance, his courage, his perseverance, his personal honour make him one of the great characters of history.

Midway between Quebec and Montreal the City of Three Rivers is situated. This place was early settled, a fort having been constructed here in 1634. Its geographical position called for this protection. It is at the foot of the St. Maurice, whose sources lie far to the north, and west of Lake St. Peter, which in those days might be called an Iroquois lake, from the frequent incursions of the Indians, who were merciless in their warfare. For forty years the early French Canadian settler never knew if he would be able to reap the harvest of the seed he had sown. Indeed, it is not an exaggeration to say that it was doubtful, when he left his home for his day’s labour, if he would not be before night a scalped corpse. It was not until 1686 that Tracy passed by the Richelieu and read the Iroquois a lesson by which peace was obtained. Three Rivers was at an early day a settlement of some importance. It even obtained a preference over Quebec, but the better situation of Montreal eventually diverted the trade to that city. It has long been a pleasant enough place, but, as the saying goes, one through which everybody passes and where nobody stops.

CHAPTER VIII.
QUEBEC, MONTREAL, OTTAWA.

Montreal—Ship Channel—Hon. John Young—St. Lawrence Canals—Indifference of Quebec—Quebec Interests Sacrificed—Need of a Bridge at Quebec—Montreal Trade in Early Times—Beauty of the City—Canadian Pacific Railway—Ottawa—The Social Influence of Government House—Kingston.

It is only within the last half century that the commercial advantages, geographically, possessed by Montreal have been understood and developed. It is not possible to enter into the history of the remarkable works, extending east and west, which have secured to this city its commercial success. They may, however, be briefly mentioned. To the east a ship channel has been dredged through Lake St. Peter to a depth of twenty-five feet, to admit of the passage of ocean steamers. The original depth over the St. Peter flats was eleven feet. This gigantic work, commenced in 1840, has been continued until the present day. The excavation extends for a distance of seventeen miles, over shoals irregular in depth. At this date the sum of $3,500,000 has been expended in the work. The further deepening of this channel to admit the depth of twenty-seven feet six inches is now in progress, and to obtain this depth throughout above Quebec the shoals of the River St. Lawrence itself above and below Lake St. Peter must likewise be dredged.

There is but one parallel to this work in the world: the improvement of the Clyde, which has been continued for one hundred years. Originally only vessels drawing three feet six inches could reach Glasgow. From time to time this depth has been increased, until it may be said that at this date ocean steamers of the largest draught are found at the Broomielaw. Hence Glasgow, by artificial means, has become one of the most important ports in the United Kingdom; and similarly Montreal, although a thousand miles from the ocean, is now one of the chief seaports of the Dominion, and, judged by the standard of Customs receipts, must be held to be the first.

In connection with the improvement of the St. Lawrence, between Montreal and Quebec, indeed with regard to much which has increased the prosperity of Montreal, one name rises into marked prominence, that of the Hon. John Young, so long and so honourably known in that city, and still so well remembered. It was owing in a great degree to his energy and capacity that the deepening of Lake St. Peter was completed according to the original design. It may also be said that he was one of the first to recognize the necessity of an increased sufficiency of depth of channel above Quebec, if Montreal was to remain the unquestioned port of the ocean steamer. A project which he advocated to his death, and which until a great extent he was instrumental in placing in its present satisfactory condition, so that in no great number of years the depth will be attained.

To the west of Montreal several canals have been completed to overcome the rapids of the St. Lawrence, the last of which is the renowned Falls of Niagara, and which our grandsires held to be so insuperable as to bar settlement on the upper lakes. These works are a marked feature of Canadian enterprise, and in themselves an important chapter in the history of canal construction. Nowhere in the world, on a line of navigation, are such locks to be seen. Those of the Lachine Canal are two hundred and seventy-five feet in length, forty-five feet wide, with twelve feet of water in the sills, so constructed that, without interruption to traffic, they may be increased to fourteen feet. The enlargement of the whole navigation of the St. Lawrence, now in progress, is on a similar scale. It is by the central and commanding position which these works have created for Montreal that the city has attained its present supremacy.

For a time Quebec enjoyed to the full extent the control of the ocean shipping trade, but the day the channel was formed through the flats of Lake St. Peter for the passage of seagoing vessels the monopoly was broken and the trade diverted.

The City of Quebec has long complained that its commerce was languishing, among other causes, from the persistent efforts of Montreal to control it. The deepening of the channel between the two cities has accomplished more than was even hoped for by its far-seeing projectors, for most of the seagoing steamships steam past Quebec, to find at Montreal the point of transfer for their western freight, and the point where it is most convenient to receive a cargo. There is a recorded saying of the Hon. John Neilson, a well known public man of forty years back, that there are two advantages Montreal could not take away from Quebec: the Citadel and the tide. Evidently meaning by the former that tourists would always visit the city to see what only could there be found, and that Quebec, by constructing tidal docks, had the means of bringing to her harbour vessels which, from their draught, could not ascend the river to Montreal. The persistent, well-directed efforts of Montreal, however, have been to concede no such advantages.

What, in the meantime, has been the course of Quebec? It is well known that at this hour great efforts are being put forth by Halifax public men to establish Halifax as the winter shipping port of the Dominion. It is contended that the Intercolonial Railway is a national work, constructed with public money, and that it is precisely to meet an emergency of this character, to prevent the diversion of the winter freight to the United States ports, that one of the main causes of its construction can be found. The City of Quebec, labouring under a depression of its trade, gave its strongest support to the project of the North Shore Railway, with its prolongation to Ottawa, and even contributed $1,000,000 towards its establishment. In the eye of the Quebec merchant it is a national work, the object of which is to extend to Quebec, by railway, the same facilities for transhipment of freight which is now possessed by Montreal. The Province had a plain policy to follow. It was of paramount importance that she should retain full control of the line to Montreal and Ottawa, and that it should offer, at both points, perfect facilities for the transfer of traffic to and from the competing railway lines: the Canadian Pacific and Grand Trunk. The effect would have been to restore a share of the trade in shipping freight which Quebec had previously enjoyed. Moreover, as the navigation is confined to the summer months, it would appear to be clearly the policy of Quebec to develop and complete her railway connections to the east, so that the traffic in winter would flow in a continuous stream over the North Shore line, and be carried onward to the winter shipping port at Halifax. To carry out this theory successfully the St. Lawrence would have to be bridged as near Quebec as practicable. In the vicinity of the city, some few miles south, there is a site adapted for such a bridge. The shores of the river are high, and the deep-water channel can be crossed by a single span, lofty enough for the tallest masts of a vessel to pass beneath. Modern engineering has rendered the project not only possible but comparatively easy, for it has reduced greatly the time and the cost which some years back would have been held necessary to consummate the project. The railway connections, equally of the City and Province of Quebec, I may add of the Dominion, will always remain incomplete and unsatisfactory without such a bridge. With this structure the whole conditions of the problem would be changed. At all seasons of the year it would facilitate the arrival and increase the number of tourists. It would have the effect of augmenting traffic on both the North Shore and Intercolonial Railways. It would extend provincial as well as local advantages to commerce generally, and it would go far to establish Halifax as the winter port of the Dominion. Moreover, it would affect all this result without the sacrifice of one single Canadian interest.

