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A  WOMAN  IN  CANADA 


WOMAN  IN  CANADA 


MRS.   GEORGI 


Mrs    George  Cran 

Frontispiece 


LIU 


A  WOMAN  IN  CANADA 


BY 


s  > 

MRS.    GEORGE   CRAN 


TORONTO 

THE    MUSSON   BOOK   COMPANY 
LIMITED 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I      FOREWORD 9 

II  A   WOMAN    FARMER   AND   AN    EXPERIMENTAL    FARM  25 

III      IN   QUEBEC 52 

IV      FISHING   ON    STEEL   RIVER J2 

V      THE   PRAIRIES Q2 

VI       PRAIRIE   STUDIES Il6 

VII  POULTRY   FARMING   AND   MARKET   GARDENING           .  153 

VIII  THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS   AND    BRITISH   COLUMBIA    .  179 

IX      EASTWARD    BOUND 208 

X      THE   ART   OF   CANADA 223 

XI  THE    FLY    IN   THE   OINTMENT              ....  247 

XII      AU    REVOIR 267 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PORTRAIT  OF  THE  AUTHOR        .         .         .     Frontispiece 

A    LAND   OF   MOUNTAIN   AND    LAKE      .            .       Facing  page  1 6 

AN    OLD   QUEBEC   STREET    ....„„  2O 

THE   SETTLED   EAST  :   OTTAWA    .           .           .           „           „  24 

THE   WOMAN    FARMER           ....„„  35 

MY   HOSTESS   AT   CALEDONIA    SPRINGS             .            „            „  40 

CALEDONIA   SPRINGS   HOTEL         ...,,„  42 

EXPERIMENTAL    FARM    AT   BRANDON                            „            „  47 

A   TINY   LOG   CABIN „            „  53 

CATTLE      BY     THE     POND      AT      CALEDONIA 

SPRINGS „  58 

OTTO   THE   GUIDE   AT    LEANCHOIL                                  „            „  63 

"A  BIG  FELLOW" „         „  66 

PREPARING    LUNCH „            „  77 

FISHING  :    "  LANDED  "....„„  85 

BRINGING    HOME   THE    MOOSE    HEAD                            „            „  87 

SKINNING    HEAD   OF   MOOSE                                                „            „  QO 

THE   PRAIRIE „            „  96 

GRAIN    ELEVATORS      ...                                     „            „  IOO 

WOMEN    ARE    SCARCE   IN    THE   NORTH-WEST            „            ,,  1 15 

NEAR    LEANCHOIL,    WHERE   OTTO   LIVES        .            „            „  128 
vii 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

INTERIOR  OF  A  LOG  CABIN        .          .         .  Facing  page  135 

WHERE    REAL    SPORT    MAY    BE    HAD      .            .  „  „  152 

MOOSE „  „  166 

THE    FRINGE   OF   THE    WILD          .            .            .  „  „  178 

"  MR.    MUGGINS  " „  „  IQI 

OUR   CAMP   ON    MALIGNE    LAKE    .            .            .  „  „  195 

"MR.  MUGGINS"  GETS  A  RIDE.  „  „  206 

OUR  DINNER-TABLE „  ,,219 

MOUNT  ROBSON „  „  235 

THE  PACIFIC  PROVINCE     .         .        .        .  „  „  251 
PINES  IN  HIGH  WATER:  KAMLOOPS   LAKE, 

BRITISH  COLUMBIA    ....„„  269 

THE  LONE  SONG „  „  280 


A    WOMAN    IN    CANADA 

CHAPTER    I 

FOREWORD 

LET  me  beg  any  one  who  does  not  like  "  Ps"  to 
avoid  this  book.  It  is  full  of  them. 

The  first  time  I  went  to  Canada  I  spent  the  days 
of  preparation  for  departure  in  being  very  sorry  for 
myself.  I  could  not  think  why  I  had  said  I  would 
go.  There  was  no  need  for  it.  I  wasn't  going  to 
settle  there,  or  invest  money.  I  was  only  going  on  a 
visit  with  friends,  and  as  the  date  of  sailing  grew 
near  they  noticed  my  depression.  "Was  I  home- 
sick?" "No,  not  yet."  "Was  I  a  bad  sailor?" 
"  No,  not  specially."  "  What  was  the  matter,  then  ?  " 
Under  pressure  of  questioning  the  trouble  burst 
forth.  Canada  was  an  ugly,  cold,  icebergy  place ;  it 
had  miles  of  flat  wheat;  it  had  no  flowers;  it  was 
ugly,  and  I  hated  ugliness.  Would  they  understand 
if  I  was  morose  during  my  visit,  and  believed  that  T 
loved  them  and  only  hated  the  country  ? 

Such  a  way  as  they  teased  me ! 
9 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

"  Yes !  they  would  understand — indeed  they 
would.  And  if  I  wanted  flowers  very  badly  they 
would  take  me  to  a  marsh  on  a  moor  where  purple 
flags  grew,  and  frogs  crooned  at  night." 

Goodness  knows  what  idea  I  had  of  the  country — 
no  literature  I  had  ever  read  had  forced  an  impres- 
sion of  beauty  into  my  brain;  it  talked  of  so  many 
bushels  to  the  acre,  so  many  acres  to  the  farm,  so 
many  feet  of  snow  to  this  month,  so  many  days  of 
drought  to  this,  and  so  on.  One  book  left  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  hardships  of  homesteading,  another 
told  of  the  political  value  of  the  country,  but  none 
that  I  had  ever  seen  talked  intimately  of  the  scenery 
or  of  the  days'  happenings  other  than  commercially. 
I  knew  what  grew  there  because  I  had  seen  the 
Coronation  Arch.  Hiawatha  hung  in  the  memory 
only  as  a  jargon  of  interminable  names  cleverly 
arranged  in  trochaics.  Lamentable,  horrible,  unin- 
telligent as  it  sounds,  there  is  the  fact  of  my  ignor- 
ance. It  has  one  advantage  which  I  make  haste  to 
point  out.  I  have  at  any  rate  viewed  Canada 
through  my  own  eyes,  no  one  else's.  And  I  venture 
to  believe  that  it  would  strike  hundreds  of  my  fellow- 
Britons  as  it  did  me,  especially,  perhaps,  women 
Britons. 

/  I  believe  that  the  average  Englishman  keeps  a 
10 


FOREWORD 

small  but  warm  corner  of  his  heart  for  the  word 
"colonies."  Pride  of  possession  counts  for  nearly 
all  the  warmth  in  that  corner.  When  he  looks  there 
he  finds  a  few  vague  notions  lying  loose,  just  any- 
how, all  warm,  all  prized  in  a  careless,  happy  way; 
but  none  of  them  loved  in  laborious  detail.  The 
vague  notions  spell  vague  things  to  him.  India 
generally  spells,  I  think,  "  Elephants  a-pilin'  teak," 
and  whisky-pegs ;  Africa,  diamonds  and  "  Kaffirs  " ; 
Australia,  sheep  and  cricket;  Canada,  wheat  and  dis- 
comfort. It  sounds  foolish  and  almost  impossible, 
but  I  believe  that  for  the  average  Briton  that  is  a 
fairly  accurate  description  of  what  the  Colonies 
amount  to.  The  word  "  Canada  "  brings  to  his  brain 
pictures  of  Liverpool  receiving  vast  cargoes  of  wheat 
and  distributing  them  over  the  country  at  a  lower 
price  than  the  home  farmer  demands.  It  also  arouses 
dim  visions  of  privations  endured  most  impatiently 
by  sundry  of  his  friends  who  have  gone  out  to 
Canada  to  settle,  and  hurried  back  incontinently 
because  the  young  country  did  not  contain  all  the 
comforts  of  the  old.  The  name  of  Canada  is  to 
average  Englishmen  an  empty  word — as  a  nation 
we  do  not  realize  her  beauty,  her  power,  or  her  proud 
resentment  of  our  ignorance  of  both. 

If  the  average  Englishman  regards  Canada  as  a 
ii 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

vast  plain  of  alternate  snow  and  wheat,  or  else  as  a 
speculative  habitation  for  spare  capital,  never  as  a 
beautiful,  spacious  home,  the  bulk  of  Canadians, 
in  their  turn,  regard  England  as  a  high-spirited  ward 
is  liable  to  regard  a  wealthy  guardian  of  cranky 
temper — a  guardian  whose  powers  of  control  must 
terminate  with  the  ward's  maturity,  and  who  will 
probably  be  dearly  loved  from  the  perspective  of 
release ;  but  who,  meanwhile,  is  to  be  endured,  and 
considerably  grumbled  at.  The  traveller  from  these 
islands  to  the  big  Dominion  is  apt  to  start  out  with 
the  erroneous  idea  that  his  nationality  will  give  him 
prestige  over  there,  will  excuse,  perhaps  idealize,  any 
eccentricity  on  his  part,  and  any  ignorance  of  his 
destination.  This  apprehension  is  inevitably  subject 
to  many  shocks,  and  his  pride  of  race  is  violently 
thrust  back  upon  him  during  his  sojourn  in  Canada. 
The  Canadian,  generally  speaking,  regards  the  Eng- 
lishman with  little  of  his  own  regard  for  himself,  and 
does  not  share  his  pride  in  the  little  island  home 
whence  he  comes.  The  man  who  is  proud  of  the 
past  is  unlikely  to  find  much  in  common  with  the 
man  who  is  proud  of  the  future. 

"  See  what  we  have  done,"  cries  the  Englishman, 
and  "  See  what  we  are  going  to  do,"  cries  the 
Canadian ! 

12 


FOREWORD 

Excellent  prides,  both  of  them ;  in  the  vital  energy 
which  impels  the  latter,  one  is  prone  to  overlook  the 
element  of  uncertainty  it  contains. 

"  Your  country  is  worn  out !  "  said  a  young  On- 
tarian  to  me.  "  Your  roads  have  hedges,  and  are 
kept  like  park-walks;  every  hill  is  labelled 
'  Caution ' ;  every  turning  has  a  sign-post  to  tell 
which  way  to  go.  Your  very  roads  nurse  and  pamper 
the  intelligence  out  of  a  man.  Why,  I'd  soon  learn 
to  rely  on  signs  instead  of  the  sun  for  my  direction 
if  I  lived  there;  and  I'd  forget  to  shoot  if  I  had 
your  country ;  every  acre  of  bush  has  a  '  trespass- 
board  '  in  it  instead  of  something  for  the  pot.  Your 
country  is  worn  out." 

The  narrowness  of  outlook  displayed  in  these 
remarks  will  be  derided  by  the  superficial  reader; 
but  there  is,  in  fact,  reason  in  the  view  taken  by  so 
many  Canadians.  We  are  in  danger  of  becoming  a 
nation  of  cities,  an  urban  race  unfitted  to  wrestle  with 
the  wild.  Only  they  judge  us  as  already  unfit  who 
are,  as  yet,  only  becoming  unfit. 

The  population  of  Canada,  a  little  less  than  that 
of  London  alone,  is  drawn  from  many  sources;  its 
prairies  are  tilled  by  Italians,  Germans,  Swedes, 
Danes,  Galicians,  Doukobours  and  Americans,  be- 
sides the  French  and  English.  In  British  Columbia 
13 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

Asiatic  labour  swarms;  the  costly,  excellent  "boy" 
is  at  once  the  heartburn  and  the  godsend  of  the 
Pacific  province;  he  is  felt  to  be  a  menace  and  a 
necessity,  and  is  regarded  with  the  oddest  mixture 
of  distrust  and  gratitude.  That  same  uncertainty  of 
attitude,  in  a  modified  degree,  obtains  towards  the 
French  element  in  Canada,  and  towards  the  power- 
ful and  yearly  growing  contingent  from  the  States. 
The  general  idea  over  here  is  that  Canada  is  peopled 
with  Britons,  with  a  certain  admixture  of  old  French 
blood;  that  the  two  get  on  capitally,  and  unite  in 
adoring  England  and  everything  English.  Never 
was  such  folly.  Canada  welcomes  to  her  shores 
every  man  of  every  race  who  will  work  her  soil  and 
obey  her  laws;  she  draws  her  people  from  every 
nation,  and  the  English  settler  has  not  proved  him- 
self the  best  man.  The  Italians  and  Galicians  show 
infinitely  greater  adaptability,  greater  industry, 
greater  patience.  A  certain  proportion  of  Canada's 
English  settlers  has,  unfortunately,  been  drawn  from 
the  wastrels  of  our  upper  classes,  and  a  large  propor- 
tion from  the  poor.  As  yet  the  average  decent, 
hardworking,  intelligent  middle-class  Englishman 
has  not  made  his  mark  on  public  opinion.  Oddly 
enough — and  this  is  a  fact — the  Englishwoman  in 
Canada  is  everywhere  welcomed  and  valued.  In  the 


FOREWORD 

North-West,  where  wives  are  scarce,  a  work  of 
Empire  awaits  the  woman  of  breed  and  endurance 
who  will  settle  on  the  prairie  homesteads  and  rear 
their  children  in  the  best  traditions  of  Britain. 
Canada  can  do  with  citizens  who  put  honour  before 
wealth ;  and  Britain  greatly  needs,  if  she  only  knew 
it,  a  loyal  leaven  in  her  greatest  colony. 

Will  I  ever  forget  my  first  sight  of  that  lovely 
country?  All  the  elfin  beauty  of  dusk  was  there  to 
glamour  the  hour;  there  was  a  smell  of  land  warm 
and  piney  on  the  breeze ;  after  days  of  brine  sprayed 
bitterly  to  the  nostrils  there  was  delight  in  it;  all  the 
happy  langour  of  green  growing  things,  all  the  fruit- 
ful essences  of  earth  soothed  the  senses  in  that 
breeze  blowing  from  the  land.  We  crowded  up  on 
deck  to  lean  over  the  waters.  Overhead  the  moon 
swung  between  tiny  clouds  like  a  censer  sometimes 
dimmed  by  its  own  smoke ;  away  on  our  left  stretched 
the  great  St.  Lawrence.  On  the  right  a  long  patch 
of  indigo  broke  the  sky-line ;  in  the  heart  of  that  line 
sparkled  Rimouski.  After  leaving  the  mails  we 
steamed  away  up  the  vast  moonlit  river,  passing 
between  the  sentinel  spires  that  fringe  her  banks  to 
the  city  of  spires,  perched  on  their  historic  heights, 
the  many-towered  fairy  city  which  broke  upon  our 
vision  in  the  unearthly  dawnlight — a  sight  to  be  re- 
15 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

membered  for  all  days,  poignant  with  mystery,  with 
charm.  Here  I  was,  ushered  into  the  "  ugly  icebergy 
place  "  through  the  portals  of  a  mighty  sunlit  river ; 
transfigured  with  emotion  as  we  swept  past  the 
country  of  Evangeline,  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie, 
realizing  for  the  first  time  the  beauty  and  truth  of  the 
descriptions  read  so  lightly  in  far-off  school-days. 
Why  do  people  skip  descriptions  in  books?  One 
can  travel  the  world  over,  in  an  arm-chair,  and  know 
the  aspect  of  every  land,  if  one  only  would  read  with 
patience  in  the  printed  page.  So,  rebuked,  enlight- 
ened, did  I  come  to  Canada.  For  evermore  her 
name  will  spell  to  me  a  picture  of  mountain  and 
valley,  of  lake  and  river,  of  fruitful  orchards  and 
quaint  young  townships ;  it  will  bring  to  my  nostrils 
the  smell  of  her,  which  is  the  smell  of  pine  and 
cedar.  My  ears  will  strain  to  hear  again  the  noon- 
song  of  the  crickets  and  vesper  of  the  frogs.  That 
is  the  picture  of  Canada  as  I  know  her  now,  as  all 
know  her  who  love  that  rich  and  splendid  land  of 
promise,  which  only  awaits  for  the  "  open  sesame  " 
of  honest  and  ungrudging  labour  to  pour  her  wealth 
into  the  world. 

That  first  visit,  which  taught  me  so  much,  was 
confined  to  Quebec  and  Ontario,  the  big  eastern 
provinces  which  contain  four  of  the  seven  great  cities 
16 


• 

• 

(jv n-  L  .'-••?., 

C^iizitFf  :•« 

realize  b  .     of  the 

de&rriptt";*.*  days. 

Why  do  peopi'     ? 

v<«  tetv?.i  the  world  ov«r.  in  a:? 

the;  aspect  of  every  land,  ti  one  .. 

patience  in  the  printed  page.     So,  K.lmkod,  < 

ened,  did  .1 , come  icv.Cana.cla.     For  tvermore  her 
A  Land  of  Mountain  and  Lake 

name  will  spell  to  me  a  picture  oi  and 

valley,  of  lake  and  riy,er\  gf  fruitful  orchards  and 
cjuaint  young  townships;  it  will  bring  to  ; 
tta  smell  of  her,  which  is  the  smell  oi 
cedar.     My  ears  will  strain  to  hear,  a 
song  of  the  crickets  and  vesper  of  thi 
is  the  picture  of  Canada  as  1  ku 
know  her  who  love  that  ri«.  • 

ise,  which  only  aw. 
of  honest  and  ungrudgi.. 
into  the  world. 

That  hrst  vis-,i 
confined   • 

. 


FOREWORD 

in  the  whole  Colony.  Guess,  then,  the  prospect 
unfolded  in  a  second  visit  which  was  to  take  me 
across  to  the  Pacific  coast,  over  the  famed  prairies, 
through  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  British  Columbia. 
I  should  see  the  lonely  prairie  farms,  should  see  the 
world's  wheat  brought  to  harvest;  should  touch  the 
fringe  of  the  wild,  and  learn  from  the  lips  of  pioneers 
the  hardships  and  rewards  of  their  courage. 

Here,  in  this  little  book,  I  propose  to  set  forth 
a  picture  of  Canada  as  I  saw  her;  I,  raw  from 
the  Mother  Country,  with  nothing  to  hope  for, 
nothing  to  gain,  no  one  to  profit,  nothing  to  make 
out  of  a  good  report  and  nothing  to  fear  from  ill 
report.  Perhaps  I  should  say  something  here  of 
the  terms  of  my  second  journey.  Seeing  that  the 
Canadian  Government  sent  me  across  the  country  it 
might  seem  that  I  was  bound  to  speak  well  of  it,  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  I  do  not  feel  handicapped  by  any 
such  idea.  The  Dominion  Government  paid  my 
travelling  expenses,  the  Canadian  Pacific  and 
Canadian  Northern  Railways  gave  me  passes  over 
their  lines;  but  beyond  these  courtesies  I  went 
unpaid,  and  acted  heartily  on  the  final  word  of 
advice  from  official  sources  :  "  Speak  the  truth,  we 
can  stand  it."  I  wonder  if  it  sounds  too  noble  to 
say  that  without  such  a  free  hand  I  should  not  have 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

gone.  It  is  true,  however.  It  would  have  been  too 
tiresome.  A  certain  proportion  of  the  matter  here 
set  forth  has  already  appeared  in  article  form  in  the 
Bystander,  the  Daily  Chronicle,  the  Lady,  the 
Crown,  the  Standard  of  Empire  and  Madame.  My 
acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  editors  of  these 
papers  for  their  courtesy  in  permitting  me  to  adapt 
what  was  necessary. 

I  have  in  nowise  endeavoured  to  write  a  travel 
book — nasty  dowdy  things  they  are,  full  of  fact  and 
figures,  written  by  people  with  tidy  minds,  and 
packed  with  information  and  help  for  every  emerg- 
ency that  can  possibly  arise  in  the  career  of  the  least 
accomplished  traveller,  and  bursting  with  answers  to 
every  question  that  could  possibly  be  asked  by  the 
most  intelligent  ones.  This  is  only  a  series  of  snap- 
shots, offered  with  ragged  edges — unglazed,  un- 
mounted, unframed,  rapid,  disconnected  reproduc- 
tions of  this  picture  and  of  that  which  burned  into 
the  memory  in  the  six  and  a  half  months  which  is  all 
I  have  ever  spent  in  Canada.  If  I  had  spent  six 
and  a  half  years  in  the  country,  if  I  had  worked  and 
played,  grieved  and  rejoiced,  loved  and  hated  on  its 
soil  among  its  people,  then,  perhaps,  I  might  make 
some  effort  at  presenting  a  coherent  substantial  book 
of  reference  and  analysis;  but  such  an  effort  now 
18 


FOREWORD 

would  be  an  impertinence,  and  one  which  I  respect 
Canada  too  much  to  offer.  There  is  a  heresy  buried 
in  that  confession,  a  social  heresy,  a  bad  principle,  a 
dangerous  theory ;  one  that  would  set  sincerity  before 
polish,  and  do  civilization  a  lot  of  damage;  but  it 
is  not  my  business  to  point  it  out.  What  I  realize  is 
that,  having  travelled  over  one  of  our  great  Colonies, 
along  a  track  that  has  been  trodden  scores  of  times 
before  by  people  who  can  write  much  better  than  I 
can,  I  am  attempting  to  write  of  it  again;  Heaven 
help  me. 

