A Record of Actual Experiences by J. EWING RITCHIE author of ‘ east anglia ,’ ‘ british senators ,’ ‘ on the track of the pilgrim fathers ,’ etc. , etc. WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS London t. fisher unwin 26, paternoster square 1886....

INTRODUCTORY.—CANADIAN TERRITORY AND POPULATION. Lunching one day in Toronto with one of the aldermen of that thriving city (I may as well frankly state that we had turtle-soup on the occasion), he remarked that he had been in London the previous summer, and that he was perfectly astonished at the idea Englishmen seemed to have about Canada.  He was particularly indignant at the way in which it was coolly assumed that the Canadians were a barbarous people, planted in a wilderness, ignorant of ci

OFF WITH THE EMIGRANTS—THE VOYAGE OUT—THE ‘SARNIA’ THE COD-FISHERY. One Wednesday at the end of April, last year, St. Pancras Railway Station was the scene of a display not often matched even in these demonstrative days.  Mr. J. J. Jones, of the Samaritan Mission, had arranged to take out a party of five hundred emigrants to Canada—the first party of the season.  The event seemed to create no little excitement in philanthropic circles.  The Lord Mayor had promised to be there, but he was detaine

ARRIVAL AT QUEBEC. Once more I am on terra firma , and on Canadian soil, where I breathe a balmier air and rejoice in a clearer atmosphere than you in England can have any idea of.  After all, we were in twenty-four hours before the mail steamer, the Sarmatian , which you must own is a feather in the cap of the Sarnia .  One hears much of the St. Lawrence, but it is hard to exaggerate its beauties.  When you are fairly in it, after having escaped the fog of the Newfoundland Banks and the iceberg

AT MONTREAL, AND ON TO OTTAWA—INTERVIEWING AND INTERVIEWED. One discovery I have made since I have been here is that Canada has its clouded skies and its rainy days, and that a Canadian spring may be quite as ungenial as an English one.  Yet it is, I still see, the country for a working man.  And I write this in full knowledge of the fact that here at Montreal the charitable, on whom the poor depend—for there is no poor-law in this country, and let us hope, seeing what mischief has been done by

TORONTO—THE TOWN—THE PEOPLE—CANADIAN AUTHORS—THE LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION. Toronto, or the Queen City of the West, as she loves to call herself, stands upon the north shore of Lake Ontario, and has not only achieved a great success, but may be said, in spite of all the moving to the North-West of which we hear so much, to have a great future before it, on account of its position with regard to railways, which alone in this great country decide the fate of towns and cities.  Immediately in front

OFF TO THE NORTH-WEST—NIAGARA—LAKE SUPERIOR—THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY—AT WINNIPEG. As in duty bound, I have reached Niagara Falls, and from motives equally conscientious forbear to trouble you with either poetry or prose on the scene that now meets my eye.  In seeing them I have an advantage—that in this early season of the year I am alone and free from the crowd of visitors that sometimes infest the spot.  As it is, there is quite enough of modern civilization there to disturb the poetry of

LIFE ON THE PRAIRIE. ‘You will find Moose Jaw a very pretty place,’ said a gentleman to me as I left Winnipeg; and certainly it is a pretty place, though not exactly according to an Englishman’s idea of prettiness. It consists of a railway-station and an assemblage of wooden huts and shops, which have all been called into existence within the last twelve months.  It boasts a weekly organ (such as it is), two or three places of worship, one or two billiard-rooms, and a post-office—not a tent, as

AMONGST THE COW-BOYS. I am writing from Calgary, a little but growing collection of huts and wooden houses planted on a lovely plain with hills all around, a river at my feet, on the banks of which some poplars flourish, and I can almost fancy I am in Derbyshire itself.  It is a gay place, this rising town, at the foot, as it were, of the Rockies, and just now is unusually gay, as the Queen’s birthday is being celebrated with athletic sports and a ball; and, besides, a new clergyman has made his

IN THE ROCKIES—HOLT CITY—LIFE IN THE CAMP—A ROUGH RIDE—THE KICKING HORSE LAKE—BRITISH COLUMBIA. I am writing from Holt City—so named after a famous contractor out here—in the middle of the Rocky Mountains.  Here the rail comes, but no further, as yet, though some 2,000 men are at work a few miles ahead, and making incredible speed in the construction of this gigantic intercolonial undertaking—an undertaking which would have been completed by this time had the late Sir Hugh Allan (the founder of

DANGERS OF THE ROCKIES.—PRAIRIE FIRES.—THE RETURN.—PORT ARTHUR.—MIGRANTS. There is a great deal of snow in the Rockies.  In June that snow begins to melt.  The result is, a violent body of water rushes down, which makes the railway people very uncomfortable. On Sunday I met the engine-driver of the train by which I was to travel east next morning.  At Holt City it seems no one knows from what particular spot the train will start. ‘You won’t start without me?’ I said. ‘No; I will look to see whet

BACK TO ENGLAND.—CANADIAN HOSPITALITY.—THE ASSYRIAN MONARCH.—HOME. My time was up, and I had to be off, after we got a look at pleasant London in the wood, as my Canadian friends who have been to England call it.  I came back from Chicago to New York, and had again to encounter the horrors of nights in a Pullman sleeping-car.  Why cannot the railway authorities separate the part of the car devoted to the gentlemen from that part inhabited by the ladies?  The way in which the sexes are mixed up a

COLONIZATION IN CANADA. I was glad to see, the other day, Mr. Morley’s letter advocating the propriety of taking up land and settling on it some of the too numerous class who drift into our great cities, finding no work to do in the country, there to lead indifferent lives and come to an untimely end. It is a step I have repeatedly advocated.  Land is cheap enough now; there is no occasion to wait for an Act of Parliament.  It is as easy to buy an estate, and to split it up into small portions,