There is much in the late policy of the Government of Quebec to astonish and bewilder all who study the laws of trade. It has been remarked that the City of Quebec felt its interests to be so deeply concerned in the completion of the North Shore Railway that it voted $1,000,000 to secure its establishment. Throughout the Province the railway was advocated for many years; it was fostered and cherished, and held to be the key to its future prosperity. Nevertheless the Provincial Government has deliberately sold all its interest in the work, and has passed over its control to a railway company whose interests lie in an entirely different direction. They have thus sacrificed the one chance of extending a fostering hand to local trade and regaining the prestige of the Ancient City. Indeed, the Provincial Government stands in relationship to this railway as if it had never been constructed as a public work. As I am writing I read in the newspapers that the present tariff of charges between Montreal and Quebec, a distance of one hundred and eighty miles, on certain articles of freight, is thirty-three per cent. higher than between Quebec and Halifax, a distance of six hundred and eighty miles! Possibly an extreme case; but can any fact bear stronger testimony to the sacrifice which has been made of the interests of the City of Quebec? It is long since there has been such an abandonment of a position from which so much might have been hoped, and, strange to add, the sacrifice has been made without a protest, without a remonstrance from those most interested. It would seem that there is a failure to understand the extent of the advantages which have been thrown away. If there be any truth in the adage that misery likes company, it may be some consolation to the people of Quebec to know that the shadow of this unfortunate transaction has been equally cast over the fortunes of the Intercolonial Railway and on the prosperity of the City of Halifax.

It seems to me that the error committed cannot too soon be rectified. Indeed, it is a case in which the intervention of the general government is both justifiable and necessary. The Intercolonial Railway, owned and operated by the Dominion Government, extends from Halifax to a point opposite Quebec. It connects only with the Grand Trunk Railway. The interests of the Grand Trunk Company call for the transport of freight to Portland, in the United States, rather than its transfer to Halifax. The Intercolonial was established for national purposes. Strong reasons present themselves why it should not terminate at Chaudière Junction, but that its outlet should be Ottawa. This policy of extension to the capital would involve bridging the St. Lawrence at Quebec and of obtaining control of the railway to Ottawa. Such a connection would admit of the exchange of traffic with the competing lines on equal terms at Montreal and Ottawa, and would remove from Quebec, from the Intercolonial Railway and from Halifax the serious disabilities under which they now labour.

Under French rule Montreal had simply a monopoly of trade with the Indians, and no attempt was made until a later period to overcome the natural impediments which lay in the way of its advancement. It was not until some years after the conquest, when Western Canada, now Ontario, became a field for settlement, that any improvement of the navigation of the St. Lawrence was attempted. Some rude canals, with narrow locks, were early formed to enable the Durham boats, then the only means of transit, to pass up the Cascade, Cedar and Coteau Rapids. The present canals were the impulse of a later date. In the early days of Canada commerce was not of the importance it has now attained. There was a chronic state of war, first with the red man for the possession of the country itself; secondly with the English and the southern colonies for the traffic with the Indians. The scene of the struggle was generally on the borders of the great lakes, and then, as now, the main effort was put forth to determine whether the products of the west would pass by the Mohawk to the Hudson, or whether it would follow the course of the St. Lawrence to the sea.

Montreal, at this period, was virtually the end of French settlement, and the population was small. At the present day Montreal is a city, with its suburbs, of nearly 200,000 inhabitants. Most of the old French landmarks are disappearing, one by one, and there remains little of material form to recall French rule. It may almost be said that the language, and that portion of our laws which owes its origin to France, are all that remain to remind us of her power. Her criminal and commercial law is English; the other divisions of her jurisprudence retain their early impress. There remains, however, the Roman Catholic form of worship, the most marked heirloom of those days which the French Canadian has most jealously retained. Montreal, socially, is now characterized by those features which wealth, proceeding from a long and prosperous commerce, stamps upon a community on this side of the Atlantic. On all sides you see palatial residences and highly cultivated grounds. The main business streets are marked by unusual architectural embellishments, for which the limestone quarries in the neighbourhood furnish the best of facilities. The wharves in front of the city, with the stone revetment wall, have not their equal on the continent. The canals have already been referred to, and I know nowhere else where such works are to be seen. The Canadian canal is a river, and not a small one, and the vessels which pass through it are of no ordinary size. There is much material success; and this commercial element has gathered together a busy, anxious, enterprising, pushing population, with all the accessories in connection with it which wealth gives. But I must turn to the matters which have brought me to Montreal.

I had a long and important interview with the Directors of the Canadian Pacific Railway. They desired me to proceed to British Columbia on a special professional service, and, if practicable, they wished me to pass over the line west of Winnipeg to examine the passes of the Rocky Mountains. It was agreed that I should start without delay. Some preparations are always necessary for such a journey, and to cross the mountains over an almost untrodden path I required strong, rough clothing and unexceptional protection for the feet.

I took the afternoon train for Ottawa. In Montreal the terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway is at Dalhousie Square. It extends from Notre Dame street, at a lower level, to the quay, and it would be difficult to find a more striking site for a railway station. For upwards of a mile the line runs along the side of the harbour, and you have in view the bold landscape produced by the river and St. Helen’s Island. To the west Victoria Bridge stands out in bold relief, and, in spite of its massiveness, it spans the river with the most graceful of lines. The harbour of Montreal during the season of navigation is always more or less full of shipping, among which the ocean steamer predominates. In winter it presents a totally different appearance. The river is a field of ice, often cumbered with Cyclopean masses, distorted by “shoves” into most picturesque forms, often a scene in all respects striking and rarely met. The railway, on leaving Montreal, passes through a really charming landscape. Crossing two branches of the St. Lawrence, at Sault-au-Recollet and Rivière-des-Prairies, it touches the River Ottawa, and continues generally in sight of the river till it reaches the capital. Twenty miles east the line passes directly over the falls of Le Lievre, at Buckingham, which form an object of special attraction. On approaching Ottawa we cross the long iron bridge over the river, and see the city lying before us, and the outline of the Government buildings, with their peculiar architecture, almost suggesting that you are entering some mediæval city.