Strange  the  fascination  that  land  possesses !  I 
am  not  in  the  least  peculiar  in  owning  to  it,  countless 
men  and  women  have  told  me  the  same  thing,  and 
a  fact  which  is  well  known  to  all  students  of  immi- 
gration over  there  is  that  ninety  per  cent,  of  the  new 
settlers  who  put  in  a  year  or  two,  fail  and  leave  in 
disgust,  come  back.  They  can't  help  it — any  more 
than  I  can  now  help  the  painful  desire  which  catches 
me  by  the  throat  as  August  draws  near,  to  pace  again 
the  deck  of  the  out-going  steamer  impatient  to  de- 
vour time,  while  the  Marconi  machine  coughs  out 
messages  to  unseen  vessels,  spluttering  blue  sparks 
the  while;  impatient  to  see  the  wild  maidenhair 
again  upon  the  mountains,  the  little  wild  orchids 
coloured  like  copper  in  firelight,  to  hear  the  frogs 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

chant  evensong,  and  crickets  wake  the  day.  I  can 
neither  stay  nor  ignore  reconstruction  of  the  journey, 
and  I  long  to  pass  Belle  Isle  in  a  drenching  fog  with 
a  tireless  syren — to  breast  the  gulf,  and  sail  proudly 
like  a  queen-swan  to  Rimouski  in  the  sunset ;  I  long 
to  feel  the  screws  shiver  as  we  set  forth  again  for 
Quebec,  leaving  Rimouski  an  indigo  line  throbbing 
with  firefly  lights;  I  long  once  more  to  come  to 
Quebec  in  the  dawn — and  at  that  moment  always  in 
my  longing  I  begin  to  be  glad,  like  a  lover  who  has 
come  to  his  own.  High  poised  against  clear  skies 
I  see  once  more  the  Camelot  of  Canada — Quebec  of 
the  heights  and  spires,  grey,  quaint,  beautiful  Quebec, 
hung  up  between  heaven  and  earth  over  her  spark- 
ling river ;  I  rattle  over  her  stony  streets  in  a  caleche ; 
I  see  the  big  grasshoppers,  like  butterflies,  among 
the  chicory  flowers  beside  the  city  ramparts ;  I  stand 
in  reverence  before  a  hero's  monument  upon  the 
plains  of  Abraham,  and  in  wonder  before  the  view 
at  the  Chateau  Frontenac.  In  all  the  loved,  scented 
beauty  of  rose-time  in  England  I  feel  a  reiteration 
of  that  longing  to  be  in  Canada  again;  I  want  to 
linger  in  Ottawa,  the  garden-city;  to  see  Winnipeg 
again  lying  flat  on  the  prairie,  with  the  sky-line  an 
amber  belt  about  her  loins  at  sunset;  to  watch  the 
green  snakes  gliding  in  and  out  among  the  grass 
20 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

chant  evensong,  and  cnrkets  wake  the  day.     I  ran 
neither  stay  nor  ignore  reconstruction  of  the  ju 
and'!  ta«£  to  parvs  BHle  Isle  in  a  drenching  f<> 

•?ftt»  ;*•  bfoaat  the  gulf,  and  sail  proudly 
hk<  *  'fJL^c  *****  to  JfctKGuskj  in  the  sunset;  I  long 
to  feel  thf  screws  nhivvv  a*  we  set  f.*rth  again  for 
Quebec  leaving  Rimoii.sk.  'hrobbing 

*ith  £w<8y  lights;  I  long  oh***  «MW»  1»  come  to 
y,K*<4*\?  ui  the  dawn— and  at  that  a5.aa>»nt  always  in 
my  longing  I  begin  to  be  glad,  like  a  lovtr  who  has 
votne  t«»  his  own.  High  poised  against  clear  skies 

1  see  once  more  the  Camelot  of  Canada — Quebec  of 

An  Old  Quebec  Street 
the  heights  and  spires,  grey, quaint,  neautiful  Quebec, 

hung  up  between  heaven  and  earth  over  her  - 

PfLft    2O 

ling  river;  I  rattle  over  hf-r  stonv 
I  see  the  big  grasshoppers.  Juke  hulfc-rflies,  among 
the  chicory  flowers  beside  the  city  ranipam .   I  stand 
in  reverence  before  a  hero's  monument  upon  the 
plains  of  Abraham,  and  in  wonder  before  ilk-  view 
at  the  Chateau  Frontenac.    In  all  th< 
beauty  of  rose-time  in  England  f  {/••<  i  a 
of  that  longing  to  be  in  Cannon  a^ttift;    f  want  to 
linger  in  Ottawa,  the  garden  r  ^  ;   »c  ~  •    Wirnipeg 
again  lyirt|{  flat  on  the  prain*?,  vt.Hi  rh-    ^k\  Ht>e  an 
amber  belt  about  her  loins  ar  :»w*r  (     t;»  watch  the 
green  snakes  gliding  in  am!  out  among;  th«  grass 


FOREWORD 

tufts;  to  see  the  log-fences  and  lonely  wooden 
shacks.  It  is  the  toll  exacted  from  all  who  have 
once  been  to  Canada,  unexpected  but  inevitable — 
this  strange  attachment.  A  curious  feeling,  not  a 
sentimental  impulse,  but  a  queer  tugging  at  the 
heart-strings  which  has  its  origin  in  emotion  of  some 
sort.  I  am  no  musician,  and  so  cannot  describe  in 
the  terms  of  the  perfect  Wagnerite  what  I  mean 
when  I  speak  of  the  "  ache  "  of  music — I  mean  that 
feeling  of  suspense  which  catches  you  when  a  melo- 
dious phrase  is  heard,  and  you  know  another  must 
follow,  similar,  yet  not  the  same,  a  sort  of  answer  or 
completion  of  what  went  before;  and  the  "ache" 
of  music  is  that  sensation  of  suspense,  of  waiting,  of 
desire  which  holds  the  ear  and  heart  unsatisfied  till 
the  completing  phrase  occurs.  Any  musician  read- 
ing this  will  smile  because  I  describe  a  common 
enough  occurrence  in  melody  without  knowing  its 
technical  term.  But  lovers  of  music,  unlearned  like 
myself,  will  understand  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that 
Canada  appeals  to  me  like  the  first  phrase  in  a 
melody ;  it  leaves  one  charmed,  unsatisfied,  desiring 
more.  \ 

I  was  asked  on  my  second  journey  to  regard  the 
country  from  a  woman's  standpoint  as  much  as  pos- 
sible ;  to  study  the  lives  of  the  Englishwomen  settled 

21 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

there ;  to  form  my  own  opinion  as  to  their  happiness, 
their  usefulness,  their  success  or  failure  as  settlers 
and  wives  of  settlers ;  to  discover  if  possible  in  what 
ways  they  could  make  money  for  themselves  without 
having  to  wait  for  menfolk  to  bring  them  or  send 
for  them.  For  the  Dominion  Government  is  aware 
that  England  is  overcrowded  with  women,  and  that 
her  own  prairie  lands  are  crying  for  them  by  the  thou- 
sand. Canada  wants  women  of  breed  and  endur- 
ance, educated,  middle-class  gentlewomen,  and  these 
are  not  the  women  to  come  out  on  the  off-chance  of 
getting  married.  They  may  be  induced  to  come  to 
the  country  if  they  can  farm  or  work  in  some  way  to 
secure  their  absolute  independence.  They  want, 
every  nice  woman  wants,  to  be  free  to  undertake 
marriage  as  a  matter  of  choice,  not  of  necessity.  I 
feel  persuaded  that  if  the  daughters  of  professional 
men  in  Great  Britain  could  feel  that  there  were  pos- 
sibilities of  money-making  in  the  Colonies  for  them, 
as  well  as  for  men,  they  would  go  out  and  prosper. 
They  would  not  choose  to  compete  in  Great  Britain, 
where  the  fight  is  severe;  and  once  they  settled  in 
the  North-West  I  believe  that  a  large  number  would 
ultimately  throw  in  their  lot  with  the  bachelor  farmers 
of  the  prairie  and  British  Columbia.  Every  woman 

who  goes  out  to  Canada  makes  it  easier  for  the  other 
22 


FOREWORD 

women  there.  I  would  not  recommend  any  one  to 
go  to  the  cities,  they  are  overcrowded  already;  the 
eastern  provinces,  too,  are  fairly  settled,  but  there  is 
room  for  hundreds  on  the  prairies,  in  Manitoba,  that 
is  to  say,  and  Saskatchewan  and  Alberta,  as  also 
there  is  in  British  Columbia,  the  great  province  where 
climatic  conditions  are  so  different  from  those  of  the 
rest  of  Canada  as  to  make  it  seem  another  kingdom  ! 
Like  Gaul,  Canada  is  divided  into  three  parts — there 
are  the  settled  eastern  provinces,  Ontario,  Quebec, 
Nova  Scotia  and  New  Brunswick;  then  the  great 
tract  of  prairie  land  divided  into  the  three  prov- 
inces aforementioned,  Manitoba,  Saskatchewan  and 
Alberta,  where  the  flat  soil  is  a  deep  black  loam,  a 
quick  fertile  vegetable  mould,  where  the  wheat 
grows  and  the  ranches  are;  where  the  track  of 
buffalo  may  still  be  seen,  where  the  eye  may  roam  for 
days  of  travelling  without  rinding  a  tree  or  bush. 
Then  there  is  the  third  part  of  Canada,  British 
Columbia,  which  begins  in  the  Rocky  Mountains 
and  stretches  down  to  the  Pacific  seas,  where  the 
cedars  grow  to  immense  proportions,  where  all 
growth  is  lush  and  rank,  where  snows  give  place  to  a 
rainy  season,  where  the  rivers  are  full  of  salmon  and 
the  forests  full  of  deer.  I  was  picking  strawberries 
in  the  open  in  one  of  the  valleys  of  British  Columbia 
23 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

last  autumn,  and  three  days  later  the  train  I  was  in 
was  snowed  up  in  the  Maple  Creek  blizzard — such 
differences  of  climate  are  to  be  found  in  that  vast 
continent  we  call  Canada. 

I  think  that  elementary  division  of  the  country  is 
helpful  in  trying  to  picture  it  to  oneself.  First  the 
east — settled,  civilized,  almost  blase;  then  the 
middle — wild,  flat,  fertile,  full  of  potential  riches, 
and  even  that  is  settling  so  quickly  that  its  great 
curse,  the  curse  of  loneliness,  is  passing  away ;  and 
last  the  west — beautiful,  luxuriant,  largely  unex- 
ploited,  heavily  timbered,  with  gold  in  all  its  rivers 
and  fruit  orchards  in  its  valleys. 

The  climate  of  Canada  is  magnificent,  extremer 

in  heat  and  cold  than  England,  but  dry  and  bracing. 

The  conditions  are  primitive,  and  of  every  one  but 

y  the  capitalist  manual  labour  is  demanded  as  the  first 

xx  necessity  of  life. 


24 


.BW 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

last  autumn,  and  three  days  later  the  train  I  was  in 
was  snowed  up  in  the  Miple  Creek  blizzarc?  -such 
difference*  of  climate  are  t*»  be  found  in  that  vast 
rc>nlif<i£fct  iw  .  ;ia 

I  fhmk  ife«i  v  dmsior.  of  the  country  is 

helpful  in  trying  to  picture  »t  to  oneself.  First  the 
east- -settled,  civilized,  ahm»&t  kt& ..;<*.•  then-  the 
mifiHfe  wild,  flat,  fertile,  full  ->!  f  vrhes, 

and  even  that  is  settling  s*'»  qu.  ^reat 

rurse,  the  curse  of  loneliness,  i*>  ,  and 

last  the  west — beautiful,  luxuriant,  ia ?••$*$ v  un<'x- 
ploited,  heavily  timbered,  with  gold  in  all  »is  rivers 
nd  fruit  orchfflW  WIW..W-  °ttawa' 

The  climate  of  Canada  is  magnificent,  i-xtretncr 
in  heat  and  cold  than  EngltnB,  but  dry  and  bfsidng. 
The  conditions  are  primitive,  and  of  every  owe  but 
the  capitalist  manual  labour  is  demanded  4 A  che  first 
necessity  of  life. 


CHAPTER    II 

A    WOMAN    FARMER    AND   AN    EXPERIMENTAL    FARM 

WE  have  sailed  the  stately  river.  Here  are 
Montreal,  the  Customs,  the  drunken  telegraph 
posts,  the  hum  of  welcome,  the  bustle  of  landing. 
I  make  straight  for  the  great  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way building  to  ask  for  a  pass,  and  am  struck 
with  the  happy  atmosphere  that  there  prevails. 
One  Mr.  Stitt  studies  my  letters  and  myself,  then 
makes  it  his  business  to  present  the  staff.  I  learn 
from  one  man  of  the  picturesqueness  of  the  Indians, 
their  legends,  their  history,  he  is  such  an  enthusiast 
in  his  study  that  I  long  for  nothing  so  much  as 
to  go  and  live  among  them,  learn  them,  write  of 
them;  but  he  is  whisked  away,  and  there  passes 
before  my  marvellous  eyes,  a  succession  of  enthusi- 
asts as  interesting.  The  voice  of  wisdom  speaks 
from  Mr.  Hayter  Reid,  the  hotel  enthusiast,  tell- 
ing me  in  chosen  phrases  of  the  wonders  of  life 
in  the  mountains,  so  that  I  burn  to  go  there  with- 
out any  more  delay  and  spend  the  rest  of  life  fish- 
25 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

ing  in  the  lakes,  hunting,  trapping,  riding.  Then 
a  wheat  enthusiast  quarrels  with  them  both  about 
the  superiority  of  wheat  growing  as  a  pastime  to 
Indian  lore  and  hotel  life;  as  he  talks  I  hear  the 
rustle  of  grain  in  the  sun  with  the  wind  among  it, 
I  yearn  utterly  to  stand  upon  the  prairies  and  lose 
myself  in  wheat.  Then  comes  George  Ham,  "  The 
only  George  Ham  in  the  world,"  and  he  is  witty  and 
warm,  and  silent  and  cold,  all  in  ten  seconds  or  so. 
I  understand,  now  I  am  among  these  men,  why  the 
Canadian  Pacific  Railway  is  the  great,  successful 
power  it  is.  It  is  managed  by  picked  souls,  happy, 
genial,  brilliant  souls. 

Seeing  it  is  yet  early  morning  and  I  am  a  stranger 
in  the  land,  I  ask  them  what  I  can  see  in  the  after- 
noon. The  Indian  enthusiast  wants  me  to  go  to 
Caughnawaga,  the  Indian  village,  but  the  others 
advise  me  to  take  a  "  round  "  ticket  to  Lachine  and 
shoot  the  rapids  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  With  the 
rustle  of  the  Atlantic  and  throb  of  engines  still  in 
my  ears  I  feel  I  am  a  little  weary  of  water  and  make 
demur.  I  ask  if  it  is  dangerous,  and  the  enthusiasts 
smile  one  and  all.  "There  had  never  been  an 
accident  and  they  had  been  shot  thousands  of 
times."  So  I  wander  away  to  the  Grand  Trunk 

station  and  take  my  "  round  "  ticket.     I  crowd  into 
26 


A   WOMAN    FARMER 

the  train  with  the  multitude  and  am  carried  at  last 
into  the  open;  it  is  good  to  feel  the  city  behind  me 
and  the  hedgeless  country  all  around.  A  large  pro- 
portion of  the  crowd  gets  off  at  Lachine,  a  heavy 
thunderstorm  comes  on,  and  we  wait  on  the  wharf 
herded  uncomfortably  under  a  tiny  shelter.  Pre- 
sently the  fat  old  Empress  rolls  up;  she  is  a  white 
boat  with  a  curious  engine  which  carries  two  exalted 
iron  arms  in  her  middle;  when  the  engine  works 
these  arms  wave  up  and  down  in  a  fashion  that 
excites  in  me  an  inexplicable  pity;  they  look  so 
futile,  so  unintelligent,  and  so  deplorably  patient — 
like  a  very  tired  woman  rocking  a  child  that  will  not 
sleep,  or  a  soldier  heliographing  to  some  one  that 
cannot  see.  I  am  not  sure  if  all  the  crowd  is  able 
to  get  on  at  Lachine,  there  is  a  great  rush  and  I  am 
swept  on  the  front  of  it;  I  find  myself  tumbling 
over  a  small  boy  and  his  crushed  cries  make  me 
angry,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  him  and  the  people 
behind  make  me.  I  try  to  lift  him  but  cannot  stoop, 
it  is  an  eager  crowd  and  the  gangway  is  narrow. 
Presently  he  is  squeezed  through  the  railing  and 
falls  into  the  water.  It  must  be  much  more  com- 
fortable for  him  than  under  my  feet.  I  am  swept 
on  deck  and  begin  to  breathe  again,  the  boy  is  fished 
out  at  once  and  greatly  coddled  and  petted,  he 
27 


A   WOMAN   IN     CANADA 

deserves  it,  poor  little  person,  and  we  set  out  for 
the  rapids.  The  Em-press  has  come  from  Ottawa, 
and  is  fairly  well  loaded  with  luggage  and  pas- 
sengers. All  of  us,  who  can,  crowd  into  the  bows  to 
see  the  great  feat  accomplished,  despite  the  rain, 
which  makes  an  ineffable  freshness  in  the  air  after 
a  hot,  close  day.  It  is  evening;  I  entertain  lively 
hopes  of  seeing  a  brilliant  river  sunset  as  soon  as 
the  rain  ceases.  Sitting  on  a  little  wooden  chair  in 
the  crowd  I  study  the  ugly  blouse  and  untidy  belt 
in  front  of  me,  congratulating  myself  that  neither 
can  block  out  my  view  of  the  sky,  although  they 
can,  and  do,  any  hope  of  seeing  the  rapids.  A  man 
next  me  begins  to  talk  loftily  of  "  Colonials " ;  he 
is  an  Englishman,  I  regret  to  say,  with  bulgy  blue 
eyes  and  a  waxed  moustache  and  shiny  red  cheeks ; 
he  says  he  is  over  on  a  patriotic  mission.  I  hope  he 
is  lying.  That  is  the  type  of  man  who  spoils  Eng- 
land for  Canadians.  I  get  up  and  squeeze  over  to 
the  other  side,  where  a  rough-looking  Ontarian  with 
kind  eyes  gives  me  his  chair,  telling  me  to  climb  up 
on  it  and  "look  there."  I  climb,  and  look.  All 
across  the  wide  St.  Lawrence  from  far  green  bank 
to  far  green  bank  boils  and  fumes  a  line  of  breakers. 
It  seems  incredible  that  any  boat  can  pass  across 
these  rocks  and  currents  in  safety.  The  man  holds 
28 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

my  arm  to  steady  me,  the  motion  of  the  boat  is 
growing  rapid,  everybody  is  craning  to  see,  we  are 
just  above  the  rapids.  Mighty  forces  are  dragging 
for  our  lives  this  way  and  that,  here  a  whirlpool, 
there  an  angry  scurry  of  waves  rolling  backward  as 
I  have  seen  them  roll  at  Niagara  in  a  flux  of  currents. 
I  look  up  at  the  wheels,  two  men  are  steering,  there 
are  two  wheels;  the  men  are  looking  fixedly  ahead, 
a  great  concentration  of  attention  in  pose  and  glance. 
An  old  lady  near  me  hides  her  face,  saying,  "  Oh, 
who  is  at  the  helium  ? "  The  man  who  had  given 
me  his  chair  grips  my  arm  tighter — we  curve  this 
way  and  that,  intricately  steered,  and  then  we  sweep 
terribly,  resistlessly,  over  the  fall  into  the  maelstrom 
below.  As  we  go  I  hear  a  crack.  ...  I  look  up, 
the  front  wheel  is  flapping  helplessly,  the  men  are 
looking  frightened.  Another  man  rushes  forward, 
he  pulls  the  engine  bell  quickly,  turns  to  the  wheel, 
tries  it  and  then  all  of  them  rush  away. 

They  have  left  the  bridge — something  is  wrong. 

I  look  at  the  rough  man,  he  still  has  my  arm,  his 
face  is  dead  white ;  he  says,  "  I  have  four  children 
on  board."  The  boat  is  moving  horribly.  Once 
she  hits  something  and  slides  away  on  a  current. 
I  see  we  are  in  a  hollow  and  ask,  "  Why  is  the  river 

scooped  out  like  this?"     The  man  answers,  "We 
29 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

are  in  the  rapids,  the  rocks  make  it  hollow."  I  see 
two  sailors  come  from  below  and  run  like  monkeys 
up  an  iron  ladder;  they  disappear  to  the  back  of 
the  boat.  I  hear  shouts,  people  begin  to  realize, 
they  rush  to  the  sides  and  look  over.  ...  I  look  at 
the  boats,  there  are  not  nearly  enough,  besides  they 
wouldn't  be  any  use,  there  are  not  enough  life-belts 
to  go  round  that  crowd.  They  have  reversed  the 
engines  to  hold  up  against  the  current,  the  patient 
arms  work  up  and  down.  Presently  the  man  who 
is  giving  the  engine  orders  smiles  palely  down  upon 
us  and  signals  again  to  the  engines.  We  begin  to 
move  forward,  he  has  four  men  working  the  helm 
from  the  back,  and  he  gives  them  the  direction  with 
his  hand  from  the  bridge.  So,  very  slowly,  we  come 
to  Montreal.  In  the  middle  of  the  rapids,  the  steer- 
ing gear  had  broken.  For  a  while  we  have  been  in 
deadly  peril,  now  it  is  over  I  know  it  has  been  very 
interesting. 

I  read  a  description  of  the  Indian  reserve  Caugh- 
nawaga  in  the  Daily  Ex-press,  by  Mr.  Hambleton, 
afterwards,  and  it  was  so  picturesque  that  I  linger  to 
quote  part  of  it — 

A  jumbled,  scattered  collection  of  houses  of 
wood  and  stone,  a  near  neighbourhood  of  semi- 
30 


A   WOMAN    FARMER 

wild,  semi-cultivated  land,  a  people  with  the 
dull,  dead  features  of  a  nation  without  an  ideal 
and  without  a  future,  a  village  in  which  past  and 
present  clash  in  strange,  eerie  silence — there 
you  have  Kahnawake — "  near  the  rapids  "- 
and  shadows  of  men  of  the  Five  Nations. 

Caughnawaga  (to  use  the  modern  spelling)  is 
but  a  few  miles  up  the  river  from  Montreal,  but 
it  is  a  leap  back  through  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  of  history  without  parallel,  history  which 
tells  of  the  gradual  tightening  of  the  white 
man's  grip,  and  the  dominance  of  the  white 
man's  faith.  .  .  . 

The  jingling  of  civilizations  is  borne  upon 
you  with  forceful  persistence  the  moment  you 
step  ashore  from  the  ferry.  The  main  street  of 
the  village  is  broad,  and  the  quality  of  its  sur- 
face is  fully  equal  to  that  of  the  average  street 
in  Montreal;  but  the  resemblance  ends  there. 
A  neat  little  hotel  bids  the  visitor  welcome,  but 
the  white  stranger  may  not  make  his  home  in 
Caughnawaga.  There  are  the  same  knots  of 
playing,  laughing  children,  yet  the  call  of 
mother  to  child  comes  from  one  who  passes 
down  the  street  in  silent  aloofness  from  the 
present. 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

As  she  goes  by,  the  young  squaw  pulls  her 
black  shawl  more  closely  round  the  shoulders, 
and  from  under  the  big  straw  hat  dark  eyes 
gleam  with  a  glitter  vaguely  reminiscent  of  the 
camp-fire.  .  .  . 

The  Caughnawaga  of  to-day  is  not  imposing, 
but  the  view  from  its  shores  is  a  delight  painted 
with  the  bold,  broad  stroke  of  the  master.  It 
is  such  a  scene  as  rivals,  even  if  it  does  not 
excel,  that  from  the  "  look-out "  on  Mount 
Royal.  From  the  dim  grey-blue  of  the  moun- 
tains where  Ottawa  and  St.  Lawrence  join 
their  waters,  eastward  to  the  veil  of  smoke  hang- 
ing over  the  city,  the  scene  is  one  of  softly- 
blending,  ever-shifting  colour,  of  restless  indus- 
try and  profound  peace. 

Swiftly,  relentlessly,  the  great  river  rushes 
onward  past  the  Indian  village,  eager  to  bring 
countless  machines  into  life  ere  its  course  be 
run  to  the  sea.  Westward,  where  the  St.  Law- 
rence broadens  into  Lake  St.  Louis,  a  horde  of 
panting  launches  dance  and  leap  through  the 
waves;  and  there,  where  the  waters  catch  the 
glow  of  the  flaming  sky,  diamond  and  ruby  flash 
in  twinkling  light  the  eternal  presence  of  the 
past.  It  is  the  scene  which  the  Indian  sees 
32 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

day  by  day  from  the  reserve  which  is  the  white 
man's  gift.  He  loves  it  all,  but  it  is  to  him  the 
water  of  Tantalus — unattainable.  It  is  the  land 
over  which  he  once  held  sway. 

When  I  got  to  the  station  the  next  day  to  start 
my  westward  journey,  a  little  lonely,  George  Ham 
was  there  with  a  word  to  the  conductor  for  my  com- 
fort, and  a  hand-clasp  so  friendly  and  unexpected 
that  it  wakes  a  grateful  glow  to  this  day.  I  clamber 
into  the  car,  and  could  wish  our  English  travelling 
were  as  easy.  The  cars  are  lofty  and  spacious,  each 
seat  is  a  separate  arm-chair  by  the  window,  which 
may  be  wheeled  into  any  position,  and  is  the  essence 
of  comfort.  The  cars  roll  swiftly  and  very 
smoothly;  the  windows  are  vast  sheets  of  plate 
glass,  offering  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  passing 
country.  The  ventilating  arrangements  are  perfect, 
only  the  Canadian  idea  of  ventilation  is  heat  before 
freshness,  never  freshness  and  warmth  as  well  if  you 
can  get  it,  therefore  the  ventilating  arrangements 
appeal  to  me  as  being  of  little  avail.  A  handsome 
carpet  runs  the  length  of  the  car,  which  is  a  glorified 
edition  of  Pullman  as  we  know  him,  and  the  only 
grief  I  find  in  the  whole  arrangement  is  the  per- 
spective of  tin  bowls.  One  is  placed  by  every  chair, 
c  33 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

and  some  of  the  passengers  make  pestilential  use  of 
them.  A  boy  passes  to  and  fro  at  intervals  with 
fruit,  chocolate,  or  newspapers,  and  the  porter  is 
ready  to  bring  tea  at  any  moment  and  brush  one's 
coat  and  boots  before  alighting.  The  train  travels 
steadily,  pulling  up  at  a  little  station  now  and  then 
with  a  deep  contralto  whistle.  Near  me  a  fellow- 
passenger  tells  the  eternal  story  of  England's  cold- 
ness to  her  colony,  Canada's  patience  and  long- 
suffering;  I  listen  indifferent  well.  Here  is  passing 
the  landscape  I  love  :  here  is  a  belt  of  maples,  there 
a  patch  of  golden-rod  glistening  in  the  sun,  when 
the  train  slackens  I  can  hear  the  crickets  sing.  My 
happiness  is  too  deep  to  be  pierced  by  this  aged 
grievance,  I  refuse  to  be  plunged  in  thankless  argu- 
ment. I  watch  the  country  whirl  away  from  our 
wheels ;  I  watch  it,  and  grow  conscious  of  a  certain 
hunger.  Something  is  not  there  that  I  love,  and  I  do 
not  know  what  it  is.  We  pass  field  after  field  of  maize, 
buckwheat,  oats  and  pasture.  The  maize,  always 
called  corn  here,  is  infinitely  graceful.  Its  leaves  hang 
from  tall  stalks  like  satin  streamers  of  green  ribbon ; 
on  top  floats  a  plume  of  pale  floss  silk,  tipped  with 
brown.  The  buckwheat  grows  thick  and  short;  it 
waves  its  tiny  flowers  in  the  wind,  and  sheds  a 
perfume  more  fragrant  and  delicious  than  can  be 
34 


. 
' 
<-r  farms 

of  Km*-1: 
ed  robins  are  bloomiii 

nd  haws  will  shine  bright 

The  Woman  Farmer 

P*g'  35 

• 

•  ith  that  dignity  v 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

imagined.  Every  farm,  as  we  pass  it,  has  wooden 
barns  in  proportion  to  its  size  and  success.  The 
fields  are  divided  by  log  fences,  which  the  cattle 
destroy  with  their  horns;  on  the  richer  farms  wire 
fences  are  used,  more  useful  and  lasting  if  less 
picturesque.  I  look  at  them  idly.  Suddenly  I  know 
what  I  miss.  It  is  the  snug  hedges  of  England, 
where  ragged  robins  are  blooming  now,  and  where 
soon  the  hips  and  haws  will  shine  bright  red;  the 
hedges  that  grow  so  thick  and  high  that  the  lanes 
run  like  little  damp  avenues  between.  This  country 
is  vaster,  less  closely  partitioned.  Over  each  small 
station  that  we  pass  is  clearly  written  its  name,  the 
number  of  miles  travelled  since  we  left  Montreal, 
and  the  number  yet  to  be  run  before  we  reach  Ottawa. 
I  am  bound  for  a  farm  of  six  hundred  acres  managed 
by  a  woman.  I  have  never  known  a  woman  farmer 
before,  and  am  not  sure  what  to  expect. 

The  train  pulls  up  at  Caledonia  Springs,  and  my 
hostess  runs  to  meet  me.  I  look  at  her  with  curiosity 
which  becomes  interest;  she  has  a  knowledgable 
face,  and  wears  middle-age  with  that  dignity  which 
comes  of  self-trust,  moreover  she  is  beautiful  and 
dresses  becomingly.  I  am  at  ease  in  her  company, 
and  she  has  the  manner  of  the  world ;  as  she  enter- 
tains me  I  realize  that  she  has  travelled  far  and 
C2  35 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

remembered  much,  a  woman  whose  brain  has  not 
yet  ceased  to  grow,  who  has  the  charm  of  undis- 
played  experience  in  conversation. 

After  lunch  we  walk  about  the  farm — she  talks  to 
herself  rather  than  to  me,  her  enthusiasm  is  too  great 
to  wait  for  questions. 

"  Come  to  the  corn  patch,  I  don't  think  any  one 
has  a  better  crop,"  and  we  walk  up  the  cart  track, 
with  the  grasshoppers  flying  before  our  feet.  On 
every  side  there  are  signs  of  careful  farming — here 
and  there  heaps  of  compost,  the  ditches  have  been 
cleaned,  there  are  incredibly  few  weeds.  Through 
the  wire  gate  we  pass  into  the  "corn  patch,"  there 
are  sixteen  acres  of  it  and  it  looks  like  a  young 
forest;  under  the  tall  spikes  of  feathery  bloom  and 
green  ribbon  leaves  we  lose  the  sun  and  sky.  It  is 
cool  and  fresh  among  the  corn. 

"It  must  average  eight  or  nine  feet,"  she  says, 
"and  this  is  only  the  25th  of  August.  It  will  grow 
much  more  yet,  when  the  grain  is  nearly  glazed  it 
will  be  cut  for  silage." 

I  am  looking  at  the  fat  ears  on  the  thick  stalks, 
each  one  tufted  with  a  plume  of  pinky-green  floss 
silk  turning  brown.  Each  stalk  has  many  ears,  we 
have  no  maize  in  England  and  this  is  the  first  time 
I  have  seen  it  growing  close. 
36 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

"  What  is  silage  ? "  I  ask.  My  ignorance  weighs 
upon  me.  "  It  is  the  same  to  this  as  hay  is  to  grass," 
she  answers.  The  whole  stalk  is  cut  into  strips, 
ears  and  all,  and  dried.  The  stalks  are  tender  and 
full  of  sugar.  It  is  excellent  for  milch  cows  through 
the  winter  months;  nothing  gives  such  a  yield  of 
milk — it  smells  delicious  when  it  is  cured.  "  Come 
and  see  my  alfalfa — I  was  told  I  could  never  grow 
it  here,  but  I  have  six  acres,  next  year  I  shall  have 
twenty.  It  is  the  best  green  fodder  for  cattle,  and 
ought  to  yield  four  crops  in  the  year.  It  is  sown 
with  a  nurse-crop  of  barley  or  oats,  next  year  it  will 
grow  by  itself." 

We  look  at  the  alfalfa,  which  I  recognize  as 
Lucerne  grass,  it  shows  bravely  green  among  the 
oat  stubble ;  I  wonder  at  the  yield  on  this  hard  clay 
soil — and  say  so. 

"After  each  crop  I  water  the  fields  with  liquid 
manure,  that  is  how  it  is;  I  am  making  a  very  big 
liquid  manure  pit  with  pumps  and  special  tanks  for 
carrying  it  round;  I  use  the  peat  which  overlies  all 
the  unreclaimed  part  of  the  farm  for  litter  in  the 
stables  and  byres  and  piggery.  It  is  a  perfect 
deodorizer  and  retains  the  liquid  manure,  making 
a  very  valuable  dressing." 

I  am  astonished — this  rich  and  fertile  land  looks 
37 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

like  anything  but  peat,  but  she  points  to  the  far 
distance  where  a  wide  belt  of  smoke  hangs  in  the 
air,  blotting  out  the  horizon;  for  a  long  time  I  had 
been  idly  admiring  its  beautiful  blue  when  it  drifted 
against  the  green  background  of  a  grove  of  pines — 
inexperience  having  failed  to  grasp  the  activity  it 
meant. 

"  There  is  more  being  reclaimed.  The  men  are 
harrowing  the  fire  into  the  soil,  sometimes  the  peat 
is  so  deep  that  all  the  winter  snows  do  not  put  it  out ; 
it  smoulders,  it  never  flames — come  and  see." 

We  walk  on  and  on,  and  presently  I  see  a  wonder- 
ful picture.  Up  against  pines  and  sky  is  the  blue- 
white  smoke,  half  hidden  in  it  is  a  team  of  bay 
horses,  through  it  comes  the  guiding  cry  of  the  man 
who  drives  without  a  whip,  beyond  is  barren  land  if 
one  could  only  see  it,  back  where  we  have  come  lie 
the  rich  fields  hot  with  the  August  sun,  in  the  dis- 
tance is  the  dark  irregular  line  of  the  Laurentian 
Mountains.  My  companion  speaks  almost  passion- 
ately, "  It  is  an  indescribable  joy,  this  turning  of  the 
wild  into  fertile  plains, — I  can  never  have  enough  of 
it, — I  do  not  grudge  one  second  of  the  work,  hard 
and  exacting  as  it  is, — I  am  repaid  a  thousandfold 
when  my  days  and  weeks  of  anxious  care  are  borne 
into  blossom  like  this.  When  the  peat  is  burned 
38 


A   WOMAN    FARMER 

out,  the  soil  has  to  be  drained,  after  which  there  is 
none  more  productive;  in  two  years  I  have  tile- 
drained  forty  acres  and  reclaimed  forty-five  or  fifty 
as  well."  .  .  . 

She  talks  eagerly,  too  fast  for  me  to  remember 
half;  chiefly  I  gather  the  knowledge  that  she  is 
wholly  happy  in  her  life,  warm  and  proud  in  its 
promise  and  results.  I  carry  in  my  mind  the  picture 
of  that  cultured  woman,  transplanted  from  the  hectic 
life  of  Paris  and  London  to  this  healthy,  busy  land,  * 
and  my  heart  sings  with  praise  of  her  and  love  of 
her  courage. 

We  walk  back,  past  buckwheat  just  off  bloom; 
past  a  heavy  crop  of  oats  in  shock  with  a  fine  catch 
of  clover  underneath,  past  fields  of  aftermath  richer 
than  many  a  first  crop  in  the  old  country,  past  celery, 
asparagus  and  melon-patch  to  the  chicken-runs  and 
bee-butts.  Looking  at  these  last,  standing  near 
thirty  acres  of  clover  in  bloom,  I  know  where  came 
the  fragrant  honey  which  has  already  pleased  me  so 
much — I  only  know  one  kind  with  a  better  flavour, 
and  that  is  the  heather  honey  near  Dartmoor  in 
Devonshire.  The  chickens  are  pure-bred,  of  differ- 
ent strains,  and,  in  fact,  I  found  my  hostess  was  as 
particular  about  her  stock  as  about  her  fields;  a 
herd  of  splendid  cows  come  lowing  out  of  the  byre 
39 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

as  we  approach,  thoroughbred  Ayrshires,  with  some 
crossed  Jersey  for  dairy  purposes.  Inside  we  find 
the  bull,  a  sturdy  rascal,  long  and  flat  of  back,  short 
in  the  legs,  a  fine  Ayrshire.  He  suffers  my  admira- 
tion with  perfect  unconcern,  and  we  pass  on  to  look 
at  the  silo,  and  the  bins  of  food. 

"  Here  are  the  scales — I  have  all  the  food  in 
winter  weighed  and  noted.  I  know  how  much  each 
cow  eats  and  the  cost  of  it;  her  daily  yield  of  milk 
is  weighed  and  tested  every  ten  days  to  find  the 
amount  of  butter-fat  to  every  pound  of  milk  she 
gives,  every  cow  is  numbered,  and  each  one  that 
proves  unlucrative  is  weeded  out  and  a  new  selec- 
tion made  in  her  place."  We  got  into  the  dairy,  a 
model  of  cleanliness  and  thrifty  management — but 
I  strike  at  the  "  root "  fields  and  am  too  tired  to  even 
look  at  the  piggeries,  though  I  love  pigs.  Truth  to 
tell,  I  am  a  little  dazed,  and  I  want  to  go  indoors 
and  write  away  my  bewilderment. 

In  my  imagination  swim  two  pictures,  harrying 
me  with  positive  discomfort.  I  see  all  the  clever, 
good-looking  women  I  know  in  London,  scores  of 
them,  wearing  their  futile  lives  away  on  the  social 
treadmill  while  here  is  such  a  life  to  be  led  in  such 
a  country.  What  one  woman  has  done  others  may 
do.  I  wonder  why  they  lack  courage?  It  is  a 
40 


A   WO 

as  we  appro**-  some 

crossed  jersey  *«•<  dairy  purposes.  Inside  we  find 
tiv?  buH,  a  sturdy  ;;  and  flat  of  back,  short 

in  *Ke  kg*,  a  fine  Avi&btrc  He  suffers  my  admira- 
tion *::h  perfect  unconcern  4?*d  ire  pass  on  to  look 
at  the  si  k>,  and  the  bins  oi-focxi 

"  Here  are  the  scales  —  I  hav:-   .>!!  the  food  in 
winter  weighed  and  noted.    I  k»^>*  each 

cow  eats  and  the  cost  of  it;  her  milk 

is  weighed  and  tested  every  ten  days  to  find  the 
amount  of  butter-fat  to  every  pound  of  milk  she 

cnvc-s.  rvcrv  c^v.v  »:;  nnrnberf-d.   ;inr]    ,  ?.,*h  one  that 

My  Hostess  at  Caledonia  Springs 
proves  unlucrative  is  weeded  out  and  a  oe*  selec- 


tion made  in  her  place.  '     V  ;rv,  a 

Page  40 

model  of  cleanliness  n* 

I  strike  at  the  "  root  "  fitlife  and  4m  *w  *gcd  »  even 
look  at  the  piggeries,  though  I  lovt  p*£3.  Truth  to 
tell,  I.  am  a  littlt:  daz<-d.  and  i  -ioors 

and  write  away  my  bewilderment. 

In  my  imagination  swim  two  inc»  "ying 

me  with  positive  Discomfort.  I  sr^e  *t\  l^t.  i  lever, 
good-looking  women  I  know  in  i  n^-fv  s'-Tes  of 
them,  wearing  their  futile  lives  ^v^f  c»;  ?V«e  social 
treadmill  while  here  is  such  a  life  «-  *>••  l^rl  in  such 
a  country,  \\liat  one  woman  h;^  i'-.  rs  may 

do.     I  wonder  why  they   lack     ;•  It  is  a 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

wonder,  not  quite  new-born,  but  growing  stronger 
with  everything  I  see. 

Caledonia  Springs  fills  me  with  enthusiasm  for 
farming,  and  I  go  next  to  Ottawa  to  see  the  head  of 
the  Experimental  Farms,  and  learn  what  help  the 
Dominion  Government  extends  to  its  settling 
farmers.  And  when  I  reach  Ottawa  what  a  charm- 
ing  city  it  is ;  beautifully  spaced,  built  like  a  garden 
city  on  the  banks  of  two  rivers,  with  fair  streets, 
well  kept,  linked  by  an  excellent  tram  service. 
Hanging  over  all  the  pretty  houses,  with  their 
verandahs  and  lawns,  are  the  quaint,  primitive  tele- 
graph poles,  leaning  drunkenly  in  every  direction, 
filling  the  alien  heart  with  apprehension  lest  they 
fall  and  devour  the  passer-by.  Rockliffe  Park, 
which  towers  along  the  edge  of  the  Ottawa  River,  is 
a  splendid  public  way,  romantic  and  discreetly  wild. 
An  air  of  the  same  picturesque  savagery  lurks  in 
the  names,  about  the  beautiful  city,  the  Rideau  Falls 
like  a  curtain  of  pale  water,  the  Chaudiere,  the  boil- 
ing kettle,  Lake  Deschenes,  edged  with  thick  woods, 
the  lake  of  pines. 

I  wander  about  the  town  and  like  it.  I  like  the 
lawns  round  every  house,  that  lie  open  and  airy  to 
the  pavement  edge,  unfenced,  unhedged.  I  like  the 
perspective  of  roofs,  "tiled"  with  painted  wooden 


A   WOMAN    IN    CANADA 

shingles,  and  oddly  barren  to  a  London  eye  of 
chimney  pots.  I  like  the  hospitable  hearths  that 
offer  me  courteous  welcome.  I  feel  I  am  in  a  land 
of  distinctive  character,  not  one  which  apes  a  civil- 
ization it  cannot  yet  afford;  it  has  the  dignity  of 
hard-won  prosperity,  and  than  that  there  is  no 
greater  in  the  world.  I  am  taken  to  see  the  Exhibi- 
tion by  earnest  friends,  who  strive  in  every  way  to 
rub  the  gloss  off  my  English  ignorance  of  Canada 
and  its  resources,  till  I  grow  so  weary  with  admiring 
that  we  leave  the  vegetables,  poultry,  pigs  and  the 
rest  and  walk  back  in  the  cool  evening  by  the 
Driveway,  the  most  charming  feature  of  Ottawa;  it 
is  one  of  the  things  which  I  shall  remember  best 
when  I  return  to  grey  London,  with  its  perspective 
of  young  trees  turning  red  and  yellow,  as  I  have 
seen  it  so  often  in  the  evening  before  the  stars  had 
driven  away  the  sunset.  I  shall  remember  it  because 
the  first  night  I  arrived  I  sat  out  on  the  verandah  of 
my  hostess's  pretty  house,  and  looked  over  the 
Driveway  to  the  shining  water  wondering  at  the 
beauty  of  everything.  It  all  seemed  so  serene  and 
nobly  planned,  so  like  a  garden  that  played  at  being 
a  city,  under  the  glamour  of  the  sunset.  That  first 
admiration  has  proved  to  be  one  of  the  few  things 
in  life  I  am  permitted  to  retain  unspoiled;  neither 
42 


A   WOMAN    IN    C 

shingles,  and  oddly  barren  to  a  I. 
chimney  pou.  I  !&<•  the  hospitab! 
offer  me  courts-.  IN  w?te  ABIC.  I  feel  I  am  in  a  land 
of  distinctive  chanui* r.  mtf  oof  which  apes  a  civil- 
i£ciiio»  it  cannot  yet  atford,  i*  has  the  dignity  of 
hard-won  prosperity,  am-  thcu;  th,*t  there  is  no 
greater  in  the  world.  I  am  taken  tr-  ^r  the  Exhibi- 
tion by  earnest  friends,  who  strive  in  *v*ry  way  to 
rub  the  gloss  off  my  English  ignorance  erf  Canada 
and  its  resources,  till  I  grow  so  weary  with  admiring 
that  we  leave  the  vegetables,  poultry,  pigs  and  the 

l!6aiedonia  Springs  Hoter1 

Driveway,  the  most  charming  feature  of  Ottawa;  it 

f  the  things  v^  ^ 

when  I  return  to  grey  London,  with  its  perspective 
of  young  trees  turning  red  and  yellow,  as  I  have 
seen  it  so  often  in  the  evening  before  the  stars  had 
driven  away  the  sunset.  I  shall  remember  it  because 
the  first  night  I  arrived  I  sat  out  on  the  verandah  of 
my  hostess's  pretty  house,  and  Iwikcd  over  the 
Driveway  to  the  shining  water  -•-  .  the 

beauty  of  even  thing.  It  all  sermcri  ss  serene  and 
nobly  planned,  so  like  a  garden  •  *  at  being 

a  city,  under  the  glamout  of  the  soa.iH.    That  first 
admiration  has  proved  to  be  one  <>*  flit  few  things 
in  life  I  am  permitted  to  retain  un»f.*oilcd ;   neither 
42 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

daylight  nor  sunset,  moonlight  nor  starlight  has 
made  me  lose  or  modify  my  first  keen  pleasure  in 
beautiful  Ottawa.  ,\ 

I  never  appreciated  the  vastness  of  Canada  until 
I  went  to  inspect  the  Experimental  Farm  at  Ottawa. 
Then  I  realized,  almost  with  violence,  the  great  area 
of  our  colony,  for  here  was  a  very  large  farm  run 
with  an  expensive  staff  for  purely  experimental 
reasons;  an  enterprise  which  must  involve  a  con- 
siderable yearly  outlay,  which  yet  is  continually 
justified  by  the  excellence  of  its  work  and  the 
certainty  of  its  usefulness.  The  farm  at  the  official 
capital  is  the  head  farm  of  the  system,  the  under 
farms  scattered  about  the  Dominion  are  demonstra- 
tive rather  than  tutelary.  The  Government  supports 
nine  of  them  altogether,  for  besides  this  one  there  is 
one  in  Nova  Scotia  for  the  three  maritime  provinces, 
two  in  Saskatchewan,  two  in  Alberta,  one  in  Mani- 
toba, one  in  British  Columbia,  and  one  at  Lethbridge 
for  irrigation  and  dry  farming  experiments.  Here 
the  farmers  send  their  problems  and  difficulties;  here 
the  anxious  settler  sends  his  drinking  water  for 
analysis;  here  the  resources  of  the  country  are 
weighed,  considered  and  reported  upon  by  skilled 
experts.  I  am  taken  through  one  or  two  depart- 
ments in  detail,  and  learn  in  this  way  some  of  the 
43 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

work  done  by  the  farm.  A  very  interesting  hour  was 
that  I  spent  in  the  company  of  Dr.  Charles  Saunders, 
who  is  the  cereal  expert ;  he  is  at  present  working  to 
discover  the  best  grain  for  the  west  provinces. 
There  are  new  sections  of  the  country  continually 
being  opened  up  which  are  not  thoroughly  under- 
stood, for  these  he  breeds  and  tests  grains  untiringly. 
So  much  of  the  prosperity  of  Canada  depends  on 
her  grain  export  that  it  is  of  the  first  importance  that 
the  highest  standard  be  maintained.  The  price  of 
wheat  in  Canada  is  the  price  of  wheat  in  Liverpool, 
less  the  cost  of  getting  it  there,  and  the  best  quality 
only  must  find  its  way  to  Liverpool  unless  prices  are 
to  drop.  "  Dr.  Charles  "  has  his  own  flour-mill  on 
the  farm,  and  when  he  has  bred  a  new  variety  of 
wheat  he  proceeds  to  grind  and  bake  it,  so  that  he 
may  be  sure  of  its  goodness  or  badness  from  every 
point  of  view.  The  patience  needed  for  his  work 
is  extraordinary;  it  takes  from  three  to  six  years  to 
establish  a  type,  provided  he  does  not  observe  more 
than  half-a-dozen  different  characters.  From  the 
baker's  point  of  view  the  best  wheat  is  that  which 
possesses  the  power  to  make  a  big  loaf,  chiefly  con- 
sisting of  air,  a  large  percentage  of  water,  and  very 
little  flour.  To  combine  these  excellent  qualities 
with  a  wheat  as  near  as  possible  to  the  "  Red  Fife," 
44 


A  WOMAN   FARMER 

which  is  the  standard  wheat,  but  one  which  will 
ripen  earlier  is  what  "Dr.  Charles"  is  now  trying 
for.  In  barley  the  principal  problem  is  to  get  stiff 
straw,  and  in  oats  to  get  one  that  will  thrash  out 
clean  from  the  hull.  In  fact,  he  is  aiming  at  getting 
hull-less  oats.  When  a  new  type  is  secured  that  pro- 
mises well,  small  bags  of  the  grain  for  seeding  pur- 
poses are  sent  out  free  of  charge  to  the  farmers. 
Some  of  the  best  results  have  been  obtained  from 
crosses  with  the  wheat  from  India. 

From  the  austere  man  who  melts  into  enthusiasm 
directly  he  touches  his  grain  specimens  I  am  taken 
to  see  Dr.  Fletcher,  the  entomologist,  and  the  vital 
importance  of  his  branch  of  work  in  a  fruit  and 
corn  growing  country  even  my  urban  intelligence 
can  detect.  Here  battle  is  waged  against  parasites, 
blight,  locusts,  and  every  imagined  insect  or  grub 
which  destroys  or  harms  useful  products.  Like  his 
fellow-workers,  Dr.  Fletcher  is  heart  and  soul  in  his 
work.  "Here,"  he  says,  "is  a  most  useful  beast; 
this  is  the  parasite  of  the  wheat  aphis,  which  is  the 
great  plague  of  wheat;  the  food  supply  is  too 
irregular  for  us  to  cultivate  it,  as  fortunately  the 
wheat  aphis  does  not  appear  every  season,  but  the 
knowledge  of  this  parasite  is  a  valuable  factor  in 
allaying  anxiety.  A  farmer  distracted  with  fear  sent 
45 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

us  samples  of  grain  the  other  day  which  were 
obviously  infected  with  dreaded  plague.  On  close 
examination  we  found  our  friend  and  ally,  the 
parasite,  also  in  possession,  and  we  were  able  to 
assure  him  his  crop  was  perfectly  safe."  As  he 
talks  the  Doctor  shows  me  creature  after  creature  of 
every  degree  of  grub  hideousness,  from  the  pink- 
horned  ash-tree  sphinx  to  the  loathsome  vineyard 
caterpillar.  "  It  is  our  business,"  he  explains,  "  to 
become  aware  of  the  time  of  danger  to  each  crop 
from  each  grub."  l 

I  leave  him  looking  at  his  lunar  moths,  absorbed 
and  content.  I  think  the  happiest  men  and  women 
in  the  world  are  the  workers  who  love  their  work. 