At no period of the year, except during the three months when the House is in session, is there any particular animation in the Capital. Parliament meets in February, occasionally in January, and continues its sittings until April or May. From Christmas to the opening of the House the Government offices are unusually active in the preparation of documents to be laid before Parliament. Strangers arrive a week before the day of the opening. There is a constant succession of new faces in the streets. The Ministers commence their series of dinners, the intention of which is to affirm their political influence, but clothed with all the graces of social attraction. Those in the city proper who can entertain do so at this season. The Club, which for the remaining nine months can number in its rooms its visitors by tens, is then crowded, and the hotels are full of busy, bustling individuals engaged in the many schemes which await the countenance of Parliament, and the dining-room in the evening has the fullest attendance.

Few cities of the size are more lively under this aspect than Ottawa during the session. A few days after its close another story is told. Government House, which for the last ten years has been the scene of so much polished and plenteous hospitality, becomes tenantless. The two previous Governors-General, Lord Dufferin and Lord Lorne, endeavoured to bring side by side all that was estimable and prominent in the capital. There was something so cordial, so unaffectedly hearty in the welcome given to all, that no one went there without pleasure or left without regret. The invitations were not confined to a comparatively narrow clique. No hospitality could be more genial, more liberal or more unaffected. Twice a week, or so, there were skating and tobogganing parties. Once a week there were state dinners, frequently on other evenings guests were gathered around the private table. Lord Dufferin inaugurated a series of private theatricals. He was also followed by Lord Lorne in his desire to add to the common happiness, as indeed in all that was excellent which Lord Dufferin commenced. No balls ever were more pleasant than those given at Ottawa under their regime. There is a delicacy in writing all this, as both these distinguished men are in active political life, and it is not easy to speak of the actors in our Canadian drama who yet play a part in the wider Imperial life. Equally difficult to venture to allude to the Countess of Dufferin, who exercised such a healthy influence on the society in which she mixed. The more exalted position of H. R. H. the Princess Louise makes it more embarrassing to refer to her presence; but who that has, in any way, been brought within her influence can forget all the associations which it suggests, not those of rank, but the more durable impress of genius, of excellence, with the most simple and unaffected manner, blended with a consideration for others which delighted everyone.

I remained a few hours in Ottawa, and took the night train for Toronto. We start from the Canadian Pacific station, at which I had arrived, and follow the line to Brockville. Brockville is a town of importance on the St. Lawrence, at the lower end of that interesting reach of forty miles which embraces the Thousand Islands. During the night the Pullman is connected with the Grand Trunk train, and we proceed on our journey as if we were travelling on the system of lines we started on. There is no tax imposed on travellers, as at Moncton on alternate nights turning you out of your berth at three in the morning. When you awake you are still proceeding onward on the western journey. We pass Kingston at night, a town which has grown around Frontenac’s fort, erected in 1672. Its site is still a barrack used for the Military College. Kingston has the advantage of a finely settled country in its rear; it has an ancient look, and is substantially built of limestone. Its position at the junction of Lake Ontario with the St. Lawrence, and the presence of many owners of craft, cause some activity during the season of navigation. Kingston is also known as the seat of Queen’s College and University, in which, personally and officially, the writer has the greatest interest.

There is a restaurant car attached to the train, and one can obtain any breakfast he may require. After breakfast one generally becomes critical, for thought is turned outward. As we are moving onward it struck me that the farming between Trenton and Cobourg was not of a high character. At no season should thistles and weeds be seen in the fields, certainly not at the period when they are going to seed, and even a few slovenly farms will disfigure a whole district. The grain crop is later than usual, but is fast ripening, and in this section of the country not without promise. West of Cobourg the land is among the best in the world. Nowhere is agriculture more careful. There is scarcely any land remaining uncultivated, and no one but can be struck with the fertility of the district through which we are passing.

CHAPTER IX.
TORONTO TO LAKE SUPERIOR.

Toronto—Collingwood—Georgian Bay—The Sault St. Mary—Navigation of the Great Lakes—Manitoulin Islands—Lake Huron—Arrival at the Sault.

Arriving safely at Toronto I was welcomed by my son Sandford, who accompanies me on my journey. For the first time I am presented to a still younger descendant, who confers upon me a new claim to family respect, and whom I meet with much pleasure.

It was the civic holiday in Toronto. It has been a custom on this Continent, in the large cities and more important towns, for one day in the year to be set apart, when, by common consent, business ceases. All sorts of excursions are organized by railway and steamboat companies, and to crown the whole with additional dignity, the purport of the day is officially declared by proclamation by His Worship the Mayor. Every possible auxiliary is called in aid to give effect to the occasion. In the city there are various performances at the theatres, morning and evening. The neighbouring small towns contribute their sympathizing crowds. There are cricket matches, lacrosse matches, with other meetings of every character of pleasurable association. There is the best of good eating and drinking for all who require it and are willing to pay for it. This Toronto holiday was in no way wanting in the general characteristics which such a day brings with it. Crowds of good-looking, good-humoured, holiday-dressed personages filled the streets, and there was a gaiety of manner and an atmosphere of amusement in the main thoroughfares which even the indifferent spectators could with difficulty resist.

If Montreal may be said to be the admitted commercial capital of Canada, Toronto is battling hard to dispute its supremacy. The capital of Ontario, it is what Montreal is not. It is a political centre of great activity, where much is originated to influence both Dominion and local politics. It justly claims, too, a higher tone of intellectual life. On the whole, it may be said that there is a more assured type of culture and urban refinement by the shores of Lake Ontario than on the Island of Montreal. The city contains two Universities: one, Toronto University, without religious test, supported by the Province; the second, Trinity, supported by the Church of England. Besides which there are a Presbyterian College and Theological Halls of other denominations. The Canadian Institute also has a reputation. It numbers among its members some of the leading minds of the country, and for many years it has been distinguished as a centre for the exchange of thought on scientific and literary topics; it has greatly aided the collection of information respecting the economic resources of the Dominion and in the determination of problems which have a direct influence upon its future. There has been always a marked polish of manner, blended with a sympathy with intellectual power, which has distinguished Toronto society. The leading members of the professions have, as a rule, obtained greater social recognition, and generally the horizon of education is much more extended than in the larger eastern city.

The surrounding country is of little interest beyond what is artificially obtained, but the large sheltered sheet of water in front of the city, locally designated “the Bay,” and protected from the lake by a long sandy island about a mile from the shore, will always give it value as a harbour, and afford excellent boating water for the members of the Yacht Club. The more distant environs are particularly striking. In four hours, steamboats take you to Niagara. On excursion days they are crowded with passengers. Niagara is one of those sights which the more you behold the more you are astonished. I have met those who have expressed disappointment at their first view of the Falls. It is difficult to explain how this feeling is entertained, except by some previous extravagant misconception of their extent and appearance. Their character and beauty have deservedly included them in the wonders of the world. Necessarily they have become a show place, and to some extent one experiences the unpleasant influences which the tourist has to contend with at such resorts. The locality is the scene of many a small extortion into which the unwary occasionally stumble. There cannot be a doubt that the Falls of Niagara, with the scenery above and below them, and the masses of rushing water in all its various aspects and circumstances, present a sight to dwarf into insignificance everything of the kind generally beheld. At all seasons of the year they attract crowds of visitors to the neighbourhood, and scarcely any one visiting the Continent fails to look upon them.

I spent a pleasant day at Collingwood with my dear old mother, 83 years of age, looking fresh and hearty, without one physical ache or pain; at the same time her mind retains its marked natural acuteness.

At four in the afternoon on Tuesday, the 14th August, with my son, I went on board the steamer “Campana” in the best of spirits. She is a staunch iron vessel, built in England and registered in London. There was an unusual crowd of passengers, but I had telegraphed and secured state-rooms, as the cabins are called, so I had not to content myself with a mattrass on the floor, the fate of many. The water was perfectly smooth. As the steamer left the dock the outline of the town of Collingwood, with the blue mountains in the background, appeared to me more picturesque than ever. What a change has taken place at this spot in the last thirty years, since the day when my men cut the first trees on the first examination of the ground on which this important town now stands. It was then in a state of nature with the primeval forest to the water’s edge. It is to-day a scene of busy active life, with wharves, streets, churches, schools and many a pleasant residence. The ground on which the dry dock is constructed I recollect as the spot where I have watched for deer when I had seen their foot tracks fresh on the sand beach. Where are the men who were busy at their work in those days? Who remain of the directors, engineers, contractors, and what the newspapers called “influential personages,” who, on a bright winter morning in 1851 gathered near the shore and on the ice, breaking a bottle of wine, named the future City of Collingwood. The familiar features of Sheriff Smith, Judge Orton, Captain Hancock, Messrs. Isaac Gilmour, Geo. H. Cheney, Angus Morrison, John McWatt, De Grassey and Stephens are yet kindly remembered by many, and especially by myself. There were others present whom I do not so well recollect. How many of these voices are mute, which then joined in the cheers given as the heralds of our good wishes! Few of the actors in that scene remain but myself.

The direct course of the “Campana” was along the coast of Georgian Bay, skirting Craigleith and Thornbury. We touch at the bustling town of Meaford, where our well-filled passenger list receives additions, certainly by no means desirable. But the new-comers crowd on board, and the steamer moves off to round Cape Rich, to enter the bay of Owen Sound. It was one of those pleasant, moonlight, calm evenings so enjoyable in Canada. There was not a ripple on the water. The air was cool and pleasant, the moon three-quarters full, and its reflection seemed to dance over the whole surface of the bay. The steamer is of iron, and we move onward with little noise and without vibration. We enter the narrow harbour at Owen Sound, a town surrounded by low hills, through the gorges of which the River Sydenham penetrates, passing over some falls of great beauty a mile from the town. As we are moving up to the wharf we hear the arrival of the train from Toronto, with more passengers for the boat. The latter have come on board, the vessel has started, when all at once the cry is heard, “A man overboard!” He is soon rescued, but he has lost his hat, and the air of suffering with which he regards this misfortune would lead us almost to think that he held life of little account that it had been preserved at this serious cost. Such an event is by no means uncommon on these lakes. Generally it happens that some one is late for the steamer. Passengers have often to drive long distances; nevertheless they loiter to chat over an evening dram, and lose their time in gossip, or they fail to recollect the length of the distance they have to pass over. Be that as it may, punctuality seems to have been imperfectly learned in these latitudes. It is remembered that the steamer itself is often late, and there is ever present the good natured friend to suggest that “there is no hurry.” At last the moment comes. The dawdler is made aware that there is no time to spare. The steamer’s last whistle has sounded. There is a rush to get on board, under unfavourable circumstances, and sometimes the experiment is dearly paid for. It is not always the hat that is lost. Sometimes it is the fate of the unhappy wearer never again to require one.

We have recovered from this adventure. We are starting, and have actually left the wharf, but suddenly the signal is given to stop the engine, and the voice of the captain is heard shrieking out, “Sam! there is a letter left at the office by two young ladies.” Sam takes no short time to find the letter, but at last we get under way, and our captain is benignity itself. Our next landing place is Sault St. Mary, which we will not reach for thirty hours.

The arrangements for the steamer leaving Collingwood to touch at Owen Sound cannot be accounted for by any doctrine of necessity. It would appear as if the owners were anxious to act with perfect impartiality to the two railway companies, which, if they cannot be called opposition lines, have few interests in common. The Northern line runs to Collingwood; the Toronto, Grey & Bruce to Owen Sound; both from Toronto. As a rule, passengers by the steamer are for the North-West. Generally Port Arthur, on Lake Superior, is their destination. But we lost some twelve hours coasting around from Collingwood, and I could not see with one single advantage. This profitless waste of time will in all probability cease when the boats of the Canadian Pacific run between Port Arthur and Algoma, on the north shore of Lake Huron, connecting at that point with the railways now under construction. The new route will give to eastern passengers what they never yet possessed: a direct connection with Lake Superior without loss of time. From Toronto, passengers will probably continue to be carried for some time as at present.

Having passed three succeeding nights on the railway train on my journey from Halifax, I willingly sought my berth. The breakfast hour is seven, but I had had some experience of the preceding evening’s supper. Appetite must possess to many a somewhat tyrannical mastery, if we are to judge by the demonstrative determination to obtain seats at a steamboat table. With us there were four relays of supper, and it was an effort to find a seat at any one of them. Who has not noticed, under such circumstances, the rows of men and women who place themselves, with suppressed impatience, behind the seats, standing in the most prosaic of attitudes, in expectation for the word that the meal is ready. I was myself content to take my place at the fourth table, so that I could eat what I required with deliberation. With this experience, I was in no hurry to rise, so it was about nine o’clock when I entered the long saloon. There were a few stragglers like myself present, probably influenced by the same philosophy, who were seated here and there at a table on which lay the scattered remains of the fourth breakfast. On these lake boats the attendants are called “waiters,” not “stewards,” as on ocean steamers, and if there be a difference of nomenclature, there is certainly no identity of manner. The steward of the ocean steamer is the most benignant, courtly, kindly, considerate person in the world, and, as a rule, his virtues in this respect are sufficiently appreciated. On this boat I addressed one of the waiters, I thought politely enough, and gave my orders. I was met by the rugged reply, in the hardest of tones, “Ye cannot have hot breakfasts if ye lie in bed.” The man’s axiom was certainly borne out by fact. There was no breakfast, in the sense of the word, and what there remained was not hot. But the coffee was exceptionally good, and with a crust of bread I thought that I might have fared worse. Possibly the owners of the new steamers to be placed on the lakes next summer will introduce some improvement in the stewards’ department, which the ordinary traveller, they may be assured, will duly appreciate.