Dr.  Saunders,  senior,  is  waiting  for  me,  dressed 
all  in  furstfike  a  woolly  bear,  with  humorous,  gentle 
eyes.  He  is  taking  me  to  the  apple-house,  and  tells 
me  on  the  way  that  his  cross  apples  are  increasing 
in  size.  He  is  trying  to  breed  out  an  apple  that  will 
stand  the  north-western  cold.  It  is  being  tried  with 
a  cross  of  the  hardy  little  crab-apple  variety,  and 
results  are  promising  well.  One  variety,  indeed, 
grew  double  as  big  this  year,  which  is  highly  satis- 
factory; he  tells  me  too  that  one  or  two  trees  lived 

1  Since  that  visit  Dr.  Fletcher  has  died.     The  work  of  this 
famous  entomologist  has  been  of  inestimable  value  to  Canada. 
46 


A   WOMAN 

•  the  winter  at  Indian  Head,  and  he  will  have 
:.k  and  tested  as  soon  as  pos- 
Mse,  and  I  spend 
names  and  habits  of  cour: 

if    Canadian    apples. 

nauve  bloom ;  "  Wmter 

>oef"     si.  Provence     rose; 

a  little  dry  but  a  good  traveller,  and 

dream  of  all  good  in  an  apple — red  and 

vhite  of  flesh,  embarrassir  ;h  a 

its  name  and 

Experimental  Farm  at  Brandon 
r?k  of  that  a 
Then  we  pass  o          pw  47 

)d  in  them,  they  have 
nd  each  te^ 
pass  ir,t  and 

at  the  stout  hogs, 
or  fourtv 

. 

11  one  hundred  and  fih 
;ar  for  breed; 

nd  best  liker! 
ly  aesthetic  point  of  view  j 
for  the  chubby   Berkshire  <,vny 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

through  the  winter  at  Indian  Head,  and  he  will  have 
them  grafted  on  stock  and  tested  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. We  arrive  at  the  apple-house,  and  I  spend 
half-an-hour  learning  names  and  habits  of  countless 
fine  established  varieties  of  Canadian  apples. 
"  Winter  Rose,"  with  its  mauve  bloom ;  "  Winter  St. 
Lawrence,"  streaked  like  a  Provence  rose; 
"  Fameuse,"  a  little  dry  but  a  good  traveller,  and 
one — a  dream  of  all  good  in  an  apple — red  and 
shiny,  white  of  flesh,  embarrassingly  juicy,  with  a 
fine  aroma  and  full,  rich  flavour.  I  ask  its  name  and 
learn  it  is  the  "  Red  Mackintosh."  I  shall  always 
think  of  that  apple  as  the  ideal. 

Then  we  pass  on  to  glance  at  the  big  Clydes  and 
the  grades  with  Percheron  blood  in  them,  they  have 
just  come  into  the  stables  and  each  teamster  is 
grooming  his  own  team.  We  pass  into  Babel  and 
out  again  after  a  glimpse  at  the  stout  hogs.  During 
twelve  or  fourteen  years  the  farm  has  bred  up  the 
length  of  body  in  swine  above  the  standard,  and 
now  they  sell  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred 
pigs  a  year  for  breeding  only.  The  "  Improved  Large 
Yorkshire  "  are  the  hardiest  and  best  liked,  though 
from  a  purely  aesthetic  point  of  view  I  confess  to  a 
preference  for  the  chubby  Berkshires  and  tawny 
Tamworths.  In  the  byre  I  learn  a  new  thing.  I 
47 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

thought  I  knew  every  breed  of  cattle  in  the  British 
Empire,  but  here  is  one  I  never  heard  of,  the 
"Canadians."  They  are  a  distinct  variety,  bred 
from  the  Normandy  cattle,  imported  by  the  first 
settlers  two  hundred  years  ago.  There  is  a  look  of 
Jersey  in  the  black  muzzles  and  points,  but  they  are 
bigger  and  darker;  there  is  a  good  deal  of  red  in 
their  tone;  here  and  there,  but  seldom,  a  patch  of 
grey-white;  they  are  hardy  and  have  a  heavy  coat. 
They  are  bigger  than  the  Ayrshires,  yielding  milk 
of  the  Ayrshire  type,  but  richer  and  greater  in 
quantity.  Unlike  the  Ayrshires  they  are  built  on 
the  dairy  model.  Herds  of  pure  Ayrshires  and 
Guernseys  make  the  byre  a  deeply  interesting  de- 
partment. I  learn  of  the  experiments  in  feed  con- 
ducted to  discover  which  gives  the  greatest  yield  of 
milk;  experiments  of  feed  on  the  steers  to  discover 
the  quickest  and  most  profitable  methods  of  fatten- 
ing. Dr.  Saunders  drives  me  round  the  arboretum 
where  experiments  are  conducted  on  the  growth, 
habit  and  use  of  trees  and  where  hedges  are  grown 
in  every  sort  of  material ;  they  are  wanted  for  wind- 
breaks in  the  West.  And  so  it  is  in  every  depart- 
ment, the  experts  are  engaged  in  solving  the  riddles 
of  the  settlers,  in  making  it  easy  to  obtain  the  best 
results  from  the  land,  and  the  farmers  receive  all 
48 


A  WOMAN   FARMER 


the  benefits  of  the  experimental  farms  free  of  charge. 
I  leave,  deeply  conscious  that  in  such  men  and  such 
work  lie  the  real  strength  and  the  great  future  of 
Canada.  In  this  tireless  research  is  hidden  rewards 
beyond  the  dreams  of  noisy  oratory  or  bubble  fame ; 
rewards  which  descend  on  children's  children  and 
benefit  nations.  The  agricultural  education  of 
Canada  is  a  thing  to  rejoice  in — the  Dominion 
Government  has  webbed  its  people  in  a  vast  col- 
legiate system.  It  begins  with  the  rural  schodls, 
dictated  by  the  eminent  educationalist  Professor 
James  Robertson.  He  set  it  forth  that  "  any  system 
of  education  which  aims  at,  or  proposes  to  help  the 
people  who  work  on  the  farms,  must  be  a  system 
that  will  help  the  elementary  schools,  where  the 
future  men  and  women  of  the  farm  will  get  their 
formal  education." 

The  rural  schools  are  fast  giving  place  to  the 
consolidated  schools,  where  agriculture  is  a  promi- 
nent study.  To  supply  qualified  teachers  for  this 
reform  in  education,  Sir  .William  MacDonald  pro- 
vided the  Ontario  Agricultural  College  at  Guelph 
with  two  institutions  for  the  special  purpose  of  edu- 
cating teachers.  In  nearly  every  province  is  to  be 
found  a  large  Agricultural  College  of  which  the  one 

at  Guelph  is  the  chief.      The   Farmers'   Institute 
D  49 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

and  the  Experimental  Farms  just  described  will  give 
help  in  the  vast  network  of  agricultural  education 
which  overspreads  Canada. 

The  same  day  that  I  see  the  Experimental  Farm 
my  friends,  zealous  for  my  education,  take  me  from 
the  farm  to  a  great  timber-yard,  but  only  a  haze 
of  impressions  is  left  on  a  brain  already  worn  with 
wonder !  It  is  a  visit  to  be  taken  seriously,  for 
timber  has  made  much  of  the  wealth  in  Canada. 
First,  we  go  through  a  paper  factory,  where  wood  is 
made  into  paper,  and  we  acquire  a  fogged  picture 
of  whirling  wheels  and  relentless  energy,  of  sawdust, 
pulp,  and  noise — incoherent,  but  very  impressive. 
From  that  into  the  timber-yard  is  like  going  from 
the  hot  room  to  the  hottest  in  a  Turkish  bath.  Here 
a  demoniacal  energy  and  intelligence  possesses 
everything.  The  tree-trunks,  rushing  down  the 
water-slides,  toil  through  a  succession  of  frantic 
toilettes,  which  finally  leave  of  them  only  sawdust, 
match-wood  or  planks.  We  stand,  fascinated, 
watching  iron  hands  of  fiendish  cunning  seize  the 
great  trees,  and  arrange  them  before  the  terrible 
whirling  blades  that  wait  to  devour;  we  see  the 
trolley  holding  the  tree  pass  up  and  down  before  the 
saw,  and  with  every  run  a  plank  is  cut  as  easily  and 
neatly  as  if  it  were  bread. 
50 


A   WOMAN   FARMER 

Big  saws,  little  saws,  in  fact,  all  kinds  of  saws 
there  are ;  all  whirling,  all  noisy,  all  ready  to  devour 
the  men  who  work  them  as  readily  as  the  sweet- 
smelling  wood,  which  will  never  bear  green  leaves 
again  or  grow  towards  the  sun.  Sick  and  dizzy  with 
the  clatter,  we  pass  over  to  the  Chaudiere  Falls, 
which  appear  as  a  very  Niagara  to  an  English  eye ; 
a  chaos  of  wild  waters  pouring  eternally  over  the 
rocks,  and  making  a  picturesque  landmark  for 
visitors  to  Parliament  Hill.  We  stand  upon  a  wet, 
worn  plank  that  sways  unpleasantly  beneath  the 
feet,  and  get  headaches  with  the  noise  of  the  Falls 
and  the  nervous  excitement  of  all  we  have  seen  in 
the  lumber-yard. 

Beyond  the  city  rise  the  Laurentian  Mountains. 
They  are  pointed  out  on  the  way  back,  silhouetted 
against  an  amethyst  sky.  I,  for  one,  look  at  them 
with  interest.  I  am  going  to  them,  to  stay  in  a 
little  wooden  house,  with  a  butter-nut  tree  near  by, 
where  the  blue-birds  build  in  spring.  I  shall  stand 
among  the  pines  and  hear  the  cow-bells  ring  when 
the  cattle  come  down  the  valley  at  milking-time. 
I  look,  a  little  wistfully;  cities  are  good,  but  green 
aisles  are  better,  and  silence  best  of  all. 


CHAPTER    III 

IN    QUEBEC 

THERE  are  little  pink  clouds  round  the  moon, 
which  is  as  yet  only  a  silver  rim.  On  either  side  of 
the  rough  road  stretches  rich  land,  heavy  with  corn 
and  pasture.  We  are  riding  into  the  West.  Up 
against  the  crimson  sky  rises  the  bold  outline  of 
King's  Mountain  :  that  is  where  I  am  going,  for  a 
week  among  the  cedars  and  the  pines. 

I  am  looking  forward  to  these  next  few  days  with 
unfeigned  joy,  for  they  are  to  be  spent  with  people 
whom  I  know,  in  their  country  home;  out  of  the 
frigidities  of  officialdom  into  the  warm  heart  of 
friends.  I  must  pause  here  and  now  to  explain  away 
a  carping  sound  in  that  phrase  "  frigidities  of  official- 
dom," for  there  never  were  in  all  the  world  kinder 
officials  than  those  over  here.  Wherever  I  go  I  am 
met  with  leniency,  with  abundant  courtesy,  with  a 
concentrated  essence  of  attention.  Only  all  the 
officials  of  all  time  cannot  offer,  with  all  their 
welcomes  pressed  together,  one  tithe  of  the  joy 
52 


QUEBEC 

friend. 

ore  treacherous  still,  lying  loose. 
•n  a  cautious  rein;    where  tfe  can  find  a 
stretch  of  grass  we   canter,   and   the   horses  sniff 
'ily  at  the  piney  wind. 

;  a  tiny  log-cabin :  it  looks  old  an<> 

I  land  that  bears  signs  of 

A  Tiny  Log  Cabin 

J  bush 

thick.     The  fan  ride  win 

;d  point,  saying,     Th 

i  look,  deeply  stirred. 

Her  ive  man  into  the  virgin  w 

it  with  infinite 

it  he 
d  with  moss  or  <,. 

den  is  the 
Bearing  h  .nd  this  fruitful  land  round 

f.    The  broad  fi<  fair  under 

•-•ing  suri  T,  k  bush;  every  inch 

won  by  .hour;    c  t  root 

53 


IN   QUEBEC 

to  be  gathered  from  the  clasp  of  the  hand  of  a 
friend. 

The  road  is  very  rough;  where  it  is  not  inches 
deep  in  dust  it  is  jagged  with  rocky  stones  bedded 
in  the  earth;  or,  more  treacherous  still,  lying  loose. 
We  ride  on  a  cautious  rein;  where  we  can  find  a 
stretch  of  grass  we  canter,  and  the  horses  sniff 
greedily  at  the  piney  wind. 

We  pass  a  tiny  log-cabin :  it  looks  old  and  bat- 
tered. All  round  it  is  land  that  bears  signs  of 
arduous  toil  well  rewarded ;  the  very  fences  are  made 
of  tree-roots,  beyond  the  ploughed  land  the  bush 
grows  thick.  The  farmers  who  ride  with  me  rein 
up  and  point,  saying,  "  There  is  the  log  hut  of  a 
settler."  I  look,  deeply  stirred. 

Here  came  a  brave  man  into  the  virgin  woods; 
here  is  the  very  cabin  he  built  with  infinite  labour  of 
trees  he  himself  cut  down;  the  interstices  of  it  he 
caulked  with  moss  or  oakum,  and  then  caked  with 
mud  to  stand  the  weather.  The  tiny  garden  is  the 
first  clearing  he  made,  and  this  fruitful  land  round 
his  rough  homestead  is  the  kingdom  he  has  carved 
himself.  The  broad  fields  that  shine  so  fair  under 
the  westering  sun  were  once  thick  bush;  every  inch 
has  been  won  by  earnest  labour;  each  great  root 
in  the  fence  of  roots  means  an  achievement  of  worth, 
53 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

/  for  after  the  trees  are  felled  there  are  the  roots  to  be 
taken  out  before  the  land  can  be  ploughed,  a  very 
troublesome  job.  I  wonder  if  some  loved  woman 
came  with  him  to  his  work;  if  she  helped  him 
V  gladly,  and  felt  with  him  the  primal  joy  of  good 
land  earned  by  toil.  I  wonder  if  she  stood  with 
him  and  watched  the  oats  and  corn  come  to  harvest, 
and  if  they  had  children  who  were  happy  in  their 
heritage.  Or  I  wonder  if  he  worked  alone  without 
a  mate ! 

I  turn  and  glance  furtively  at  my  companions; 
they  ride  straight  on,  the  little  log  hut  does  not  rouse 
them  to  any  great  interest.  It  spells  work  and  re- 
ward— all  life  here  spells  that,  and  they  take  both 
for  granted.  The  tiller  of  the  soil  owns  the  soil, 
X  and  the  harder  he  works  the  better  he  is  repaid. 
The  blood  of  pioneers  runs  in  the  veins  of  these 
men,  and  they  would  not  understand  if  I  told  them 
how  some  savage  instinct  in  me  thrills  and  is  pleased 
with  the  order  of  their  lives.  I  remember  the  squalor, 
disease  and  alcoholism  of  English  cities,  and  I  look 
^  at  these  narrow-minded,  broad-chested,  hard-work- 
ing men  with  unstinted  respect.  Not  entire  admira- 
tion, I  admit,  for  the  cultured  brain  is  yet  to  come — 
the  love  of  beauty  in  all  its  forms  lies  dormant. 
When  they  find  time  to  tend  their  brains  as  well  as 
54 


IN   QUEBEC 

they  do  their  farms  and  factories,  they  will  make  a 
splendid  race. 

The  road  winds  on;  now  we  begin  to  climb  out 
of  the  valley ;  a  scarlet  tanager  flies  across  our  path 
like  a  patch  of  the  sunset ;  the  air,  which  has  vibrated 
all  day  with  the  cry  of  grasshoppers,  grows  moment- 
arily still.  Very  soon  the  crickets  and  frogs  will 
sing  evensong,  but  for  a  little  space  there  seems  a 
lull.  The  light  is  growing  quickly  less;  there  are 
no  twilights  to  speak  of  at  this  time  of  year;  night 
descends  like  a  drop-scene  and  hides  the  beautiful 
stage  of  the  world.  A  cat-bird  mews  from  the  bush ; 
the  sumac-trees,  with  their  chocolate  plumes  grown 
eerily  black,  look  like  sentinel  hearses ;  the  Michael- 
mas daisies,  which  have  hung  their  pale  purple  mist 
beside  our  path  all  the  time,  begin  to  glower,  ghostly 
wan ;  the  evening  primrose  distils  fine  essences ;  our 
horses  sniff  the  end  of  their  journey  and  toss  their 
heads.  We  pass  a  wayfarer;  he  is  lighting  the  lan- 
tern which  will  be  his  only  street-lamp;  we  are  on 
the  mountain  road,  away  on  our  right  twinkle  a  few 
lights.  A  star  glitters  ahead  of  us ;  it  grows  bigger ; 
it  is  a  star  bowered  in  trees.  The  farmers,  in  whose 
care  I  have  ridden,  point  to  it :  "  There  is  the  house." 

A  few  more  moments  and  I  am  at  a  wooden  house, 
built  on  piles  among  maple-trees.  A  happy  voice 
55 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

breaks  upon  my  ears  :  "  We  thought  you  were  never 
coming."  I  pass  through  the  wire-netting  doors  to  a 
wonderful  supper  of  fruit,  corn-cakes  and  maple 
syrup;  then  I  sleep  gloriously  in  the  mountain  air. 

It  is  hard  to  understand  how  people  suffer  starva- 
tion in  England  when  there  is  this  great  Colony 
crying  for  clever,  industrious  workers.  We  walk  out 
in  the  bright  morning  sunshine,  and  wild  raspberries 
are  brushed  to  the  earth  by  our  skirts  as  we  pass,  the 
crab-apple  tree  is  bowed  down  with  its  load  of  fruit; 
the  beech-nuts  and  the  butter-nut  trees  give  proof  of 
their  plenty  in  the  chattering  of  squirrel  and  chip- 
munk; the  stone  we  stumble  over  is  a  beautiful 
green-and-pink  thing  of  crystals;  it  is  phosphate — 
invaluable  for  manure ;  near  it  lies  a  little  sheet  of 
yellow  glass.  I  pick  it  up.  "  It  looks  like  the  talc 
they  face  some  of  the  motor  veils  with  in  the  old 
country,"  I  muse.  "  It  is  Arnica,"  answers  my  pretty 
hostess;  "there  seems  to  be  a  vein  of  it  wherever 
that  pink  rock  lies.  The  ground  is  full  of  it." 

One  day  we  go  to  the  top  of  King's  Mountain, 
and  look  across  the  Ottawa  River  to  the  miles  of 
cornland  and  pasture,  wrested  from  luxuriant  bush 
which  gives  such  a  pleasing  aspect  to  Canadian 
scenery.  Away  on  our  left  the  Parliament  Build- 
ings brood  over  the  capital  city.  We  can  dimly  see 

56 


IN   QUEBEC 

them  through  a  blue  haze  of  smoke;  there  on  the 
flank  of  the  mountain  lies  a  pretty  mere,  shaped 
like  a  tennis  racket,  and  dotted  with  boats  and  boat- 
houses.  On  the  way  down  we  meet  a  young  man 
and  woman  of  such  typical  beauty  that  I  am  roused  y 
to  interest.  She  is  a  supple,  well-built  creature,  with 
red-brown  hair  drawn  demurely  back  Pompadour- 
wise  from  her  brow ;  her  eyes  are  gentle  and  set  far 
apart ;  her  mouth  is  compassionate ;  the  man  beside 
her  is  tall  and  slim,  with  the  long,  dark  face  and 
stormy  eyes  which  go  in  this  country  with  a  trace  of 
Indian  blood.  He  is  extraordinarily  handsome ;  they 
make  a  very  pleasant  pair.  They  walk  up  the  long 
green  aisle  of  trees,  and  the  girl  carries  a  large  bunch 
of  maidenhair  and  wild  orchids,  which  she  had 
gathered  on  the  way  up  the  mountain.  "  They  look 
like  a  bridal  pair  coming  to  some  primeval  altar,"  I 
say.  "  Are  they  betrothed  ?  "  My  hostess  looks  at 
them  kindly.  "  No,  poor  children,  they  would  like 
to  be,  but  her  people  will  not  permit  it,  as  he  is  a 
Roman  Catholic."  I  am  saddened  by  this  glimpse 
of  strong  cross-currents  in  the  seeming  even  flow  of 
the  country  life ;  and  I  realize  again  with  force  how 
powerful  is  the  French-Canadian  element.  Thej/ 
shores  of  the  Ottawa  River  beyond  Lake  Deschenes 
are  lined  with  rich  homesteads,  owned  by  Mac- 
57 


A    WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

donalds  and  Macgregors  and  every  kind  of  Mac, 
who  are  all  Roman  Catholics,  and  only  speak 
French ! 

Such  a  housewife  as  Nan  is,  to  be  sure  !  "  A  place 
for  everything,  and  everything  in  its  place  "  is  never 
spoken,  but  always  practised.  After  a  day  or  two  I 
myself  develop  strange  leanings  to  order,  and  am 
pleased  beyond  expression  to  find  a  match  with 
its  head  off  under  the  upturned  glass  on  my  wash- 
stand.  I  tidy  it  up  neatly,  wondering  at  Meg;  I 
remember  having  spied  it  before  and  leaving  it  for 
Meg  or  Aunt  Phoebe  to  spread  their  passionate  tidi- 
ness upon.  At  lunch  I  am  swept  by  a  domestic 
monsoon. 

"  Phoebe  dear,  you  must  have  dusted  it  off." 
"  I  don't  think  so,  my  dear,  no,  I  don't  think  so." 
Meg  looks  at  slim  little  old  Phoebe  with  pity.  The 
quavering  voice  repeats  denial.    Such  a  musical  old 
voice,  sweet  and  tremulous;  it  belongs  to  the  ivory 
face  and  beautiful  hair.     I  will  not  mind  being  old 
if  I  can  have  such  soft  white  hair,  all  garnered  into  a 
silken  knob. 

"  No,  I  saw  it  and  left  it.    I  am  sure  I  did.    But 

my  memory  is  going.    I  don't  think  I  dusted  it  off." 

"  It "  proves  to  be  the  match.     A  housewifely 

device  of  Nan's  to  drain  the  tooth-glass  dry.     I 

58 


art*  yd  sllteO 


A 

donalds  and  Macgregors  and  every  kind  of  Mac, 
who  are  ail  K  --j;:  Catiiolics,  and  only  speak 
French  I 

Such  a  bot^trwri^  *»  Nan  is,  to  be  sure  !  "  A  place 
for  everything;  an<!  trvtmhicg  in  its  place  "  is  never 
spoken,  but  always  {..r.*<-?.-*ed.  After  a  day  or  two  I 
myseli  develop  strange  Ua&FQgs  to  order,  and  am 
pleased  beyond  expression  u»  lird  »  match  with 
its  head  off  under  the  upturned  glass  on  my  wash- 
stand.  I  tidy  it  up  neatly,  wondering  at  Meg;  I 
remember  having  spied  it  before  and  leaving  it  for 
Meg  or  Aunt  Phoebe  to  spread  their  passionate  tidi- 
Cattle  by  the  Pond  at  Caledonia  Springs 

monsoon. 

"  Phoebe  dear,  you  mififPhSve  dusted  it  <*£.* 
"  I  don't  think  so,  my  dear,  no,  I  don't  think  so." 
Meg  looks  at  slim  little  old  Phoebe  with  pity.  The ' 
quavering  voice  repeats  denial.    Such  a  musical  old 
voice,  sweet  and  tremulous;  it  belongs. to  the  ivory 
face  and  beautiful  hair     I  will  not  mind  being  old 
if  I  can  have  such  soft  white  hair,  5*S  garnered  into  a 
silken  knob. 