We were passing through the chain of islands extending from Tobermory to the Great Manitoulin. The water is perfectly smooth. The passengers are lounging, smoking, or basking on deck. Others, proud of their prowess, are relating their adventures and experiences, enlivened with many an anecdote, to the amusement of knots of hearers. As we were running through these waters they were so beautifully smooth and the air so fresh and pleasant that my mind went back to the Adriatic as you see it near Venice, or to the western coast of Italy from Civita Vecchia to Genoa. What you miss is the deep, ultra-marine blue of the Mediterranean. Although above you to-day there is a sky not less cloudless, bright and blue than we see in Southern Europe, the hue of the water is a deep slate colour, but in no way wanting in transparency. We have a horizon only broken by the islands behind us and the Great Manitoulin, dimly lying to our right. Like the Mediterranean, this great inland sea does not always exhibit the glassy surface it presents to-day. As in the Bay of Naples, the waters of which all pictures depict in the brightest blue, the gale can sometimes produce an angry, turbid sea, so on Lake Huron, especially in the late autumn, we have many a storm, often to create the roughest of weather. Some thirty years ago, while crossing in a Mackinaw boat, those were not the days of steamers with four relays of meals, I was caught in a nor’-wester, and driven to take refuge to the windward of one of the smallest of the islands we are leaving behind us. We reached the shore before sundown by the most strenuous exertions. All of us in the boat were exhausted, and we slept soundly on the gravel beach until the following day. The island was but a few acres in extent, but we could not venture to leave it. To have done so would have been certain death, for the water rolled in on the exposed beach in giant, swelling breakers. All the subsistence the whole crew had for three days was a solitary rabbit, which we managed to snare, and a few biscuits we had in our pockets.

It seems as if the whole study of the hour on board the steamer is to provide food for the passengers. It brings to recollection the prosperous hotel manager, who related with great zest how many hundreds he had been feeding in the last few days. It certainly required some genius to feed the numerous passengers of the “Campana,” with such limited accommodations. At noon dinner is provided. There are eighty seats, and four times that number of people to fill them. But dinner, like everything else, has its end. The passengers again form in knots upon the deck: the lounger, the smoker and the man who delights in euchre, the latter more within the scope of lake travel than the more classic whist, are all seen at their occupation, and the raconteur, with a fresh audience, is more than usually loquacious.

The moon is a day nearer the full; and when the sun sets, it does so gloriously and more brightly than last night. We arrive at a landing place and are moored to a wharf where we have to wait till morning. The Neebish Rapids lie before us. They have been improved for the purpose of navigation, but they are not yet lighted, and it is extremely hazardous to attempt to run them in the dark. Until a few years ago, when they were deepened and widened, they were positively dangerous. Eleven propeller blades were picked up by the divers during their operations. By daylight the Rapids can now be safely enough ascended, but it is not simply the Neebish Rapids which are unnavigable without daylight. An artificial channel through Lake George, made some years ago by the United States authorities, follows a circular course, and it is not possible to pass through it after dark without extraordinary precaution. It is true that it can be effected by sending two boats with lights following the course of the buoys on each side one by one, but all this was a labour our captain had no instructions to undertake, so we remained at the wharf. Had we not experienced the incident of the man overboard, and the forgotten letter of the two damsels at Owen Sound, we might have arrived in time to have ascended by daylight.

The next morning the boat left her moorings at dawn. It is a pleasant sail through Lake George and the St. Mary’s River, with its Indian settlements and the quiet locality known as Garden River. We had passed all these places when I awoke. We were then moving through the canal constructed on the Michigan side to overcome the Sault St. Mary. At the “Sault” there are, on either side, the Canadian and United States town bearing its name. Neither of them has much pretension, and neither of them is deficient in picturesqueness. The United States town, on the south side, is not without a certain commercial activity, and contains some barracks, in which generally there are two or three companies of the United States regular army.

The Sault is celebrated for its white-fish, and the passer-by will frequently observe a number of Indian canoes at the foot of the rapids, paddling about, with a man in the stern to seize the fish by a hand net. The white fish is held to be a great delicacy. They appear on the table first about Kingston, and are caught in all the lakes, but the opinion seems to be that the further north you go the better they are, those on Lake Superior being considered the best. We run out of the canal, and continue through the stretch of the River St. Mary above the Sault. There is little to attract the eye until we reach the lofty heights standing as portals to Lake Superior, the last and largest of the great sheets of water tributary to the St. Lawrence.

CHAPTER X.
LAKE SUPERIOR TO WINNIPEG.

Lake Superior—Early Discoverers—Joliet and La Salle—Hennepin—Du Luth—Port Arthur—The Far West—The North-West Company—Rat Portage—Gold Mining—Winnipeg.

The morning is dull, the sky leaden, and the temperature is not very enlivening for the most of us. But the boat moves pleasantly up the slight current until we reach Whitefish Point, then we enter the lake which lies before us in all its magnificent extent. Some idea of the size of Lake Superior may be formed when it is pointed out that from its two extremities the distance is equal to that from London to the centre of Scotland. In width it is capacious enough to take in the whole of Ireland. Its surface is 600 feet above, its bed is 300 feet below, the ocean level, the lake being 900 feet in depth. Its water is remarkably pure, with the colour of the finest crystal.

We pass a number of steamers and deeply laden vessels. We are now fairly in the lake, with its rugged, rocky hills on the north shore ascending to the height of a thousand feet. We are in the midst of a light fog. The air becomes chilly and raw, but the water continues smooth, and we sail calmly over it. Towards evening the fog has cleared away, and we find ourselves in the midst of this immense fresh water sea. The nearly full moon appears and is high up in view. Our horizon is the circumference of an unbroken circle, for there is not a trace of land in sight. Our position is near the meridian of Chicago, although six degrees of latitude further north; and we approach the longitude of that great western territory which on both sides of the International boundary is being developed with such marvellous progress.