"  No,  I  saw  it  and  left  it.    !  xm  sure  I  did.    But 

my  memory  is  going.    1  doa't  t&r£  I  dusted  it  off." 

"It"  proves  to  be  th«  rn^fc      A  housewifely 

device  of  Nan's  to  drain  th?    tooth-glass  dry;     I 

58 


IN   QUEBEC 

behead  another  and  put  it  back  under  the  rim  of  my 
glass,  full  of  a  remorseful  knowledge  that  any 
attempt  to  tidy  in  this  household  is  painting  the 
lily,  perfuming  the  rose. 

They  work  unostentatiously  but  ceaselessly,  these 
two  dear  women,  at  the  daily  grind  of  cooking,  wash- 
ing up,  dusting,  sweeping.  Servants  are  hard  to  get  in  \ 
Canada,  and  when  found  very  expensive,  ill-trained 
and  independent.  Every  clever  good-looking  woman 
who  comes  over  marries  almost  at  once.  The  wives  y 
of  Canada  seem  to  take  it  for  granted  that  they  shall 
be  mistress  and  servant  in  one,  and  very  excellently 
they  do  their  work.  The  days  wear  by  in  peaceful, 
happy  dreaming.  I  sit  beneath  the  maple-tree  where 
cat-birds  mew  and  squirrels  flash  from  bough  to 
bough,  trying  to  unravel  a  tangle  of  notes  and 
plan  a  more  definite  method  of  record  for  the  rest 
of  my  journey.  Meg  and  Phoebe  slip  noiselessly 
about  the  house,  and  at  eventide,  with  a  great  hub- 
bub of  rejoicing,  we  go  along  the  road  to  meet 
Gaston,  who  comes  in  every  day  from  his  office. 
"  Has  he  brought  the  can  of  maple  syrup,"  we 
wonder,  "  and  has  he  a  letter  from  Guy  " — the  singer 
son  beloved  and  only,  in  New  York. 

After  dinner  we  all  wander  round  the  moor  look- 
ing at  the  blue  of  the  juniper  bushes,  laughing  when 
59 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

we  pass  the  little  marsh  where  I  was  to  be  taken  to 
see  the  flags  blooming  if  I  were  not  satisfied  with 
the  flowers  in  Canada !  There  are  no  flags  now, 
those  are  all  over,  but  the  frogs  croon  pleasantly,  and 
a  wealth  of  later  flowers  ridicules  my  old  complaint. 
We  wander  away  into  the  bush  and  look  at  a  neigh- 
bouring farmer's  mica  mine ;  he  has  probably  found 
a  fortune  on  his  land,  the  land  he  has  been  tilling, 
and  his  fathers  before  him,  content  to  make  a  modest 
livelihood.  He  is  not  at  all  hysterical  about  the 
discovered  ore;  he  works  it,  with  his  sons  to  help,  in 
odd  hours,  and  not  on  an  extensive  scale.  In  be- 
tween the  work  necessary  to  keep  the  established  farm 
in  good  working  order  they  blast  away  the  pink  stone, 
and  take  out  the  shining  layers  of  crackling  stuff. 
Even  working  so,  at  such  comparatively  trifling  cost 
of  time,  they  took  out  a  load  last  week  which  sold  for 
1700  dollars  (^340).  It  is  a  sane  and  sensible  way 
to  make  the  most  of  the  property.  If  the  mica  fails 
there  is  the  farm,  but  if  the  vein  is  as  rich  as  it 
promises  there  will  be  the  accumulated  money  gained 
by  this  slow  work  to  finance  bigger  operations  by 
and  by.  We  stand  at  the  edge  of  the  pit  and  look 
down  at  its  glistening  sides.  There  is  great  silence 
in  the  bush,  no  one  is  at  work  here  to-day;  Gaston 
is  in  his  happy  hunting  mood,  and  chatters  delight- 
So 


IN  "QUEBEC 

fully  of  his  adventures  with  moose  and  caribou. 
While  I  listen  I  handle  his  gun  with  reverence ;  he 
has  it  for  sure — it  is  early,  but  bears  have  been 
known  to  come  down  earlier  from  the  mountains. 
As  we  go  back  through  the  sudden  dusk  with  Aunt 
Phoebe  flitting  like  a  pale  night  moth  before  us,  I 
wonder  how  I  can  ever  tell  in  whatsoever  words  the 
beauty  of  this  lovely  country,  the  romantic  simplicity 
of  its  life. 

There  is  a  little  sadness  in  my  wondering.  To- 
morrow is  Saturday,  and  on  Monday  I  take  the  west-  X 
ward  track  of  my  journey.  I  hate  to  leave,  and  tell 
them  so.  Gaston  cheers  me  up  by  saying  Saturday  is 
a  holiday,  so  he  will  not  go  into  the  city  to-morrow, 
and  promising  to  take  me  for  a  walk. 

"  To-morrow."  Gaston  is  in  his  tiresome  mood,  or 
at  least  Meg  says  he  is.  He  wanders  about  the  kitchen 
talking  politics,  and  she  says  they  are  no  relation  to 
jam.  I  am  trying  to  write  on  the  verandah;  the 
"  Conditions  of  Canada  from  a  Woman's  Point  of 
View"  mingle  with  the  sounds  that  creep  through 
the  wire-netted  door.  Gaston  is  dogmatizing  about 
the  "  communal  assets,"  whatever  they  are,  and  Meg 
is  punctuating  his  theories  with  "  two  Ibs."-  -"  three 
lbs."--"how  many  pounds  will  three  times  three- 
quarters  make? "  As  his  voice  sinks  into  a  judicial 
61 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

drone  I  hear  her  declare  in  exasperation  that  she  has 
forgotten  how  much  sugar  is  already  in  the  pot.  A 
thrill  of  sympathy  urges  me  into  the  fray. 

"  Take  me  for  that  walk,  Gaston,"  I  beg.  "  Let 
us  see  if  Dandy's  apples  are  fit  to  pick !  " 

We  leave  Meg  troubled,  like  Martha,  about  many 
things,  and  start  forth  on  the  mountain  road.  With 
our  faces  to  the  sunset  he  forgets  politics  and  talks 
delightfully  about  golden  orioles,  scarlet  tanagers, 
cherry-birds  and  brown  threshers — never  was  such 
an  observer  of  the  quiet,  sweet  ways  of  Nature, 
never  was  a  man  less  inclined  to  speak  of  what  he 
knows.  We  dawdle  along,  stopping  now  and  then 
to  "pop"  the  seed-vessels  of  the  wild  orchids,  or 
coax  a  squirrel  to  chatter  from  his  leafy  porch.  We 
are  going  to  admire  Dandy's  orchard,  the  best  in  the 
country-side,  I  am  told,  and  when  I  see  it  I  can  well 
believe  it — an  apple-orchard  in  the  spring  is  a  lovely 
sight  indeed,  but  it  has  its  merits  in  the  autumn.  As 
we  draw  near  Jack  spies  a  tuft  of  hair  in  a  barbed 
wire  fence,  and  thereupon  sets  up  such  a  frantic 
whimpering  that  his  master  guesses  he  has  smelt 
bear. 

"  It  must  be  pretty  fresh,"  he  adds,  watching  the 
antics  of  the  dog,  who  is  sniffing  round  in  circles 
and  finally  races  up  the  road.  We  examine  the  tuft, 

and  he  says  it's  bear  all  right. 
62 


:ie  place  for  spor 

;ada 

,d  of  hirr 
land.    O 
train  tht  j.  j — I 

orts  disappro 
would  be  much 

ck.    He  is  tht 

Otto  the  Guide  at  Leanchoil 

r  distance  goes  up  . 

"What's  his  m         **'  k. 

. 

ton  fall. 

er  the  i. 

I  also  g:  hrill 

For  the 
bear;   the  mark  : 

it  the  margir 

• 

^ther  on 


IN   QUEBEC 

"  I  promised  to  send  two  wire-haired  fox  terriers 
to  Otto  the  guide  at  Leanchoil,"  I  say,  brooding  over 
the  scraggy  hair.  "  That's  the  place  for  sport !  I 
can't  think  why  people  don't  come  out  to  Canada 
every  year  and  get  real  shooting,  instead  of  hiring  a 
moor  and  playing  at  it  in  Scotland.  Otto  wants  big 
dogs ;  he  is  going  to  train  them  for  bear-tracking — I 
don't  know  if  I  shall  find  him  what  he  wants." 

Gaston  snorts  disapproval. 

"We  would  be  much  wiser  to  get  beagles  like 
Jack.  He  is  the  kind  for  bear !  " 

My  respect  for  the  little  busybody  yapping  in  the 
far  distance  goes  up  with  a  leap. 

"  What's  his  measure  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  He's  fifteen  inches ;  too  big  for  show,  but  splen- 
did for  work.  He  has  no — 

Suddenly  Gaston  falls  on  hands  and  knees,  and 
grovels  ecstatically  over  the  soft  mud. 

"  By  Jove  !  he's  a  big  fellow.    Look  here." 

I  also  grovel,  and  suffer  an  indescribable  thrill 
at  the  sight  of  the  big  fresh  spoor.  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  am  close  to  bear;  the  mark  is  exactly 
like  the  sketches  that  wander  about  the  margins  of 
Seton-Thompson's  book  in  my  library  in  London. 
I  would  know  it  anywhere — the  flat  heel,  the  break, 
the  spread  claws  further  on.  We  measure  with  a 
stick,  and  Gaston  says  it's  a  good  ten  inches.  We 
63 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

notch  the  stick  to  verify  the  measurement  later,  and 
I  listen  with  all  the  reverence  of  green  inexperience 
while  Gaston  begins  Sherlock-Holmesy  descriptions 
of  the  doings  of  the  bear  within  the  last  few  hours. 
His  keen  eyes  are  shining,  his  interest  is  so  keenly 
centred  on  the  spoor  that  when  Dandy  hails  us  from 
the  orchard,  our  goal  for  so  long,  he  starts  like  a 
frightened  child ! 

"  Here,  you !  "  says  the  voice,  "  come  and  help 
drive.  Have  you  a  gun,  Gaston?  The  dog  is  on 
the  track  of  that  big  fellow." 

Gaston  starts  at  a  run — so  do  I — up  the  road,  into 
the  orchard,  with  the  grasshoppers  flying  tempest- 
uously before  our  feet,  crushing  sweet  odours  from 
juniper  and  wild  asters  in  our  way;  Dandy  has  his 
"303,  and  is  full  of  sympathy  when  he  sees  our  empty 
hands.  He  offers  it  to  Gaston,  who  magnanimously 
says  he  will  beat,  babbling  tales  of  the  damage  his 
orchard  has  lately  sustained  from  the  big  fellow. 
We  try  to  get  another  gun,  but  only  find  a  single  shot 
'22  which  Gaston  sniffs  at,  but  which  I  thankfully 
carry  in  a  pathetic  belief  that  even  a  pop-gun  were 
better  than  nothing.  Away  in  the  bush  Jack  is  giv- 
ing tongue,  and  his  deep  note  is  so  like  the  familiar 
sound  of  an  English  foxhound  that  I  have  a  mental 
picture  of  a  harried  bear  scudding  across  country 
64 


IN   QUEBEC 

with  a  pack  of  one  beagle  scudding  in  the  rear,  and 
ourselves,  a  field  of  three,  scudding  a  long  way 
behind.  A  ridiculous  picture.  It  jostles  in  my 
imagination  as  I  run  beside  Dandy,  and  I  feel  I 
would  hardly  be  surprised  to  see  the  bush  open  out, 
to  find  this  heavy  going  yield  to  the  satin  smooth- 
ness of  Doctor's  stride  over  the  heather  and  furze 
and  bracken  of  far-away  Devonshire  !  We  are  near- 
ing  the  sound — suddenly  I  realize  that  this  moment 
means  neither  heather  nor  fox,  but  bush  and  bear. 
...  I  look  at  Dandy;  he  is  quite  happy,  peering 
earnestly  in  every  direction,  and  listening  atten- 
tively ;  Jack  is  kicking  up  a  fearful  fuss  somewhere 
close — I  stare  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  and  am 
all  at  once  unceremoniously  tugged  to  the  ground. 

"Hide!     Quick!" 

We  crouch  behind  a  shrub — Dandy  examines  his 
gun,  and  I  curse  the  nasty  feeling,  like  toothache, 
which  pervades  the  hiatus  between  ribs  and  hips. 

"  See  where  he  is  ? "  says  my  companion. 
Cautiously  I  look  ahead.  There  is  a  big  black  bear 
shambling  away;  Jack,  in  a  state  of  violent  excite- 
ment, is  making  occasional  darts  at  his  quarters; 
every  now  and  then  the  bear  stands  up  and  lays  back 
his  little  ears,  inviting  the  enemy  to  "  come  on  "  with 
a  snarling  growl  and  an  ugly  display  of  teeth.  As 
65  ' 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

he  gets  away  we  come  out  of  hiding  and  follow  on. 
I  begin  to  realize  the  plan  of  campaign ;  Gaston  has 
gone  round  to  head  the  bear  back  to  us — and  Jack's 
importance  in  the  game  is  great.  The  gallant  little 
chap  knows  perfectly  well  what  he  is  about,  harrying 
and  delaying  the  big  brute,  whose  one  idea  is  to 
shake  off  this  tiresome  pestilence  at  his  heels  and 
retire  up  the  mountain  to  digest  his  stolen  apples. 
With  a  marvellous  regard  for  opportunity  and  dis- 
tance, Jack  snaps  again  and  again  between  knee  and 
heel,  leaping  back  three  or  four  feet  to  safety  after 
each  bite ;  my  blood  warms  with  admiration — this  is 
the  kind  of  dog  for  Otto  the  guide  at  Leanchoil ! 
Suddenly  we  duck  again  behind  a  bush.  The  bear  is 
coming  our  way,  he  has  seen  Gaston.  Dandy  takes 
the  little  '22  from  me  roughly  and  presses  his  gun 
into  my  scared  hands. 

"Wait  till  he  gets  to  the  clear  place  and  rears — 
then  shoot  straight — take  a  fine  sight." 

The  burly  mass  crushing  towards  us  through  the 
undergrowth  swims  for  a  second  in  a  haze  of  terror — 
then  he  rears ;  mechanically  I  aim,  mechanically  fire 
— and  then  push  the  gun  back  to  Dandy.  The  bear 
tosses  his  head  as  though  he  had  been  flicked  in  the 
face  by  a  whip,  and  then  puts  it  down  to  the  ground 
and  turns  a  complete  somersault,  just  as  I  have  seen 
66 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

he  gets  away  we  come  out  of  hiding  and  folio-. 
I  begin  t.n  ft* to  tfe?  plan  of  campaign;  Gaston  has 
gone  routtvi  »•;  h'NKJ  tiw  bear  back  to  us — and  j 
importance  m  tb*  jp&ar  i*  grr^t.    The  gallam 
chap  knows  perfectly  w*  •'«  wb<  f  he  is  about,  harrying 
MA  relaying  the  big  bni.it.  orH^te  one  idea 

off  this  tiresome  p«r*tit<-iuv  at  his  heels  and 
retire  up  the  mountain  to  dtgew  his.  srolen  apples. 
With  a  marvel  Ions  regard  for  opportunity  and  dis 
tance,  Jack  snaps  again  and  again  between  knee  and 
heel,  leaping  back  three  or  four  feet  to  safety  after 

my  hi.  A  Big  Fellow^n  admiration — this 
the  kind  of  dog  for  Otto  the  guide  at  Leanchoil ! 
Suddenly  we  duck  ag*i*» behind  a  bush.    The  b 
coming  our  way,  he  has  seen  Gastoa-     Dandy  takes 
the  little  '22  from  me  roughly  and  presses  his  gun 
into  my  scared  hands. 

"Wait  till  he  gets  to  the  cleat  place  and  rears- 
then  shoot  straight — take  a  few  sight  " 

The  burly  mass  crushing  Mwafd*  t»-  rhrougr 
undergrowth  swims  for  a  s£vou<l  *£  *  kaz^  r>f  terror- 
then  he  rears ;  mechanically  I  aim.  mechanically  fire 
—and  then  push  the  gun  bM%  *»  Ofcftdy.    The  bear 
tosses  his  hr*»d  as  though  *H  fwrtl  He*n  flicked  in  the 
face  by  a  whip>  and  d*^  p*fe  it  4owr  10  the  ground 
and  turns  a  complete  somenafc<m,  just  as  I  have  see 
66 


IN   QUEBEC 

his  performing  brothers  do  in  circuses.  For  one 
swelling  instant  I  fancy  I  have  killed  him — then  he 
comes  straight  for  us,  swift  and  wicked.  At  his  heels 
is  Jack  the  indefatigable.  In  frank  terror  I  turn  to 
flee — he  rears  again,  bleeding  and  furious.  A  ping 
and  a  thud — the  soft  welcome  thud  of  stricken  flesh 
— and  he  kneels  over  slowly,  grudgingly.  Dandy, 
the  wary  old  hunter,  cool  and  deadly  steady,  has 
given  him  the  straight  shot. 

Gaston  comes  up  and  tells  his  adventures  over  the 
corpse,  then  we  tell  ours,  Dandy  politely  offering 
me  the  skin,  which  I  refuse  with  a  heartache — I  know 
very  well  I  have  not  earned  it — I  neither  found,  nor 
drove,  nor  killed  him.  Besides,  it  is  a  very  poor 
skin.  By  and  by  we  drag  him  head  foremost  to  the 
edge  of  the  bush  (not  a  light  task,  as  he  must  weigh 
300  Ibs.),  and  there  we  leave  him  for  Dandy  to  fetch 
with  a  horse  and  cart. 

The  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  mountain  as  we 
turn  towards  home ;  Jack  trots  after  us  with  wagging 
tail  and  weary  lolling  tongue.  As  we  draw  near  we 
see  Meg  smiling  on  the  verandah,  and  in  the  lighted 
kitchen  behind  her  stand  pots  of  jam  in  rows  and 
rows  to  cool. 


I  was  talking  about  Gaston's  bear  to  some  one  on 
E2  67 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

the  tram  one  day,  and  he  said  he  had  heard  a  much 
finer  bear  story  from  a  friend  in  British  Columbia — 
which  I  privately  thought  very  possible — and  he 
said  his  friend's  letter  was  worth  having.  He  sent 
me  a  copy,  and  I  reproduce  it.  Here,  then,  are  two 
bear  stories,  one  in  English  fashion,  one  in  trans- 
atlantic— 

"Well,  Mac,  the  white  ducks  are  quite  plentiful 
at  present,  we  have  four  for  dinner;  the  geese  and 
mallards  are  all  gone.  The  clams  are  quite  plentiful 
too,  so  you  see  we  are  living  on  the  best.  But  what 
I  want  to  tell  you  is  that  you  are  not  a  judge  of  swift 
bears  any  more.  Alfred  and  I  killed  one  the  other 
day  that  was  so  swift  that  high  velocity  is  a  slow 
word  compared  to  that  bear.  I  think  this  one  is  a 
new  breed  that  you  never  studied  about. 

"  You  see  the  kid  and  I  were  out  gathering  a  few 
white  fellows  at  the  head,  and  managed  to  get  a  few, 
when  the  kid  spied  Mr.  Bear,  and  said,  '  See  the 
little  bear  ? '  so  we  rowed  up  to  the  shore,  and  brave 
as  a  lamb  I  gets  out  of  the  boat  and  walks  up  to 
Mr.  Bruin  and  lets  him  have  it  a  couple  of  times  in 
the  face ;  it  was  then  that  he  realized  that  something 
was  going  to  be  doing,  it  did  not  take  long  either. 

"Well,  he  started  in  my  direction,  and  I  had  the 
same  idea  as  he  had,  and  I  started  in  the  same  direc- 
68 


IN   QUEBEC 

tion  (no  chance  for  an  argument),  but  I  was  a  little 
ahead,  and  when  I  started  I  was  on  the  level,  so  I 
had  no  trouble  in  keeping  the  lead,  because  every 
time  I'd  look  back  he  was  just  crawling  out  of  one  of 
the  tracks  I  made,  and  that  would  give  me  a  chance 
to  shoot  again  and  go  on  (brave  boy).  When  we 
got  pretty  close  to  the  water  with  the  race,  the  kid 
saw  things  were  getting  interesting  for  yours  truly, 
and  thought  he'd  make  a  flank  movement  on  the 
enemy;  so  on  he  came  with  the  (hoolet)  run  and 
'22  rifle  in  hand,  and  took  deliberate  aim  and  potted 
Mr.  Bear  square  in  the  eye  and  knocked  it  out  (good 
shot,  eh  !). 

"Well,  the  bear  could  only  see  on  one  side,  and 
he  started  to  circle  (this  is  where  the  speed  is) ;  when 
he  commenced  to  go  around  we  could  see  one  bear, 
after  a  while  two  bears  appeared,  then  three  bears, 
and  after  a  while  they  looked  like  one  big  long  bear. 

"  Well,  at  first  when  he  began  to  circle  it  was  quite 
a  job  to  hit  him  because  we  had  to  shoot  at  the  single 
bear. 

"  But  after  he  looked  like  one  long  bear  all  we  had 
to  do  was  to  shoot  at  the  circle,  and  the  shot  that 
missed  him  on  the  near  side  he  was  always  surely 
around  on  time  to  catch  it  on  the  other  (you  see,  I 
was  using  the  shot-gun  and  fine  shot).  Sometimes  he 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

had    to   side-step    to   keep    from   running   himself 
down. 

"Well,  after  he  ran  for  a  while  the  circle  had  a 
gap  in  it  that  showed  the  weight  of  shot  was  begin- 
ning to  tell,  because  we  certainly  poured  it  into  him ; 
and  when  he  died  we  were  unable  to  take  him  home 
that  night,  so  the  next  morning  the  three  of  us  went 
after  him,  and  were  just  able  to  move  him,  and 
thought  that  too  much  work  and  left  him ;  and  when 
the  tide  came  in  we  took  the  gasoline  launch  Queen 
up  and  run  her  nose  in  the  mud  and  hitched  the 
little  anchor  chain  on  him,  which  was  plenty  strong 
enough,  and  then  we  started  the  gypsy  to  work  and 
hauled  him  in  and  took  him  out  to  deep  water.  Then 
to  skin  him  we  were  going  to  hang  him  on  one  of 
the  davits,  but  when  the  weight  came  on  the  boat  she 
listed  till  the  guard-rail  dipped  water. 

"  Well,  to  take  the  hide  off  the  son-of-a-gun  we  had 
to  use  a  cold  chisel  and  tin  shears  on  account  of  so 
much  lead  in  him.  He's  nice  and  tender  to  eat,  but 
all  the  meat  has  got  to  be  fried  to  get  the  lead  melted 
out  of  it,  and  at  one  frying  of  meat  enough  lead  is 
melted  to  make  a  jig-hook  (you  wouldn't  have  to 
burn  your  ringers  now  melting  lead). 

"  He  was  very  fat,  but  the  fat  is  very  heavy  on  the 
stomach  because  there  is  so  much  lead  mixed  in  it. 
70 


IN   QUEBEC 

"Alfred  has  grown  so  much  since  he  made  the 
famous  shot  that  the  other  day  he  was  going  to  take 
a  swim,  but  couldn't  find  deep  enough  water  in  Port 
Neville  Harbour  to  float  him. 

"Well,  Mac,  if  I  were  to  tell  anybody  else  about 
that  bear  they'd  think  I  was  lying,  but  you  know  me 
too  well  to  even  stop  to  think. 

"  I'll  tell  you  more  about  the  bear  when  I  come 
home ;  give  me  more  time  to  think. 

"  Your  old,  etc." 
#  #  *  #  #  * 

I  like  that  bear  story. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FISHING    ON    STEEL    RIVER 

I  AM  trying  to  do  two  things  at  once,  and  doing 
neither  well.  One  eye  is  fixed  on  the  end  of  the 
avenue  watching  for  "  Jimmy's  "  cart  to  appear,  and 
the  other  is  entertained  with  the  impudence  of  a  chip- 
munk which  is  gambolling  at  my  very  feet,  having 
made  up  his  mind,  after  a  good  deal  of  soul-search- 
ing, that  I  am  a  harmless  by-product  of  literature, 
and  in  no  way  designed  for  his  discomfiture.  My 
host  and  hostess  are  down  at  the  well;  last  week 
they  had  it  cleaned,  and  in  the  process  traces  of 
copper  and  mica  were  discovered ;  every  day,  since 
then,  they  have  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  well,  hunt- 
ing among  the  debris  for  fair-sized  samples  to  be 
sent  away  for  analysis.  I  know  what  they  are  saying, 
though  I  cannot  hear  them — dear  things  !  He  is  tell- 
ing her  of  the  good  time  he  will  give  her  if  they  find 
ore  in  their  land,  and  she  is  saying  he  could  not  give 
her  a  better  one  if  they  had  a  million  dollars  a 
minute.  They  have  been  married  twenty-seven 

years,  and  still  have  the  hearts  of  children.    The  cat- 

72 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

bird  mews  on  from  the  maple  overhead,  down  the 
valley  the  cow-bells  tinkle — the  world  glows  so  still 
and  fair  in  this  dewy  morning-tide  that  if  it  were  not 
selfish  I  could  wish  they  would  find  no  mica,  and  live 
their  Arcadian  life  for  ever  in  this  happy  little  wooden 
house  on  the  mountains.  But  the  soil  is  full  of  phos- 
phates— they  may  easily  find  their  mica;  Canada 
is  teeming  with  undiscovered  riches,  and  the  ro- 
mances of  sudden  wealth  are  very  common. 

I  see  the  pair-horse  rig  coming,  heralded  by  a 
vast  column  of  dust;  there  has  been  no  rain  for  two 
weeks,  and  very  little  before  that,  so  the  heavens 
and  earth  and  very  brooks  seem  to  have  turned  to 
dust.  The  chipmunk  scuttles  frantically  into  his 
underground  nest,  the  geologists  rush  up  from  the 
well,  and  I  kiss  them  with  fervent  good-bye.  I 
scramble  into  the  seat  with  luggage  like  a  barricade 
around  me,  and  set  forth  in  the  pillar  of  dust  for 
Ottawa.  I  am  going  to  catch  the  midday  western 
train,  and  I  am  curious  both  as  to  the  pleasures  or 
otherwise  of  a  long  train  journey  in  this  country. 
We  arrive  at  the  Central  Station  far  too  early,  and  I\ 
spend  the  best  part  of  a  very  hot  hour  studying  a 
poster  issued  by  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  offer- 
ing special  rates  to  harvesters,  and  stating  that 
25,000  are  needed  on  the  western  wheatfields.  Yet  I 
73 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

know  perfectly  well  that  next  winter  in  the  London 
dailies  will  be  raised  the  usual  "  Emigrant's  Bitter 
Y  Cry,"  engineered  by  the  trade-unionists  to  keep  men 
from  coming  out  and  making  labour  cheaper.  We 
shall  read  of  the  destitution  and  suffering  of  Eng- 
lishmen in  Canadian  cities  who  have  been  lured  out 
by  big  promises  and  failed  to  get  work  on  landing ; 
we  shall  be  told  of  this  starving  case  and  that  starv- 
ing case,  but  not  of  the  existence  of  this  poster,  nor 
of  the  high  wages  men  can  earn  who  are  willing  to 
work  on  the  land. 

The  English  emigrant  seems  to  be  generally  an 
urban,  and  it  appears  to  me  that  the  worker  in  cities 
for  the  needs  of  cities  is  likely  to  be  idle  in  a  land 
where  cities  hardly  exist.  If  the  skilled  worker  in 
cities  goes  out  to  a  land  of  few  and  small  cities,  pre- 
pared to  dig  trenches  in  the  streets  rather  than  turn 
himself  back  to  the  soil,  the  mother  of  health  and 
giver  of  wealth,  he  has  small  right  to  a  hearing  when 
he  utters  his  "  bitter  cry."  The  point  should  be  not 
to  ventilate  the  failure  of  the  unfitted  who  have  gone 
to  a  new  country  and  refused  to  adapt  themselves  to 
its  needs  (though  that  is  deplorable  enough),  but  to 
insist  widely  and  tirelessly  on  the  kind  of  immigrant 
likely  to  succeed  in  Canada.  Here  is  this  magnifi- 
vcent  colony  of  ours,  this  land  of  wood  and  water, 
74 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

mountain  and  plain,  crying  for  hands  to  gather  the 
wealth  from  its  thousands  of  miles  of  fruit-bearing, 
ore-bearing,  wheat-bearing,  lumber-bearing  soil,  and 
here  are  the  few  hundreds  of  town-bred  and  trained 
men  who,  when  they  are  put  on  the  farms,  will  not 
stay  there,  raising  the  "  Emigrant's  Bitter  Cry."  It 
gives  one  to  weep  !  It  affects  the  mental  attitude  of 
the  Canadians  to  the  mother  country;  they  are 
beginning  to  judge  of  England  by  the  men  she 
sends  out  who  "will  not  stay  on  the  farms." 

I  have  succeeded  in  growing  very  interested  in 
the  whole  social  problem  that  surges  between  this 
green  poster  and  the  "hunger-marchers"  I  saw  just 
before  I  left  England,  in  Surrey  en  route  for  Lon- 
don— interested  in  the  problems  of  the  noise  and 
fuss  they  raise  in  the  demand  for  work,  and  the 
scorn — the  bitter,  hideous  scorn — with  which  they 
are  regarded  as  workers  here  when  they  do  come 
out — when  the  clang  of  a  great  bell  tells  me  the 
Winnipeg  train  is  coming,  and  I  hurry  off  to  "  check  " 
my  baggage.  Canada  is  far  ahead  of  us  in  luggage 
arrangements,  and  behind  us  in  her  telegraph 
system;  but  I  am  wandering.  There  is  so  much  to 
say  about  everything  that  I  keep  forgetting  what  I 
meant  to  say  when  I  began  the  chapter. 

1  find  my  "  sleeper,"  booked  two  days  ago  because 
75 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

of  the  press  of  travel,  and  start  forth  on  the  journey. 
The  first  day  proves  almost  unbearable  by  reason 
of  the  heat  and  dust;  the  windows  have  to  be  kept 
shut  because  the  dust  penetrates  and  defiles  every- 
thing ;  the  platform  at  the  rear  of  the  train  is  quickly 
deserted  by  even  the  most  ardent  lover  of  air,  for 
it  is  impossible  to  be  cooled  by  a  draught  which  is 
laden  with  sand  and  coal-cinders.  But  with  evening 
comes  comfort;  the  stifling  heat  abates,  the  green 
world  moving  past  our  windows  begins  to  glow  with 
the  tender  lights  of  a  brilliant  sunset  which  has 
merged  into  dusk — the  short,  quick  dusk  of  these 
latitudes — overhead  swings  a  young  moon,  and  life 
renews  itself  in  our  veins.  After  dinner  the  car  is 
transformed  into  a  dormitory  with  a  long  green  lane 
in  the  middle  between  the  discreet  curtains  which 
give  a  sort  of  privacy  to  sleep.  I  make  for  my 
number,  and  am  greatly  perplexed  at  the  way  all 
books  and  writing  materials,  not  to  mention  the 
necessary  dressing-case,  have  disappeared.  I  find 
them  at  last  stored  neatly  in  odd  corners,  and  then 
discover  a  big  paper  bag  hanging  by  the  window, 
taking  a  lot  of  room  and  nothing  whatever  to  do 
me.  I  hunt  for  the  nigger  conductor  and  deliver 
it  back  to  him  with  offensive  honesty.  He  is  very 
nice  about  it.  It  contains  my  hat !  The  bags  are  pro- 


FISHING   ON   STi  ; 

ided  i  any  to  save  them  fro: 

ivagc 

lumber  b,  •{  the  train. . 

In  the  morning  I  learn  for  the  first  time  in  my 
fe  the  real  fascination  of  tntin  tra1  Rain 

aight  has  laid  all  dust,  a  brilliant  breeze  scuds 
are  nearing  the  shores  >.rior,  the 

juntry  is  wonderful  in  its  wild 
lountains  clothed  in  pine  and  c 
s.lf,  here  a  deep  ravine  with  a 
ing  through,  preparing  Lun<jinge< 

oatch  of  meadowsweet,  here  a  crag  green  with 
*rns,  there  a  pool  s-     p»gt  77          :  ly  brown  thai 
nells  peat  only  to  look  at  it ! 
ry thing    pleases,    ever 
s  on  the  telegraph  {>• 
indscape,  though  1  priv;, 

.•lat- 

intervals  ami  some 

one  I  vx 
faces  oi 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

vided  by  a  kindly  Company  to  save  them  from  the 
ravages  of  dust.  My  sleeping  berth  proves  luxur- 
ious, and  I  am  rocked  into  instantaneous  delicious 
slumber  by  the  easy  motion  of  the  train. 

In  the  morning  I  learn  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  the  real  fascination  of  train  travelling.  Rain 
in  the  night  has  laid  all  dust,  a  brilliant  breeze  scuds 
by,  we  are  nearing  the  shores  of  Lake  Superior,  the 
country  is  wonderful  in  its  wild  beauty;  here  are 
mountains  clothed  in  pine  and  cedar  like  Pisgah's 
self,  here  a  deep  ravine  with  a  clear  bright  river 
swirling  through,  there  a  lake  fringed  with  rushes, 
here  a  patch  of  meadowsweet,  here  a  crag  green  with 
ferns,  there  a  pool  so  deeply,  clearly  brown  that  one 
smells  peat  only  to  look  at  it ! 

Everything  pleases,  even  the  blue  glass  in- 
sulators on  the  telegraph  posts  are  one  with  the 
landscape,  though  I  privately  entertain  a  great  con- 
tempt for  telegrams  in  Canada.  I  keep  the  rear  plat- 
form despite  the  breeze  which  is  growing  chilly ;  we 
draw  up  at  intervals  and  perform,  I  suppose,  some 
engineering  duties  at  such  times.  At  one  I  watch 
the  patient  faces  of  innumerable  oxen  on  a  cattle 
train  bound  east;  they  seem  at  peace  with  their 
estate  and  unsuspicious  of  the  future;  at  another  I 
am  entertained  to  see  a  couple  of  platelayers  making 
77 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

a  hearty  dessert  on  wild  raspberries  gathered  by 
the  track.  At  last  a  stoppage  comes,  when  it  is  borne 
in  on  me  that  I  have  been  looking  at  freight-car 
10,670  for  a  very  long  time — I  know  its  "inside 
length"  is  32  feet  6  inches,  its  "inside  width"  is  8 
feet,  its  "  inside  height "  6  feet  4  inches ;  I  know  its 
"  capy."  is  40,000  Ibs.,  its  "  tare  "  27,000  Ibs. ;  I  know 
it  has  7  rungs  on  its  iron  ladder,  and  I  know  the 
exact  shape  of  the  little  iron  pocket  for  an  address 
label.  It  strikes  me  we  are  staying  a  very  long  time 
at  this  wooden  house  which  pretends  to  be  the  station 
of  a  township,  and  is  really  only  a  lonely  little  house 
in  the  bush  where  the  single  rail  doubles  for  a  few 
hundred  yards.  I  learn  in  due  course  that  there  has 
been  a  freight  collision  ahead  of  us,  and  that  we 
have  to  wait  until  the  line  is  cleared — also  that  it 
may  take  all  night.  We  get  off  and  walk  about, 
some  of  us  climb  below  the  track  and  come  back 
laden  with  sunflowers  and  Michaelmas  daisies,  which 
make  a  brilliant  display  on  the  dining-tables.  We  are 
delayed  ten  hours  over  that  little  mishap ;  and  I  am 
glad  indeed  to  hear  next  morning  that  this  is  Lake 
Superior,  and  we  are  making  good  time  for  Winni- 
peg. As  I  look  at  the  splendid  bays  with  big  billows 
breaking  on  a  rocky  coast,  it  takes  me  several  minutes 
to  realize  that  these  are  the  shores  of  an  inland  lake, 
78 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

that  the  dark  waves  curling  and  breaking  over  rocks 
are  fresh-water  waves,  that  all  the  wide  expanse  of 
white-crested  water  out  to  the  far  horizon  is  not  in- 
deed the  sea.  If  I  had  happened  on  this  scene  sud- 
denly without  knowing  how  I  got  there,  I  would 
have  thought  I  was  at  Bude  or  Penzance  or  Scilly, 
but  never  on  the  border  of  Lake  Superior. 

I  am  sitting  by  the  big  window  watching  the  young 
moon  that  swings  overhead  when  we  draw  up  at  Jack 
Fish — I  look  at  her  wondering  if  I  have  ever  seen 
her  so  wild  and  shy  in  little  trim-hedged  garden 
England  when  a  noisy  merry  party  of  sunburnt 
fishermen  board  the  car.  A  young  boy,  a  tall,  white- 
lashed,  red-headed  athlete,  and  a  burly  middle-aged 
man  with  the  interesting  guarded  face  of  the  man  of 
the  world  who  has  grown,  despite  himself,  into  a 
philosopher.  They  are  very  particular  about  some 
snow-shoes  they  have  brought  with  them,  and  talk  to 
the  conductor  about  them.  He  examines  them 
minutely  with  deep  interest.  Later  on,  when  it  is 
too  dark  to  watch  the  passing  landscape,  the  con- 
ductor asks  me  if  I  would  like  to  hear  the  tale  of  a 
fishing  trip,  which,  of  course,  I  say  I  would,  and 
thank  him  for  troubling  about  me.  The  white- 
lashed  athlete  then  comes  and  sits  with  me  for  an 
hour  or  so,  telling  me  a  camping  tale  that  makes  me 
79 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

envious  beyond  belief.  His  graphic  slow  method ! 
I  wish  I  could  reproduce  it;  and  the  pale  light  of 
his  lashes  as  he  sometimes  lifted  his  eyes  heavily 
to  find  if  I  were  bored  or  interested.  Here  is  his 
story,  nearly  in  his  own  words — 

"  The  Doctor  and  the  Young  'un  and  I  have  been 
fishing  Mountain  Lake  where  Steel  River  flows  out 
of  the  lake ;  we  had  four  Indians  as  guides,  a  squaw 
to  cook  for  us,  two  canoes — a  big  and  a  little — and 
five  tents.  The  lake  is  deep  set  among  the  moun- 
tains, with  a  sort  of  under-radiance  glowing  from  its 
waters.  We  were  too  late  for  more  than  fixing  up 
camp  when  we  arrived  at  Mountain  Lake,  and  we 
sat  watching  the  Indians  make  camp  preparations 
while  the  Doctor  gave  us  long  dissertations  on  any 
and  every  variety  of  fly,  telling  us  we  would  have 
been  wise  to  bring  some  more  Montreals,  and  that 
Red  Palmers  were  not  going  to  help  us  any.  He 
thinks  he  knows  a  lot  about  flies.  The  air  was  aro- 
matic with  the  perfume  of  balsam,  for  the  Indians 
cut  down  young  balsam  saplings  about  fifteen  feet 
high,  and  make  of  the  flat,  scented  boughs  mattresses 
more  springy  and  comfortable  than  any  you  have 
ever  slept  on,  I'll  bet.  I  asked  the  Doctor  what 
country  lay  beyond  us,  and  he  said  no  man  knows. 
Only  one  man,  an  old  French-Canadian  trapper,  had 
80 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

been  known  to  go  so  far,  and  he  had  never  been 
heard  of  since.  We  speculated  as  to  his  fate,  and 
then  Joe  Eskimo,  our  head  guide  and  interpreter, 
was  called  and  questioned.  He  said  the  Trapper 
went  away  from  Jack  Fish  two  years  ago  to  find  the 
falls  which  tradition  places  away  up  Steel  River; 
he  was  a  '  very  strong  man,  and  very  ignorant  in  all 
but  matters  of  his  trade,  could  not  read  or  write, 
or  even  tell  the  time  by  the  clock/ — this  from  Joe, 
with  a  ridiculous  gleam  of  superiority  in  his  harsh 
eyes. 

"  On  the  morrow,  and  for  the  four  following  days 
we  fished  up  and  down  stream;  we  learned — the 
Young  'un  and  I — for  the  first  time  in  our  life,  what 
is  it  to  have  a  perfect  river,  perfect  weather,  perfect 
sport.  We  learned,  too,  that  the  Doctor  was  right; 
the  purple  fly  was  best.  We  landed  enough  speckled 
trout  daily  to  feed  the  eight  of  us  three  times  a  day 
(it  was  the  only  meat  we  had),  splendid  fellows  they 
were,  anything  from  two  to  seven  pounds.  We  got 
another  variety,  too,  which  I  believe  in  my  heart 
were  rainbow  trout,  but  the  Doctor  was  very  obstinate 
about  it;  he  said  they  were  steel-head  salmon,  and 
that  a  lot  of  them  have  been  put  in  Lake  Superior ; 
he  says  he  once  caught  two  in  Current  River,  and 
he  knows.  But  I  still  think  they  were  rainbow. 
F  81 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

Late  on  the  fifth  day  we  were  waiting  for  the  Young 
'un,  who  as  usual  was  last  to  finish  as  he  was  always 
first  to  begin — I  never  met  any  one  in  my  life  so 
silent  or  so  keen ;  I  remember  how  the  light  was  on 
his  hair,  and  how  the  curious  faint  trouty  smell 
floated  up  from  the  creel;  the  two  impressions  were 
hovering  idly  in  my  mind,  jostling  each  other  incon- 
gruously, when  the  Doctor  turned  to  us  sharply — 

"'Say,  are  you  game  to  go  up  Steel  River  to 
morrow  ? ' 

"We  thought  it  over.  It  was  in  the  nature  of 
exploring,  this  was  strange  country  that  no  man  knew. 
When  we  said  we  would  he  went  off  to  talk  it  over 
with  Joe  Eskimo,  who  was  perfectly  certain  to  agree 
to  anything  that  might  mean  'two  fingers.'  These 
Indians  are  extraordinary;  they  are  not  allowed  to 
buy  whisky,  but  they  will  work  harder  and  longer 
for  a  single  tot  than  your  British  workman  will  shout 
for  work — and  that  is  saying  much.  There  is  no 
limit  to  what  you  can  ask  of  them  if  they  see  'two 
fingers '  at  the  end  of  the  day." 

I  sit  back  in  the  cushioned  seat  wondering  at  the 
story,  at  the  teller,  at  his  detail,  his  phlegm,  his  assur- 
ance. The  Young  'un  is  fidgeting,  and  every  now 
and  then  correcting  some  trifling  inaccuracy.  They 
seem  like  men  who  are  unused  to  describing  and  fear 
82 


t< 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 


to  mis-state.  The  voice  drones  on,  level,  uninspiring ; 
I  take  to  watching  the  speaker  and  the  Young  'un, 
and  wondering  if  the  Doctor  ever  got  bored  on  the 
fishing  trip.  It  is  good  to  have  some  one  to  speak 
to,  however,  and  I  am  less  critical  than  grateful, 
although  the  narrative  bids  fair  to  lack  interest. 

"  So  we  broke  camp  next  morning  and  began  to 
paddle  up  the  river,  which  lies,  I  believe,  about  150 
miles  east  of  Port  Arthur.  There  was  an  Indian  at 
the  bow  and  stern  of  each  boat,  and  we  were  making 
good  way  when  we  were  stopped  by  a  long  jamb 
about  two  miles  up;  it  was  a  fine  accumulation  of 
years,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  portage 
round.  The  Indians  do  the  work  in  portaging ;  they 
take  a  pack-strap  across  the  forehead,  so  arrang- 
ing that  they  carry  nearly  the  whole  weight  on  the 
neck;  they  will  take  in  that  way  300  to  400  Ibs. 
apiece.  We  blazed  a  trail  as  we  went,  for  the  bush 
was  virgin ;  only  once  all  the  way  did  we  see  second 
growth,  where  had  been  a  bush  fire.  The  trees  were 
fine,  mostly  evergreens,  spruce,  hemlock,  balsam, 
tamarack,  poplar  and  balm  of  Gilead — on  the  river- 
bank  in  the  sand  was  the  track  of  countless  game; 
the  Doctor  sat  in  judgment  on  us  while  we  diagnosed 
the  marks  without  help  from  the  guides.  At  last  he 
told  us  that  the  big  print  like  that  of  an  enlarged 
83 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

ox  meant  moose — (it  is  an  especially  easy  one  be-J 
cause  a  moose  bends  down  in  the  fetlocks  and  leaves 
the  print  of  his  dew-claw) — having  learned  so  much 
we  were  then  able  to  surmise  that  the  mark  as  long 
but  narrower  meant  caribou,  and  the  little  one,  more 
like  a  goat,  meant  red  deer;  bear,  too,  was  there,  wej 
saw  bear-marks  on  the  trees  sometimes  six  feet  high, 
and  we  saw  tracks  of  fox  and  beaver  and  wolves  in ! 
plenty. 

"'If  we  were  on  a  hunting  trip  now,'  said  the 
Doctor,  'we  would  have  a  splendid  time;  but  we 
aren't.  We  had  better  do  what  we  came  for,  as  there 
are  only  two  guns  among  the  lot  of  us.' 

"  I  did  get  a  shot  in  spite  of  this  wisdom,  but  that 
was  only  by  luck.  After  negotiating  that  wearisome 
jamb  and  encountering  a  belated  mosquito  in  the 
woods,  we  travelled  up-stream  and  met  the  finest 
sport  of  our  trip.  The  trout  were  not  so  many, 
perhaps,  as  lower  down,  but  beauties,  so  large  and 
so  game.  We  got  out  on  the  rocks,  and  the  wide 
river  gave  us  an  easy  sweep ;  once  we  stopped  our 
work  to  watch  the  Young  'un,  who  had  forty  minutes' 
grand  struggle  with  a  little  chap;  three  times  he 
leaped  a  good  five  feet  like  a  flexible  bar  of  silver, 
and  as  many  times  he  shot  off  forty  feet  or  so  while 
he  held  him,  to  our  indescribable  excitement,  for  his 
84 


FISHi 

tine  v  -ito.watc 

so  sir 

d.  ahvay- 

ang  'un.     He 
ry  rhanf 

,dcr.    Tli  there 

m  a  mo< 

Fishing— "Landed" 

I'W  85 

way. 
off   in   ' 

in  the  big  • 
our  mod< 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

line  was  getting  short.  It  was  a  lesson  to  watch  him, 
so  slim  and  cool  out  there  on  the  rock,  playing  that 
angry  little  fish — he  never  got  excited,  always  kept 
cool." 

At  this  panegyric  I  survey  the  Young  'un.  He 
betrays  no  embarrassment.  The  story  chants  on. 

"  We  were  infinitely  more  elated  than  he  when  at 
last  he  brought  to  land  a  shiny,  speckly,  broken- 
hearted little  three-pounder.  The  river  winds  there 
like  the  coils  in  a  motor  engine  !  We  told  each 
other  that  we  would  camp  by  the  granite  bluff  that 
looked  about  half-a-mile  off,  but  we  went  on  and  on, 
it  never  got  nearer,  and  after  the  Doctor  declared 
we  had  done  ten  miles  and  we  were  roused  to  say 
fifteen,  the  bluff  was  still  '  a  quarter  of  a  mile '  away. 