Champlain appears to have known the existence of a northern fresh water lake of great size, but he never visited it. He showed on his map a large body of water under the title, Mer de Nor Glaciale. This was in 1632. Galinée’s map of 1670 gives the River Ottawa and Lake Ontario sufficiently correctly for those days, everything considered, but Lake Michigan was unknown to him. He considered Lakes Michigan and Huron to be one body of water, and so represented them. Lake Superior he did not appear to know, although he had reached Sault St. Mary. One of the earliest works of the Jesuit Fathers in Canada is their map of Lake Superior, published in 1671, with the title of Lac Tracy-ou-Superior. It showed that the many bays and inlets had been explored, and the map is marked by great correctness, allowing for the date of its production. They also knew of the Peninsula of Michigan. Indeed by this date the general geography and coast line of the great lakes was fairly understood. In 1669 La Salle made the first of the series of discoveries which have preserved his name. He had heard of the great river to the west, and he was desirous of proceeding thither. He descended the Ohio, probably as far as Louisville, but it was not until eleven years later that he discovered the outlet of the Mississippi. Marquette and Joliet had in the meantime ascended from Green Bay, Lake Michigan, and followed the Fox River to the Mississippi. They may be held to be its discoverers, although claims antagonistic to their priority have been advanced, I believe, without sufficient proof. Hennepin, the Recollet Friar, was the first to ascend the upper waters of the Mississippi and describe the Falls of St. Anthony, where the great milling City of Minneapolis now flourishes. On his return with his captors, for he was a prisoner of the Indians, he met Du Luth some distance below the falls. Du Luth was one of those many enterprising spirits whom France sent to this Continent, a man of untiring energy and undaunted nature. He penetrated to the then utmost limit known. He was a martyr to rheumatism, but no suffering interfered with his discoveries and his devotion to the supremacy of France. At Lake Superior he had heard that there were white men on the Mississippi. The news caused him anxiety. His first thought was that English traders had penetrated from New York, and in the interest of France he felt such intrusion had summarily to be stopped. He started with four well armed Frenchmen, followed one of the streams leading southerly and passed by the St. Croix, which falls into the Mississippi below St. Paul. It was here that he met Hennepin, who proved to be the white man he had heard of. Du Luth returned by way of Lake Michigan.

Previous to this date Du Luth had established himself on the Kaministiquia, Lake Superior. In 1680 he built a fort on the site of the present Fort William on that river, for half a century the extreme point beyond which the French did not penetrate, and in itself the first settlement on the north shore. The Jesuits had established themselves on the south shore of the lake at an early date in Canadian history at La Pointe, the modern Bayfield.

It was a brilliant summer morning, Friday, 17th August, when I awoke; we were near land. Silver Islet was in sight, and Thunder Cape, a bold headland lit up by the sun, stood forth to bid us welcome. During breakfast we enter Thunder Bay, a noble expanse of water surrounded on three sides by lofty hills. The entrance is some six miles wide, protected to some extent from the storms of Lake Superior by Isle Royale, some distance to the south. We have fourteen miles to steam before we reach what was formerly called Prince Arthur’s Landing, now known as Port Arthur. It has grown up of late years. It possesses an air of liveliness, and I do not think that those whose interests are centered in the town underrate the advantages of its situation or have any doubts with regard to its future. There are copper and silver mines in the neighbourhood, some of which are represented to be of value. They have been worked from time to time and discontinued, and their occasional operations have told on the progress of the town.

But Port Arthur does not possess unchallenged all the advantages claimed for it. Fort William on the Kaministiquia proffers an equal claim to become the Lake Superior terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway to the west, and to the point of connection with the eastern bound steamers in summer. A propeller with freight, loaded in the canal basin at Montreal, can reach Thunder Bay without breaking bulk. A large movement in freight and passengers for transfer to the railway for Winnipeg may be looked for, even when the railway line on the north shore of Lake Superior shall have been completed. A trip by the lake steamers is pleasant and agreeable in the fine weather of summer, and doubtless these ports on Thunder Bay will retain their importance.

There is but one train in the twenty-four hours from Port Arthur to Winnipeg. We were twelve hours too late for the train which had left and twelve hours too early for the one to leave. All that could be done was to accept the situation. Human nature, however, asserts its prerogative under a sense of injustice. My mind, in spite of myself, reverted to our useless journey to Meaford and Owen Sound, and to the waste of time at these places by which we lost so many hours at the Neebish. It was the old story of the nail in the horseshoe of the Cavalier. I think the experience of all travellers is that when a journey is marked by delay, little is done in the way of remedying it. Indifference succeeds the sense of misadventure or carelessness, and the chance of making up lost time becomes every hour less and less.

I had twelve hours before me, so I determined to make good use of them. I communicated by telegraph with the railway superintendent at Winnipeg and the engineer in charge of construction at Calgary, to enlist their co-operation in our advance over the mountains. I drove with my son from Port Arthur to the River Kaministiquia, a river which assumed some importance in the early days of the construction of the railway six years back. The terminus was established three miles from its mouth. The river is upwards of three hundred feet in width, deep enough to float the largest lake craft. A bar, easily removable, extends across the entrance. When this obstruction is removed the river will be in all respects accessible, and will extend greater capacity for shipping than the river at Chicago, which accommodates the enormous business of that city.

As it was my duty, I visited the Hudson Bay Company’s post near the mouth of the river. After an existence of two centuries as a fur-trading station under varied fortunes, it is soon to disappear, the fate of all such establishments on this continent as civilization overtakes them. As Bishop Berkeley wrote a century ago, “westward the star of empire takes its way.”

In my own recollection the “Far West” was on the eastern shores of Lakes Huron and Michigan, now far within the limits of civilization. Those whose fortunes were cast there looked on themselves as pioneers of an unexplored wilderness. Twenty years ago the upper waters of Lake Huron and Lake Superior were but just coming into notice, and Fort William was regarded as the chief eastern outpost of the Hudson’s Bay Company, beyond which few thought of passing. This celebrated company, which has played such a part in the history of the North-West of this continent, was formed under a charter of Charles II. in 1670. It was the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 which fully recognized the English title to the territory granted under the charter, and abandoned forever such French claims as had been preferred, for the Treaty of Ryswick with France in 1696 had left the question of sovereignty undecided.

As early as 1641 two Jesuits, Jogues and Raymbault, extended their missionary labours to the shores of Lake Superior. The main mission, La Pointe, now Bayfield, on the south shore, was established in 1670, and the Indians remained during French rule entirely under their influence. At the period of the conquest the trade of the French disappeared, for they had no longer the power to visit the country, and by degrees it fell into British hands. On the one side, the Hudson’s Bay Company, from the north, pushed onwards to control it, for a period with success; on the other, parties were started from Montreal to obtain a share of the great profits which were made, the value of which was fully known.

The French trade had been carried on under admirable regulations. Liquor, so ruinous to the Indian, was withheld from him. The enterprising Montreal trader introduced it, regardless of consequences: hence the orgies, the drunkenness and the quarrels which were a scandal even to the wilderness. To intensify this condition of affairs, some Montreal merchants entered into a partnership in 1787, and formed the celebrated North-West Trading Company. It then consisted of twenty-three partners, with a staff of agents, factors, clerks, guides, interpreters, voyageurs, amounting in all to two thousand persons. If the individual trader disappeared from the field, there were two powerful companies remaining, who had to operate in the same field side by side, and there sprang up the fiercest and most embittered rivalry. I shall hereafter refer more definitely to this contention. This state of things was leading to the common ruin of the two companies, when, in 1821, after forty-three years of competition, discord and disaster, the two formed one corporation under the title of the Hudson’s Bay Company.

As I looked upon the old fort on the site of its departed greatness, I thought of the many stirring scenes which it witnessed before and after the beginning of this century. The stone store houses, once so well filled with every requirement, erected around the sides of a square, are now empty, containing a few boxes of rusty flint muskets and bayonets, with chests of old papers, dating back, some of them, more than a hundred years.

The buildings will all soon be unroofed, to make way for a railway station. A year ago I saw two old cannon in the front of the courtyard. On that occasion I believe they fired their last salute. They are now removed. The old rickety flagstaff still remains, and so soon as it is known that a member of the Company of Adventurers is within the precincts the flag is run up as a salute, a service probably for the last time performed at Fort William. In a few months the whole scene will be changed. There is still an agent of the Hudson’s Bay Company in charge, Mr. Richardson, whose complexion of bronze tells of many years of exposure; and his attendant, an Indian, who has been attached to the fort for forty years.

On leaving Mr. Richardson we called on a retired Hudson’s Bay officer, Mr. John McIntyre, who lives in a comfortable house a little further up the river. He is an Argyleshire Highlander, who has the stalwartness of his race, and is as active as ever. At his suggestion we go to Point de Meuron, named after the soldiers of that regiment in Lord Selkirk’s service, camped here in the memorable days of 1817. There was nothing to be seen but the farm, so we returned to the town plot, and, as the hour suggested, took dinner at the Ontario House, a place of some local reputation. There were several vessels from Ohio discharging coal at the railway wharves adjoining, showing that even the narrow cut dredged some years ago across the bar at the mouth of the river was still sufficient to admit their passage; establishing, moreover, how easily a properly excavated channel can be maintained, and plainly showing that the completion of navigation at the entrance of the Kaministiquia will eventually have an important bearing on the commerce of the North-West.

I returned to Port Arthur to prepare for the train, when some of my friends kindly gave me an invitation to a ball to take place in the evening. I should have liked to have accepted it for several reasons, not the least of which was to see that phase of social life in this region; but it was impossible to lose the twenty-four hours, the price of my attendance.

It was dark when the train left, so all that could be done was to turn to the comfortable Pullman, and in due time retire for the night. The railway to Winnipeg is far from being completed; indeed, it has but lately been put in operation. Many of the station buildings have yet to be erected. As a consequence, the following morning the breakfast was served under a large canvas awning. There was no pretension about this breakfast, but what there was of it was good; certainly the ventilation was perfect.

The distance from Port Arthur to Winnipeg is some 430 miles, and, as the unfinished condition of a considerable portion of the line necessitated travelling at reduced speed, the journey to most of the passengers seemed very tedious. To me every mile was full of interest. We pass over that portion of the line known as “Section A,” which extends to a point 230 miles from Port Arthur. Civilization and settlement have not penetrated to this district, lying, as it does, intermediate between Lake Superior and the prairie region. We have traversed a long stretch of black, boggy swamp, to which the Indian name of Muskeg has been given. One is reminded of Chatmoss, where similar difficulties in the infancy of railway construction were so triumphantly met by the elder Stephenson. Muskeg is much of the character of peat. It is here inexhaustible, and hereafter may be valuable from its capacity to be formed into fuel.

As the train moves on, nothing is to be seen but rock and forest in their most rugged forms. The falls of Waubigon and those of Eagle River, as we pass them, are the more striking by the contrast they present. We reach the far-famed “Section B,” of which we have heard so much, and which is still a theme of such varied comment by politicians and newspaper writers. This section of railway passes through a country rugged in the extreme. The surface is a succession of rocky ridges, with tortuous lakes and deep muskegs intervening. The line has been carried across these depressions on temporary staging, and steam shovels and construction trains are busy converting the miles of frail looking trestlework into solid embankment. Our train moves slowly over this portion of the line; indeed, until this work is further advanced it would be hazardous to adopt a high rate of speed. Eagle Lake, with the numerous lakelets which we see from the railway, are sheets of water with beauty enough to command attention. A few rude graves on the hillside mark the violent death of the poor workmen who suffered from the careless handling of that dangerous explosive, nitro-glycerine. Although the most effective of instruments in the removal of rock, the least want of caution and care often exacts the most terrible penalty. In the fifty miles we have passed over, upwards of thirty poor fellows have lost their lives by its use. This explosive may be used with perfect safety, but in its handling it exacts prudence and attention to details; otherwise there will be no immunity from want of care. With the reckless and negligent it is a constant source of danger.

There is no great area of land suitable for profitable farming in this district. A few good townships may be laid out, but the country generally through which the railway runs is not adapted for agricultural purposes. Every acre of soil, however, is covered with timber of more or less value. Care should be taken to prevent the destruction of these forests. Stringent regulations should be made with regard to them, and no reckless waste permitted. In a few years these forests will prove sources of considerable wealth, and the ground over which we are now passing should be jealously guarded as a preserve for the supply of timber in coming years.

The passengers begin to be clamorous for the next refreshment station. We learn that it is at Rat Portage. We trust that the name does not suggest the cheer we are to receive. There is an old tradition that the Chinaman delighted in that rodent, and we all have read that during the siege of Paris it was an established article of food. Rat Portage is beginning to be an important place. It is situated where the waters of the Lake of the Woods fall into the River Winnipeg. Four large saw mills have been constructed here, and immense quantities of lumber have been despatched to Winnipeg and the country beyond. At present Rat Portage is the watering place for the City of Winnipeg. Gold mining has been commenced, but it is a pursuit on which but little calculation can be made.

For the moment there is excitement in the district, and many explorers are engaged in examining the rocky ledges which crop out on the shore and are exposed on the innumerable islands of the Lake of the Woods. It is to be seen if this is a passing spasm or an assured success. When some instance of individual good fortune in gold mining becomes known, crowds for a time push forward eagerly, many desperately, on the path which they impulsively trust is to lead them at once to fortune. Such hopes are often built on imperfect foundations. The slightest reverse depresses the sanguine gold-hunter, and the pursuit is most often abandoned with the recklessness with which it was undertaken. How many may with bitterness repeat the well known words of my countryman, John Leyden, in his ode to an Indian gold coin:

“Slave of the mine, thy yellow light
Gleams baleful on the tomb fire drear.”