"  Early  next  morning  we  set  off  in  the  canoes 
determined  to  locate  that  rock  before  we  started  to 
fish — the  wind  blew  fresh  and  chill  in  our  faces;  I 
was  sitting  in  the  big  canoe  just  behind  the  bow 
Indian,  and  mounting  guard  over  the  shot-gun  and 
rifle  that  made  our  modest  equipment.  As  we  turned 
a  bend  in  the  river  I  saw  the  bow's  hand  reach  to 
the  guns;  he  touched  the  shot-gun — his  eyes  were 
fixed  ahead — and  I  instantly  took  the  rifle  and 
looked  round.  Quite  close  a  big  bull  moose  was 
running  up  the  bank,  evidently  he  had  heard  our 
85 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

voices,  for  the  Doctor,  as  usual,  was  making  a  lot 
of  noise,  but  had  been  unable  to  fix  us  because  the 
wind  was  blowing  away  from  him.  Some  one 
shouted  '  Get  him  in  the  head,'  and  I  promptly  shot 
over  him,  a  dowdy  thing  to  do ;  at  the  unusual  sound 
he  stopped  dead,  and  I  sent  the  next  bullet  straight. 
He  toppled  into  the  water,  and  the  swift  current 
caught  him,  kicking  vigorously,  whirling  him  towards 
our  canoe ;  we  were  horribly  scared,  for  he  weighed 
about  a  thousand  pounds,  but  he  passed  with  six 
feet  to  spare,  and  sank  almost  at  once  in  a  deep 
pool.  The  Indians  said  he  would  not  rise  for  two 
or  three  days,  but  presently  Joe  Eskimo  shouted 
from  the  small  canoe,  which  was  behind,  that  they 
had  got  him — they  towed  him  to  shore,  where  he  was 
skinned  in  due  course,  and  the  guides  feasted  riot- 
ously on  moose-steak.  The  Doctor  pretended  he 
liked  it  better  than  trout,  of  which,  to  tell  the  truth, 
we  were  all  getting  a  little  sick,  but  I  think  I  would 
sooner  eat  warm  indiarubber  myself.  It  might  be 
better  if  it  were  hung  a  while,  but  there's  no  know- 
ing. After  that  it  began  to  rain;  we  proceeded  a 
little  less  noisily,  and  at  last  passed  the  bluff  with 
which  we  had  been  playing  hide-and-seek.  The 
thought  of  our  warm  blankets  securely  travelling  in 

the  waterproof  sheets  consoled  us  as  we  sat  shiver- 
86 


FIS 

presently  we  , 
lug  and  v.  Suddenl;. 

•:-Jc  in  his 

'other  log  jamb.    The 

ght  sapped  our  er  could  never  portage 

II  round  that  in  the  rain,  so  said  we  would  just 

imp  there.    We  drew  ir  :vcl  bank,  and  as 

e  grew  near  I  sav  the 

turned  upside  down.     I  pointed  it  out;  the 

>octor  and  Joe  went  to  look  said 

e  knew  it;   it  belonged  to  the  trapper  who  went 

Bringing  Home  the  Moose  Head  ->ted, 

•ndered  if  we  co^i8£nd  the  man;  he  would 

<  full  of  information  about  the  country  by  this  time 

"  Presently  we  saw  a  trail  in  the  bu^h,  and  with 

ord  we  followed  it  for  about  a  hundred  yards 

A  a  little  clearing, 

nd  in  the  middle  a  log 

I  sit  up,  the  Young  'un  b 

it  last  W'  1  applaud  to 

the  strange  method  of  del  rved, 

.ire.     Th  s  do  not  lift 

the  edge  of  the  clearing  was  a  pit,  where  he 
>e  clay  to  caulk  the  seams*  of  his  hu 
advanced  soberl 


FISHING  ON   STEEL   RIVER 

ing  in  the  wet,  thinking  how  presently  we  would  be 
snug  and  warm  and  laughing  again.  Suddenly  the 
bow  Indian  turned  round  with  a  cross  click  in  his 
throat;  we  looked  ahead — another  log  jamb.  The 
sight  sapped  our  energies,  we  could  never  portage 
all  round  that  in  the  rain,  so  said  we  would  just 
camp  there.  We  drew  into  the  gravel  bank,  and  as 
we  grew  near  I  saw  a  decrepit  canoe  close  to  the 
debris,  turned  upside  down.  I  pointed  it  out;  the 
Doctor  and  Joe  went  to  look  at  it,  and  then  Joe  said 
he  knew  it;  it  belonged  to  the  trapper  who  went1 
away  two  years  ago.  We  were  all  very  interested, 
and  wondered  if  we  could  find  the  man;  he  would 
be  full  of  information  about  the  country  by  this  time. 

"  Presently  we  saw  a  trail  in  the  bush,  and  with 
one  accord  we  followed  it  for  about  a  hundred  yards 
into  the  wilderness;  there  we  saw  a  little  clearing, 
and  in  the  middle  a  log  hut." 

I  sit  up,  the  Young  'un  has  stopped  fidgeting,  I 
feet  at  last  we  are  near  drama,  and  applaud  to 
myself  the  strange  method  of  delivery,  so  reserved, 
so  aware.  The  white  eye-lashes  do  not  lift,  the 
voice  drones  along — 

"  By  the  edge  of  the  clearing  was  a  pit,  where  he 
had  dug  the  clay  to  caulk  the  seams  of  his  hut  and 
make  it  watertight.  We  advanced  soberly;  he  did 

87 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

not  expect  callers,  and  might  be  morose.  The  lonely 
life  of  a  trapper  develops  strange  characteristics. 
The  door  was  open  and  the  little  room  looked 
empty,  but  we  knocked  civilly.  There  was  no  answer, 
and  the  Doctor  stepped  in,  followed  by  Joe  Eskimo 
— they  had  to  step  down  into  the  shack,  and  they 
reported  no  one  there.  The  place  was  so  dark  we 
had  to  send  Joe  for  a  candle.  Evidently  the  trapper 
had  moved  farther  on.  We  peered  about;  there 
was  his  bed  in  one  corner,  I  stumbled  over  a  pair 
of  snow-shoes,  and  then  Joe  came  in  with  a  candle, 
showing  how  low  the  roof  was  and  how  bare  the 
place ;  there  was  no  food  anywhere,  but  there  was  an 
old  gun  in  one  corner.  As  we  grew  used  to  the 
dancing  candlelight  we  saw  that  a  tam-o'-shanter 
peered  over  the  blankets  on  the  bed.  .  .  .  The 
Doctor  pulled  back  the  clothes  and  said,  '  Here,  Joe, 
we'd  better  bury  this.' 

"  There  is  nothing  there  but  a  skeleton.  Some- 
thing finished  him — starvation  or  scurvy.  We  took 
blankets  and  all ;  there  were  eight  pairs,  so  he  must 
have  died  in  cold  weather.  When  we  lifted  him, 
tam-o'-shanter  and  skull  fell  back.  We  buried  him 
in  the  pit  he  dug  himself." 

With  true  dramatic  instinct  he  makes  to  go  at 
this  point,  but  I  am  curious  and  interested,  and  try 
88 


FISHING   ON   STEEL   RIVER 

to  keep  him,  questioning.  He  will  not  stay,  he  goes 
to  the  smoking-room  to  join  the  Doctor,  and  the 
Young  'un  tells  me  the  rest  of  the  story. 

"  Presently  Joe  came  back  to  the  river  looking 
very  business-like — he  had  brought  the  gun,  and 
treated  it  gingerly,  so  we  guessed  it  was  loaded.  It 
was  a  breech-loader,  an  old,  old  Enfield.  He  tied 
it  to  a  tree  and  fixed  on  to  it  a  long  piece  of  rope, 
then  he  went  as  far  as  he  could  and  let  it  off.  It 
did  not  burst,  and  we  laughed  at  his  elaborate  pre- 
cautions. It  made  him  very  cross.  By  and  by  we 
were  all  at  the  river-side  again  in  the  pouring  rain — 
the  Doctor  had  the  old  trapper's  snow-shoes  with 
him — they  were  of  martin-hide,  and  the  right  heel- 
place  was  neatly  darned  with  string  so  white  that 
they  were  evidently  never  worn  after.  I  guess  we 
didn't  want  to  camp  there  with  that  poor  devil  only 
just  getting  a  taste  of  mother  earth,  so  we  had  to 
portage  round  that  jamb  after  all.  Presently  it 
stopped  raining,  and  we  tramped  on  less  miserably. 
We  tramped  and  paddled  several  miles  before,  ex- 
hausted, we  camped  at  last.  And  then  we  could  not 
sleep.  We  lay  thinking — thinking — of  how  the 
moon  would  shine  on  a  new  grave — of  how  this  hot 
gush  of  pity  was  all  too  late  to  help  him — and  then 
through  the  night  came  a  fearful  sound — our  flesh 
89 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

crept,  our  blood  ran  cold — a  noise  like  hounds  bay- 
ing to  the  moon,  only  something  shriller — here  was 
the  trapper's  dirge,  the  howling  of  wolves  made  a 
fitter  keening  than  any  of  our  civilized  imaginings 
could  have  given  him." 

We  talk  over  the  unlucky  trapper,  and  I  look  at 
the  snow-shoes,  musing  on  his  lonely  life,  wondering 
how  he  died,  what  had  been  his  last  thoughts  alone 
in  that  untrodden  wild;  what  strange  beasts  had 
borne  him  strange  companionship  in  his  long  sleep. 
I  ask  if  they  found  the  Falls. 

"  Oh  yes  !  we  found  them  five  days  later.  They 
are  about  fifty  miles  up  Steel  River  from  Mountain 
Lake.  They  are  about  a  hundred  feet  wide  and 
thirty-five  feet  high,  in  a  gorge  with  thick  bush  all 
round;  the  river  falls  beautifully  over  granite.  We 
named  them  Trapper's  Falls,  and  I  hope  they'll  be 
called  that  when  they  come  to  be  put  on  maps.  After 
all,  why  shouldn't  we  name  them  ?  We  found  them. 
It  took  us  a  very  short  time  to  come  back,  the  cur- 
rents are  so  strong,  and  the  Indians  managed  the 
canoes  so  beautifully.  And  if  any  one  doesn't  be- 
lieve this  let  him  go  the  same  trip.  When  he  reaches 
the  log  jamb  beyond  the  granite  bluff  he'll  see  the 
trail  the  trapper  cut  into  the  wilderness." 

He  gives  me  their  address  in  Chicago  and  says  he 
90 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

crept,  our  blood  ran  cold  ---;«.  noise  like  hounds  bay- 
ing to  tbi  mf*on,  only  something  shn;  was 
the  trapper*  dirge,  the  howling  .of  wolves  made  a 
titter  keening  than  any  oi  our  civilized  imaginings 
rould  have  given  him." 

We  talk  over  the  unlucky  trapper,  and  I  look  at 
the  snow-shoes,  musing  on  his  lmu»|y  Me,  wondering 
how  he  died,  what  had  been  hr-  i;»o  thoughts  alone 
in  that  untrodden  wild,  wJut  strange  beasts  had 
borne  him  strange  companionship  MS  hrf.  long  sleep. 
I  ask  if  they  found  the  Falls. 

AfSkfhh1n^^adof  Mbds*^ 

are  about  fifty  miles  up  Steel  River  from  Mountain 

They  are  about   ^ 

thirty  five  feet  high,  in  a  gorge  with  thick  bush  all 
round;  the  river  falls  beautifully  over  granite..  We 
named  them  Trapper's  Falls,  and  I  hope  they'll  be 
called  that  when  they  come  to  be  put  on  maps.  After 
all,  why  shouldn't  we  name  them  ?  We  found  them. 
It  took  us  a  very  short  time  to  com?  S»t<  k,  the  cur- 
rents are  so  strong,  and  the  Indians  managed  the 
canoes  so  beautifully.  And  if  any  one  doesn't  be- 
lieve this  let  him  go  the  same  cf»p  Whm  he  reaches 
the  log  jamb  beyond  the  gi:*mir  \>\vft  he'll  see  the 
trail  the  trapper  cut  into  the  vtfdwiMSs.*' 

He  gives  tne  their  address  in  Chicago  and  says  he 
90 


FISHING   ON   STEEL  RIVER 

will  send  photographs.  They  get  off  the  train  in 
the  night,  and  I  can  ask  no  more  questions.  I  betake 
myself  to  the  end  of  the  car  and  watch  the  landscape, 
happy  in  its  moving  beauty,  though  no  more  genial 
fellow-travellers  come  to  tell  me  dramatic  tales  in 
cold,  level  voices  that  stop  at  the  most  exciting 
moment  and  refuse  to  talk  any  more. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    PRAIRIES 

ONTARIO,  with  its  rocks  and  rivers,  lakes  and 
ravines,  merges  into  the  flats  of  Manitoba,  and  I  find 
myself  one  evening,  after  days  and  nights  of  travel- 
ling, standing  on  the  rear  platform  of  the  train  look- 
ing at  pasture-land  and  wheat-land,  at  rich  farms  on 
black  soil,  and  I  know  that  my  eyes  at  last  are  look- 
ing on  the  prairie  lands,  the  wheat-lands  of  the  world. 

Beside  the  interest  of  the  farms  and  the  lives  of 
the  farmers'  wives,  which  I  am  to  learn  on  the 
prairies,  I  feel  that  Winnipeg  is  nothing.  Yet  her 
spell  falls  on  me  before  I  leave;  great  rich  metro- 
polis of  the  West,  where  one  tastes  for  the  first  time 
the  unforgettable  sweetness  of  Western  hospitality. 

An  old  Englishman  and  an  old  successful  settler, 
one  Mr.  Larcombe,  comes  to  fetch  me  from  Winnipeg 
to  spend  a  week  on  his  farm,  which  is  eight  hours  by 
train  away  from  the  city.  For  hours  and  hours  after 
we  leave  Winnipeg  the  train  jogs  through  a  golden 

desert,  gold  skies  hot  and  hard,  golden  stubble  piti- 
92 


THE   PRAIRIES 

lessly  reflecting  the  glare,  gold  stocks  of  wheat  piled 
in  golden  perspective — unbroken  plains  of  gold. 

I  look  out  at  the  little  wooden  house,  at  the  shallow 
creeks  and  occasional  bluffs  of  maple  that  have  been 
planted  for  wind-breaks.  When  we  come  to  grass 
instead  of  grain,  the  eye  revels  in  its  motion,  grateful 
for  a  change  from  the  yellow  stubble.  I  had  imag- 
ined the  prairie  dull  and  lifeless,  but  this  short-flow- 
ing grass,  that  wimples  in  the  wind  like  a  coolie's 
coat,  is  full  of  motion  and  grace.  There  is  no  mono- 
tony in  it,  any  more  than  there  is  monotony  in  the 
flowing  of  a  river.  We  pass  the  greatly  advertised 
Portage  Plains,  where  they  first  found  wheat  would 
grow  on  the  prairie.  Twenty  years  ago  this  was  the 
first  place  to  build  a  grist  mill ;  in  these  days  farmers 
would  come  on  a  five  days'  journey  from  home  to 
get  their  wheat  ground,  and  would  take  the  flour 
back,  baking  their  bannocks  by  the  way,  and  hoisting 
their  carts  out  of  the  sloughs  in  the  road  as  a  matter 
of  course,  a  ten  days'  journey  in  all !  Those  historic 
acres  are  fat  and  smiling  enough  now,  and  the  roads 
are  firm.  A  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  car  is  read- 
ing aloud  to  his  wife  in  a  sing-song  voice;  nobody 
notices  him. 

On  and  on  through  the  golden  plains  till  at  last 
the  landscape  breaks  into  bluff  and  scrub,  it  swells 
93 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

gently  and  dips  here  and  there — the  change  is  very 
grateful  to  the  vision  aching  at  the  interminable  flats. 
The  train  draws  up  at,Birtle,  and  I  am  driven  away 
to  my  host's  farm  in  a  "  rig."  He  was  a  Devonshire 
man  originally,  and  instinct  or  old  association  has 
made  him  settle  on  a  beautiful  wooded  and  undulat- 
ing part  of  the  prairie.  We  drive  with  a  wild  wind 
clean  on  the  face,  away  in  the  whispering  bush  blue 
jays  are  calling.  After  welcome,  and  tea,  I  go  out  on 
to  the  farm.  Sunset  fading  has  given  place  to  moon- 
light; from  the  corral  a  gentle  swish-swish  of  milk 
foaming  into  the  pails;  by  the  side  of  the  trail  the 
wolf-willow  shines  ghostly  grey.  Interested  and 
weary  I  wander  from  byre  to  house  watching  my 
host's  daughters  take  the  milk  to  the  separator, 
watching  their  healthy  faces,  wondering  why  the 
prairies  are  empty  of  women.  The  pastoral  life, 
clean  and  fresh  and  sweet,  has  its  appeals  to  some 
women  surely. 

When  I  come  down  to  breakfast  at  eight  the  next 
morning  I  realize  with  shame  that  I  am  the  last, 
every  one  else  has  been  up  some  hours;  outside 
"  Billy  "  is  hitched  to  the  rig — I  am  to  be  "  driven 
round,"  it  appears,  and  Billy  turns  upon  me  a  festive 
eye.  He  knows  better  than  I  do  what  a  drive  round 
means.  He  is  the  most  embroidered  three-year-old 
94 


THE   PRAIRIES 

I  have  ever  seen ;  his  chest  and  quarters  have  learned 
too  nearly  the  manners  of  wire-netting  fences. 

We  take  the  trail  and  drive  on  for  fifteen  miles  or 
so  between  green  belts  of  bush,  between  aisles  of 
Michaelmas  daisies,  with  gophers  and  brilliant 
snakes  scudding  out  of  our  path,  and  the  wild  hawk 
hovering  overhead.  We  pass  numberless  acres  of 
wheat,  but  thirty  to  thirty-five  per  cent,  of  the  land  in 
this  district  is  lying  dormant,  and  I  ask  why.  It 
appears  that  the  greater  number  of  land-seekers  who 
come  to  the  West  take  the  main  line  trains  to  Bran- 
don, Regina,  Calgary,  Edmonton  and  through  to 
the  Coast,  ignoring  or  never  hearing  of  this  district, 
to  the  great  disgust  of  the  loyal  Birtleites,  who  say 
that  they  have  an  excellent  train  daily  each  way  to 
Winnipeg,  which  is  a  big  consuming  centre.  It 
seems  such  a  just  grievance  that  I  hasten  to  ventilate 
it,  and  hope  the  empty  acres  near  Birtle  will  be 
quickly  peopled  in  consequence.  It  would  be  a  splen- 
did place  for  poultry  farming ;  half -a-million  dollars 
went  to  Ontario  last  Christmas  for  poultry ;  and  it  is 
an  ideal  situation  and  soil  for  market  gardening. 
This  by  the  way.  We  are  seeking  "  Willie's  farm." 
All  the  trails  seem  alike,  and  they  have  a  fatal 
regularity;  I  sit  stiffly  erect  in  the  tiny  seat,  which 
looks  to  my  European  eyes  so  totally  out  of  proper  - 
95 


A   WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

tion  to  the  big  spidery  wheels.  I  rejoice  in  the  vast 
distances,  in  the  intimate  way  that  human  life  presses 
here  on  to  the  very  breast  of  Nature.  I  wonder  why 
more  Englishwomen  do  not  come  out  instead  of 
leading  the  crowded,  hopeless  lives  they  do  in  the 
old  country.  "Billy"  flicks  his  long  tail  joyously 
over  his  tattered  hide  in  answer  to  my  thoughts. 
"They  won't  come,"  he  seems  to  say;  "they  will 
not  get  up  and  milk  the  cows  while  the  dew  is  on  the 
golden-rod ;  they  will  not  bake  bread  for  their  men, 
or  cook  the  moose-steak  and  wild  duck  and  prairie 
chicken.  Your  women  will  not  come,  for  they  love 
the  life  of  cities,  the  typewriters,  the  ledgers,  the 
proof-sheets,  the  palette  and  the  stage.  They  do  not 
want  this  life !  "  Billy's  contemptuous  flick  is  as- 
suming in  my  eyes  the  proportions  of  a  harsh  judge 
who  unfortunately  has  right  on  his  side.  I  glance 
furtively  at  the  man  beside  me.  He  is  a  burly  Mani- 
toban  farmer,  who  began  life  in  England  as  a  farm- 
lad  at  ninepence  a  week.  Ninepence !  Now  he  is 
rich  in  house  and  land  and  cattle,  in  pigs  and  horses 
and  poultry  and  money.  But  he  has  never  hankered 
for  cities,  or  got  up  at  eight,  or  shirked  an  hour's 
work,  I  am  sure.  All  England  seems  smitten  and 
scorned  as  this  man's  life  talks  to  me  in  every  line 
of  his  shrewd,  strong,  weather-beaten  face — from  his 


A  WOMAN   IN 

tion  to  the  big  spidery  wheels.  I  rejoice  in  the  vast 
distances,  in  the  miimate  way  that  human  life  presses 
here  on  to  the  v^rv  Kreast  of  Nature.  I  wonder  why 
more  Englishworru  n  do  not  come  out  instead  of 
leading  the  crowded,  bopejktss  lives  they  do  in  the 
old  country.  "Billy"  flicks  his  long  tail  joyously 
over  his  Uttered  hide  in  answer  to  my  thoughts 
44 They  won't  come,"  he  seems  to  s*y;  "they  will 
not  get  up  and  milk  the  cows  while  the  dew  is  on  the 
golden -rod;  they  will  not  bake  bread  for  their  men, 
or  cook  the  moose -steak  and  wild  duck  and  prairie 
The  Prairie 

the  life  of  cities,  the  typewriters,  tjbc  ledgers,  the 
proof-sheets,  the  p,ip<*'  &  They  do  not 

want  this  life !  "  Billy's  co«u*mf.*i*>«&  flick  is  as- 
suming in  my  eyes  the  proportion*  of  a  harsh  judge 
who  unfortunately  has  right  on  his  side.  1  glance 
furtively  at  the  man  beside  me.  He  is  a  burly  Mani- 
toban  farmer,  who  began  life  in  England  as  a  farm 
lad  at  mile-pence  a  week  !  Now  he  is 

rich  in  house  and  land  and  cattle.  ir»  pigs  and  horses 
and  poultry  *nd  money.  Bw  jae  ha*  never  hankered 
for  cities,  w  got  up  at  eight,  or  shirked  an  hour's 
work,  I  am  sure.  All  iMi^i&nd  seems  smitten  and 
scorned  as  this  man's  life  talks  to  me  in  ever)'  line 
of  his  shrewd,  strong,  weather -beaten  face — from  hi? 

96 


THE  PRAIRIES 

hard  strong  hands,  in  his  air  of  self-trust.  Toil 
speaks,  toil  ungrudged  and  unremitting,  but  splen- 
didly rewarded.  I  feel  that  he  is  the  exception,  not 
the  rule,  among  my  countrymen;  and  there  burns 
in  me  a  kind  of  national  shame — the  same  hateful 
thing  that  scorches  one  in  the  Canadian  cities  where 
obtains  the  legend  on  business  houses,  "  No  Eng- 
lishmen need  apply." 