When the train came to a stand the proverbial rush for dinner was made. No regular refreshment room could be found. In fact, none had yet been erected. But there were several temporary shanties built around, whose merits were loudly proclaimed by the several touts in a great many words and the ringing of bells. We had made the acquaintance of some New Zealand travellers on their way to see two sons settled in Manitoba, and we agreed to take our dinner together. We selected one of these establishments. Our recollections of Rat Portage are not impressed by any excellence in its commissariat. That which was set before us was execrable. I am not difficult to please, but there is a lower depth in these matters. Such a meal would scarcely have been palatable during the hunger of the siege of Paris, and a man could only have swallowed what was given at Rat Portage when suffering the pangs of starvation. There is evidently a call for improvement at this place before the line is fully opened to travellers.

Leaving Rat Portage, we pass to what is known as “Section Fifteen.” It is nearly forty miles in length, and, like “Section B,” runs through a district remarkable for its rugged aspect. For a long distance west of Rat Portage the country is much the same in character as the Lake of the Woods: full of rocky, tree-covered ridges and islets, the former a labyrinth of deep, narrow, winding sheets of water, separated by tortuous granite bluffs. If the lake has within its limits hundreds of islands, the land embraces innumerable lakelets. It was this rugged and broken country, so repelling in its condition in the wilderness, which dictated the opinion of a quarter of a century back of high authorities that the country between Lake Superior and Red River was not practicable for railway construction. The difficulties have, however, been grappled with and overcome, necessarily with great labour and great cost; and, as I was passing over it, it struck my mind as no bad example of the danger of positively asserting a negative. The necessary work of placing the trestlework in good condition on “Section Fifteen” is more advanced than on “Section B.” The train, therefore, runs at a higher rate of speed. As we proceed we can observe that the roadbed is fairly well ballasted, and we run at about thirty miles an hour on the finished portion of the line, over the gigantic earthworks of Cross Lake, Lake Deception and the succeeding lakes.

The distance from Lake Superior to the Red River at Selkirk is 410 miles, and notwithstanding the extreme roughness of the country through which it passes, the railway, when completed, will bear comparison with any other line on this Continent. The utmost care has been exercised to establish gradients favourable to cheap transportation. In this respect I know of no other four hundred miles of railway in the Dominion or in the United States that can be compared with the section west of Port Arthur.

We leave “Section 15” and the rugged country behind us, and enter on the prairie land of the West. We pass Selkirk, which once promised to be a centre of importance, but the City of Winnipeg, twenty miles to the south of it, has grown up, is rapidly increasing, and asserting its claim to be the first city in the North-West. As we proceed the sky becomes darkened and we are overtaken by a thunderstorm, during which the rain falls in as heavy masses of water as it has ever been my fate to see. The wind increases to a hurricane, but art triumphs over the elements. As the train continues its course on the well ballasted road, at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, the passengers generally seemed scarcely aware of the tempest raging outside. An unusual phenomenon is presented: we pass through an electrical snowstorm, which, in a few minutes, whitens the ground over a stretch of a mile. Hail storms are in no way uncommon when the conditions of the air are disturbed, but I have never before witnessed a snowstorm under similar circumstances.

We reach the station at Winnipeg, having been twenty-four hours on our journey. A few years ago the distance from Lake Superior to this point, by the old canoe route, exacted twelve or fourteen days. When the railway is in complete working order the journey may be performed in fourteen hours. On my arrival at the station the night was black and forbidding, for the rain continued to fall in torrents. Nevertheless several old friends were there to extend me a welcome and the offer of a temporary home. Among others I grasped the hand of Dr. Grant, of Queen’s College, who again is to be my companion to the Pacific Coast. Before leaving the station I made definite arrangements with the railway officials to leave in thirty-six hours for Calgary. We groped our way through the wind and rain to profit by the hospitality so kindly offered, and I was not sorry to find myself again under a roof with the best of good cheer before me.

CHAPTER XI.
WINNIPEG, HUDSON’S BAY COMPANY, LORD SELKIRK.

Early Explorers of the North-West—Du Luth—De la Verendrye—Mackenzie—Hudson’s Bay Company—Treaty of Utrecht—North-West Company—Lord Selkirk—War in the North-West—Union of the Rival Companies—The North-West Annexed to Canada.

Winnipeg, with a population of 30,000 inhabitants, is the creation of the last decade. Thirteen years back there was little to distinguish its site from any other spot on the river’s bank. The Red River was skirted by a single tier of holdings on the shore line, directly along its banks for a distance of fifty miles, known as the Selkirk Settlement. At the confluence of the River Assiniboine with the main stream there stood old Fort Garry, an establishment of the Hudson’s Bay Company. We have in this old fort the precursor of the city. In 1859 a few buildings, including a hotel, were clustered near it as the commencement of the future Winnipeg. At an early date in the history of French Canada a great extent of the country around the western lakes was explored. Prominent among the many men eminent in these discoveries was Du Luth, who appears in connection with the North-West as having been the first to establish a fort on the River Kaministiquia, Lake Superior, about 1680, on the site of Fort William. It is not to be supposed that at this date no further explorations were undertaken westward by the French. Many of the waterways were certainly known, and to some extent they were followed. But no attempt was made to extend trade operations beyond Lake Superior; and it was only to a limited extent that discovery was pushed westward. For some years exploration was turned towards the south of the territory held by the French, to guard against the encroachment of the English from New York, which now commenced to attract more attention.

There is no proof that any change in this respect took place until the days of De la Verendrye. This remarkable man in 1731 was in charge of Fort Nepigon, Lake Superior. In that year he started westward across the height of land, passed through the chain of lakes to the Lake of the Woods and followed the River Winnipeg to Lake Winnipeg. Proceeding to the south of the Lake he ascended the Red River and reached the Assiniboine. I cannot learn that any white man, before him, ever stood on the site of the present City of Winnipeg.

A series of forts were constructed by him; one where Rainy River flows into the Lake of the Woods, Fort St. Pierre; one on what is known as the Northwest Angle, Fort Charles; one where the River Winnipeg flows into Lake Winnipeg, Fort Maurepas, which name he also gave to the lake itself; one where the Red River flows into Lake Winnipeg, Fort Rouge; and one at the junction of the Assiniboine with the Red River, proximately on the site of the City of Winnipeg, Fort de la Reine.