Here  is  ".Willie's  farm."  They  have  begun 
threshing;  out  on  the  golden  plain  stands  a  mon- 
ster of  iron  and  steel  with  two  funnels;  from  one 
funnel  blows  straw,  from  the  other  pours  grain  into 
a  large  granary.  The  engines  whizz  and  whirl,  an 
endless  procession  of  wains  piled  with  golden  stocks 
pass  before  the  monster,  delivering  into  its  jaws  each 
its  golden  burden,  and  as  they  empty  they  pass  to 
the  fields  to  gather  more.  (A  "field"  may  be  a 
mile  long,  but  that  is  beside  the  point.)  The  heap  of 
straw  away  on  the  stubble  is  piling  higher  with  every 
moment;  the  smaller  pile  of  grain  is  growing,  every 
inch  higher  means  money,  money  means  more  land, 
more  grain,  more  money.  I  watch  the  grain  stream 
rattling  out  of  the  funnel  with  fascinated  eyes. 
Every  two  or  three  seconds  there  is  a  clatter  up 
above  where  the  automatic  weigher  releases  30  Ibs., 

then  the  brown  stream  of  grain  rushes  down  to  join 
G  97 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

the  rest.  "  Willie "  also  watches  for  a  minute  or 
so,  but  he  shows  no  excitement ;  he  is  used  to  hear- 
ing the  world's  bread  rattle  in  his  granaries ;  his  only 
interest  seems  at  the  moment  to  be  focussed  on  the 
grade  of  his  crops,  he  hopes  for  a  "  No.  i,  Northern," 
and  my  companion  in  the  rig,  who  has  been  critically 
examining  a  handful,  votes  it  to  be  a  "good  No.  2." 
A  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  giant  comes  up  holding  out 
a  horny  hand :  "  You'm  from  t'ould  country,  miss, 
they  tell  me;  how's  she  get'n'  on?" 

"  She's  very  well,  thank  you,"  I  answer.  "  How 
do  you  like  Canada  ?  " 

He  smiles.  "  None  too  bad,  none  too  bad."  Later 
I  learn  that  he  is  a  "  worker  "  and  is  sure  to  get  on ; 
any  man  or  woman  who  will  work  here  can  make 
money. 

And  here  and  now  I  would  like  to  say  this,  that 
the  unsuccessful  immigrant  in  Canada  is  the  man 
who  will  not  work.  Those  who  will  stay  on  the 
land,  and  work,  cannot  help  getting  on.  I  do  not 
care  who  tells  me  in  the  future  that  he  has  failed  out 
here,  I  shall  know  him  for  a  shirker.  There  are 
millions  of  acres  yet  to  be  tilled,  thousands  of 
farmers  who  will  pay  well  for  work,  who  are  crying 
for  labour.  I  can  well  conceive  that  to  the  spoiled 
child  of  teeming  cities,  the  "  skilled  worker,"  accus- 
98 


THE   PRAIRIES 

tomed  to  music-halls  and  gin-palaces,  these  wide, 
unbroken  plains  of  waving  wheat  are  eminently  dis- 
tasteful. The  artisan,  accustomed  to  his  beer  and 
his  grievance,  inured  from  youth  to  the  daily  impact 
of  thousands  of  lives  upon  his  own  life,  may  well 
feel  lonely  in  the  bush  or  on  the  prairie,  but  if  he 
is  not  prepared  to  adjust  himself  to  his  new  con- 
ditions and  work  honestly  for  the  reward  which  is 
bound  to  come,  he  is  better  away.  Canada  has  no 
use  for  him.  If  he  cannot  still  his  craving  for  the 
noise  and  light  and  artificial  life  of  cities,  let  him 
stay  in  England  where  our  older  civilization  permits 
of  these  luxuries. 

We  get  into  the  rig  again,  but  not  till  I  have 
searched  out  the  giant  and  fervently  wished  him 
luck,  aye,  and  pressed  his  rough  hand  with  a  warmer 
heart  than  he  would  guess,  for  he  is  an  Englishman 
who  will  not  make  the  name  of  his  country  to  stink 
in  the  nostrils  of  the  land  of  his  adoption.  Off  we 
go  under  the  wide  blue  skies  through  miles  of  wheat, 
miles  of  scrub  and  bush,  miles  of  virgin  prairie 
damascened  with  purple  daisies  and  golden-rod  to 
Foxwarren,  an  ambitious  little  township,  very  pros- 
perous and  proud  of  itself,  where  I  learn  the  secrets 
of  a  wheat  elevator.  I  see  the  wagon-load  of 

threshed  grain  driven  on  to  the  "  dump,"  I  see  the 
02  99 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

wagon  tip  backwards,  pouring  its  load  into  the 
"  pit,"  from  whence  it  is  "  elevated  "  in  little  buckets 
on  the  dredge  system,  into  the  cleaner,  where  poor 
grain,  alien  seeds  and  all  dust  are  blown  away. 
Thence  it  passes,  purified  for  market,  into  a  hopper 
and  is  weighed.  Finally  it  is  elevated  again  and 
dumped  into  "bends,"  or  railway  cars,  for  trans- 
portation. The  "  bend  "  is  a  receptacle  in  which  a 
farmer  may  store  his  wheat  from  the  close  of  naviga- 
tion till  the  spring,  unless  he  prefers  to  sell  it  out- 
right to  the  Elevator  Company.  The  waste  from 
the  cleaning  process  averages  from  one  to  one  and  a 
half  per  cent.,  and  the  farmers  take  it  all  back  for 
hog  and  chicken  food.  It  proves  an  interesting 
visit;  I  had  seen  the  ugly  elevators  constantly  on 
the  prairies,  and  thought  them  an  eyesore  to  be  re- 
gretted. After  this  they  mean  to  me  thousands  of 
bushels  of  grain,  the  harvest  of  the  year,  the  farmer's 
glory. 

We  go  into  a  homestead  for  tea.  The  farmer's 
wife  is  a  busy,  rather  silent  woman  with  four  chil- 
dren ;  her  face  is  nice  to  look  at  with  its  harsh  mouth 
and  gentle  eyes.  That  mouth  looks  as  though  it  had 
tasted  trouble  and  found  it  bitter;  her  eyes,  a  little 
tired,  but  so  kind,  look  as  though  she  has  much  love 
in  her  life.  "  It's  rather  a  busy  time  just  at  harvest," 
100 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANA 

wagon  tip  backwards,  pouring  its  load  into  th<* 
"pit,^  from  whence  it  is  "elevated"  in  little  bucket* 
on  the  dredge  system,  into  the  cleaner,  where  pocx 
grain,  %!ten  seeds  and  all  dust  are  blown  away. 
Thence  ii  passes,  purified  for  market,  into  a  hopper 
and  is  weighed.  Finally  it  is  elevated  again  ant! 
dumped  into  "bends,"  or  railway  cars,  for  trans 
portation.  The  "  bend  "  is  a  receptacle  in  which  a 
farmer  may  store  his  wheat  from  the  close  of  naviga- 
tion till  the  spring,  unless  he  prefers  to  sell  it  out 
right  to  the  Elevator  Company.  The  waste  fror. 
the  cleaning  p*  G  .  m  one  to  one  and  n 

half  per  cent.,  and  the  farmers  take  it  all  back  fo- 
hog  and  chicken  fooaT  "ft  proves  an  interesting 
visit;  I  had  seen  the  ugly  elevator?  constantly  o*» 
the  prairies,  and  thought  them  an  eyesore  to  be  re 
gretted.  After  this  they  mean  to  me  thousands  ot 
bushels  of  grain,  the  harvest  of  the  year,  the  farmer'* 
glory. 

We  go  into  a  homestead  for  tea.  The  farmer'* 
wife  is  a  busy,  rather  silent  woman  with  four  chil 
dren ;  her  face  is  nice  to  look  at  with  its  harsh  mouth 
and  gentle  eyes.  That  mouth  looks  as  though  it  ha# 
tasted  trouble  and  found  it  bitter;  her  eyes,  a  little 
tired,  but  so  kind,  look  as  though  she  has  much  lov* 
in  her  life.  **  It's  rather  a  busy  time  just  at  harvest,' 
100 


THE  PRAIRIES 

she  says ;  "  you  must  please  excuse  if  you  find  things 
rough." 

"  I  should  think  you  are  always  busy,"  I  reply. 

"  Yes,"  she  says,  "  when  it's  not  cooking  it's  wash- 
ing; when  washing's  done  there's  ironing,  and  what 
with  the  housework  and  children  and  sewing  and 
dairy  and  all,  I  have  no  time  to  spare." 

"Do  you  do  all  that  without  help?"  I  ask, 
marvelling. 

"  Yes,"  she  says,  "  there's  no  help  to  be  got  out 
West;  I  could  keep  a  girl,  too,  if  there  was  one  to 
be  had.  She  would  soon  pay  for  herself  out  of  the 
extra  butter  I  would  be  able  to  make.  I  have  to 
keep  the  cows  down  small  now,  but  I  like  a  big  herd. 
I  had  a  girl  once  from  the  old  country,  but  she\ 
married  in  a  month.  They  always  get  married." 
She  sighs,  and  I  am  silent.  I  know  she  has  touched 
on  one  of  the  great  problems  of  the  West — the 
dearth  of  female  labour. 

Back  to  Mr.  Larcombe's  farm — across  twenty-five 
miles  of  prairie,  purple  and  gold,  with  the  warm, 
wild  wind  on  our  faces  and  the  wild  hawk  overhead. 
From  there  I  wander  over  many  hundreds  of  miles 
of  prairie,  by  rail  and  rig,  through  many  weeks, 
watching,  noting,  questioning  the  conditions  of  life 

which  British  women  are  so  loath  to  accept,  appar- 
101 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

ently,  since  they  are  so  scarce.  I  sketch  people  and 
places  as  I  find  them,  generally  at  the  time  and  on 
the  spot.  Before  I  go  on  with  the  prairie  studies  I 
think  I  will  quote  an  article,  "  to  be  continued,"  which 
appeared  in  a  certain  T.  P's  Weekly,  by  "  A  Trans- 
planted Englishwoman."  Here  it  is — 

"  Frances "  spoke  truly  in  a  recent  article 
when  she  said  that  no  girl  should  go  to  the 
Colonies  without  having  some  idea  of  the  con- 
ditions of  life  she  will  find  there.  I  would, 
however,  suggest  that  a  cheaper  and  more  prac- 
tical method  of  gaining  experience  than  by 
taking  a  course  at  Swanley  College  could  be 
had  by  spending  three  months  as  a  working 
member  of  the  household  of  an  English  or 
Scotch  agricultural  labourer.  Provided  choice 
is  made  of  a  cottage  many  miles  away  from 
towns  and  villages,  where  the  wife  has  to  make 
her  own  bread  and  see  to  a  few  animals,  I  think 
most  of  the  conditions  of  colonial  life  (I  speak 
of  Canada)  can  be  experienced.  These  condi- 
tions can  be  roughly  summed  up  as  discomfort, 
inconvenience,  and  "  doing  without."  Every 
labourer's  wife  is  well  inured  to  these  condi- 
tions, and  for  this  reason  I  would  never  have 
102 


THE   PRAIRIES 

the  slightest  hesitation  in  advising  a  working- 
class  woman  to  go  to  the  Colonies,  whereas  I 
cannot  think  of  one  middle-class  woman  of  my 
acquaintance  at  home  whom  I  would  care  to 
bring  out  here — that  is,  to  live  as  wife,  sister,  or 
daughter  on  a  homestead. 

People  at  home  talk  vaguely  of  "  roughing  it 
in  Canada."  That  sounds  somewhat  romantic, 
and  calls  up  visions  of  cowgirls  flying  across  the 
prairie  on  horseback,  picturesque  in  wide- 
brimmed  hats  and  loosely-knotted  neck-scarfs 
— red  for  choice.  I  will  endeavour  to  put  into 
cold,  unromantic  words  what  "roughing  it" 
really  means  for  the  middle-class  woman.  Let 
us  first  take  the  house  prepared  for  her  by  her 
male  relative.  It  is  of  logs,  and  looks  somewhat 
picturesque  in  a  painting.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
dirt  appears  to  her — especially  if  she  arrives  in 
spring — to  be  its  most  prominent  feature.  Mud 
is  ankle  deep,  and  the  cow  and  chickens  are 
wandering  around  the  back  door,  adding  to  the 
filth  there  accumulated. 

In  time,  of  course,  there  will  be  added  a 
fence,  but  at  present  the  male  relative  has  so 
many  things  to  do.  The  spaces  between  the 

logs  are  chinked  with  moss,  and  then  plastered 
103 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

with  a  clay-and-sand  cement  which  at  intervals 
cracks  and  drops  off  in  bits,  having  to  be  done 
each  autumn.  Inside  the  bare  logs  have  been 
covered  with  building-paper — the  colour  of  a 
grocer's  sugar-bag,  yellowish-white — tacked  on 
in  somewhat  unsightly  fashion.  Flies  and 
spiders  find  a  cosy  home  in  the  moss  behind  the 
paper,  and  frequently  there  are  worse  things. 
The  roofing  of  the  house  is  of  boards  and  tar- 
paper,  and  by  the  second  summer  it  begins  to 
leak,  so  that  whenever  it  rains  it  is  necessary 
to  put  pots  and  pans  under  the  drips.  The  most 
unpleasant  places  for  these  drips  are  the  stove 
and  the  beds.  On  the  prairie,  where  the  houses 
are  frequently  roofed  with  sods,  the  drips  con- 
sist of  liquid  mud.  Of  course,  in  the  fulness  of 
time  the  male  relative  will  get  the  house 
shingled,  but — he  has  so  many  things  to  do. 

The  floor,  of  course,  is  bare,  the  boards  are 
unplaned  and  uneven,  and  there  are  large  gaps 
between  them  in  places.  The  native  Canadian 
drudge  laboriously  scrubs  her  floor,  but  no  sane 
woman  who  can  scrape  up  a  dollar  wherewith 
to  buy  floor-paint  need  do  this.  A  painted  floor 
is  easily  cleaned  with  mop  or  wash-cloth.  The 

house  generally  consists,  for  the  first  few  years, 
104 


THE   PRAIRIES 

of  one  large  room,  a  part  of  it  partitioned  or 
curtained  off  for  a  bedroom.  An  Englishman 
will  generally  stand  out  for  a  board  partition, 
for  it  is  unpleasant  to  be  having  a  bath  or  lying 
ill  in  bed  with  nothing  but  a  curtain  between 
one  and  the  living-room,  which  is  practically 
open  to  any  passer-by  who  calls  at  the  door. 
There  is  a  door  on  each  side  of  the  living-room 
— no  passage  or  porch  between  door  and  out- 
side world — so  that  every  one  who  goes  in  or 
out,  when  the  temperature  ranges  from  zero  to 
forty-five  below  zero,  gives  those  inside  a  taste 
of  the  fine  bracing  air  out  of  doors.  Those 
who  suffer  from  cold  feet,  in  spite  of  felt  boots 
and  three  pairs  of  stockings,  do  well  to  comfort 
themselves  with  the  thought  that  in  six  or  seven 
months  the  warm  weather  will  have  come,  and 
it  will  be  pleasant  to  have  open  doors.  At  the 
approach  of  winter  one  cuts  old  coats  and 
trousers  into  strips,  and  laboriously  tacks  them 
down  the  cracks  in  the  boards  of  which  the  doors 
are  composed,  for,  having  been  made  in  a  hurry 
out  of  green  wood,  they  have,  of  course,  warped 
and  begun  to  gape. 

In  many  cases  one  of  the  worst  discomforts  on 
a  new  homestead  is  the  incessant  trouble  about 
105 


A   WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

water.  This  is  one  of  the  numerous  points  we 
have  in  common  with  the  old  country  agricul- 
tural labourer's  wife.  Time  was  when  I  thought 
— with  my  class — that  "  poor  people  "  could  at 
least  keep  themselves  and  their  houses  clean, 
for  water  was  cheap.  I  know  better  now.  In 
some  parts  of  the  West  the  water  is  so  alkaline 
as  to  be  unfit  for  either  washing  or  drinking, 
and  even  the  well-to-do  farmers  have  to  be 
dependent  on  rain-water  in  a  cistern.  In  the 
bush,  however,  water  is  good  and  plentiful  if 
means  are  taken  to  secure  it,  but  the  home- 
steader, as  a  rule,  digs  a  shallow  well  at  first, 
instead  of  going  to  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
boring.  In  a  dry  season  it  probably  runs  dry, 
and  one  goes  to  a  neighbour's  for  drinking- 
water,  and  waits  for  rain  to  provide  washing- 
water.  This  is  in  summer.  From  November  to 
April  one  melts  snow  to  provide  all  the  water 
required  for  drinking,  for  washing,  and  for  such 
animals  as  are  kept.  This  is  a  tedious  and 
messy  process,  for  a  pail  of  snow  will  only  make 
half  a  pailful  of  water. 

It  will  be  understood  that  a  bath  under  such 
conditions  becomes  a  luxury,  and  one  is  never 

so  wasteful  as  to  throw  away  the  water  after 
106 


THE   PRAIRIES 

one's  weekly  tub.  It  serves  to  mop  or  wash  the 
floors  on  cleaning  day,  or  to  soak  the  dirtiest  of 
the  clothes  on  washing  day.  In  time,  of  course, 
the  male  relative  will  provide  an  adequate  water 
supply,  but — he  has  so  many  things  to  do,  and, 
besides,  he  hopes  to  build  a  proper  house  in  a 
few  years'  time,  and  when  he  bores  he  will 
prefer  to  do  it  near  the  new  house.  Washing 
day  in  winter  comes  round  all  too  quickly.  It 
is  prefaced  by  melting  numerous  pailfuls  of 
snow,  until  one  gets  half  a  barrelful  of  water. 
There  are,  of  course,  no  coppers  in  Canadian 
houses,  either  in  the  cities  or  in  the  new  coun- 
tries, and  the  water  is  heated  in  a  tin  boiler  on 
the  stove.  If  one  is  short  of  pails  and  tubs,  one 
must  just  carry  dirty  water  out  in  the  midst  of 
operations  from  a  steamy  atmosphere  to  the 
arctic  temperature  outside,  and  before  the 
clothes  can  be  shaken  out  to  hang  on  the  line 
they  freeze  stiff.  One,  of  course,  learns  to 
manage  things  so  as  not  to  go  outside  until 
everything  is  finished,  shaken  out,  and  put  in 
position  to  hang  out  as  expeditiously  as  pos- 
sible, and  one  puts  on  coat  and  warm  gloves 
before  starting  the  hanging-out  performance. 
Such  discomforts  as  being  many  miles  from  a 
107 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

village  and  post  office,  of  doing  without  various 
articles  of  food,  such  as  fresh  meat  in  summer, 
milk  if  one  has  no  cow,  and  fresh  vege- 
tables for  eight  months  in  the  year  one  soon 
gets  accustomed  to,  just  as  one  gets  accus- 
tomed to  eating  in  the  same  room  as  one 
cooks  in,  finding  everything  in  the  house  frozen 
solid  on  January  and  February  mornings,  and 
keeping  muslin  and  wire  mosquito-  and  fly- 
screens  over  doors  and  windows  in  summer.  It 
is,  of  course,  quite  unnecessary  to  lengthen  out 
on  the  things  which  every  woman  must  be  able 
to  do  in  rural  Canada,  and  this  applies  to  the 
civilized  old  settled  districts  as  well  as  to  the 
new  places.  She  must  cook,  clean,  wash,  bake 
bread,  make  butter,  milk,  mend  her  menfolk's 
clothes  and  make  her  own,  attend  to  a  garden, 
and  in  summer  go  out  every  day  and  pick  wild 
fruit — blueberries,  strawberries  and  raspberries 
— to  preserve  for  the  winter.  No  tame  fruit  is 
to  be  had,  and  an  average  provision  of  pre- 
served fruit  for  two  people  for  nine  months  will 
be  two  hundred  quarts.  This  is  not  jam,  but 
stewed  fruit  put  in  jars  which  seal  hermetically, 
and  which  are  to  be  bought  at  every  village 

shop  in  Canada. 

1 08 


THE   PRAIRIES 

I  have  many  quarrels  with  that  article.  The  writer 
advises  any  working-class  woman  to  go  to  the 
Colonies — and  not  the  middle-class  women.  I 
strongly  oppose  such  advice.  The  working-class 
woman  does  not  bring  the  intelligence  to  bear  on 
domestic  emergencies  which  a  cultured  woman  can, 
out  of  her  ignorance  how  can  she  reduce  disorder  to 
comeliness,  and  make  the  prairie  home  a  beautiful 
thing?  It  can  be  done.  I  have  seen  it.  Then  the 
next  generation  deserves  some  attention.  If  ignorant 
women  of  our  lower  orders  go  out  and  marry — as 
they  will — farmers,  who  are  often  men  of  decent 
breeding,  their  children  will  go  down,  not  up,  in  the 
scale  of  progress;  a  woman  of  refinement  and  cul- 
ture, of  endurance,  of  healthy  reasoning  courage,  is 
infinitely  better  equipped  for  the  work  of  home- 
making  and  race-making  than  the  ignorant,  often 
lazy,  often  slovenly  lower-class  woman.  I  know; 
I've  washed  too  many  of  them  in  hospital  days. 

Then  the  squalid  picture  of  the  hovel  drawn  by 
the  transplanted  Englishwoman  galls  my  kibe. 
There  are  such  shacks;  no  man  ought  to  ask  a 
woman  to  share  one;  no  woman  ought  to  be  silly 
enough  to  do  it,  unless  she  chooses  to  deliberately, 
and  then  she  ought  not  to  grumble.  There  are 
plenty  of  comfortable  farmhouses  on  the  prairie 
109 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

where  the  farmer's  wife  will  welcome  her  and  pay 
well  for  help.  Let  the  transplanted  Englishwoman 
go  to  her.  She  will  work  less  hard  than  in  the 
piteous  hovel  described  so  graphically,  and  under 
infinitely  more  comfortable  and  healthy  conditions. 
Let  her  earn  good  money  and  leave  that  "  busy  male 
relative  "  to  miss  her  enough  to  build  a  decent  house, 
and  board  his  floors,  and  look  after  the  well-boring 
and  all  the  rest.  Even  if  the  male  relative  is  her 
husband  I'd  say  the  same.  In  fact,  I  would  say  it 
more  urgently — such  a  hovel  is  not  fit  for  child- 
bearing,  both  mother  and  baby  would  suffer.  Every 
woman  who  works,  and  domesticity  is  work,  has  a 
right  to  ask  for  decent  working  conditions,  and  if 
she  cannot  get  them,  to  leave  any  man,  husband  or 
no,  and  work  for  herself  until  he  can  provide  them. 
The  labourer  is  worthy  of  her  hire.  I  have  no 
patience  with  the  women  who  go  to  ill  conditions 
and  grumble  about  them  instead  of  bettering  them. 
There  is  no  need  to  stop  and  be  miserable.  No  one 
can  compel  you  to. 

I  asked  one  woman  on  the  prairie  who  slaved  to 
keep  her  shack  in  nice  living  conditions,  "Aren't 
you  sorry  you  came  ?  "  She  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  across  the  sunny  acres.  "  No !  "  she  said, 
"this  is  all  our  own.  England  could  never  have 
given  us  this.  We  shall  soon  be  more  comfortable." 
no 


THE   PRAIRIES 

The  "transplanted  Englishwoman"  talks  of 
doing  without  fresh  vegetables  for  eight  months  in 
the  year.  There  is  no  need  for  it.  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  on  market  gardening  later  on — but  what 
on  earth  is  to  prevent  her  growing  her  own  vege- 
tables ?  The  relative  afore-mentioned  will  spare  her 
an  acre  or  two  near  the  shack  where  she  can  grow 
"  roots,"  as  they  call  them  over  there,  and  store  them 
for  winter  use  as  her  neighbours  do,  in  a  cellar  or 
"  root-house." 

It  is  bitter  to  find  individual  incompetence  de- 
scribed as  general  conditions.  To  do  the  lady  justice 
she  does  say  in  her  next  and  concluding  article  that 
there  is  hope  for  those  who  stick  to  their  drudgery — 
the  hope  of  ultimate  betterment. 

T.  P.'s  Weekly,  however,  does  not  publish  only 
grumbles.  Here  is  a  letter  from  a  worker  of  evi- 
dently cheery  soul  who  makes  comfort  out  of  what 
may  readily  be  turned  to  hideous  discomfort.  A  very 
different  story  this  man  tells. 

To  the  Editor  of  "  T.  P.'s  Weekly  " 

SIR, 

After  living  in  Canada  for  six  years,  and 
having  resided  in  the  provinces  of  Ontario  and 
Manitoba — I  am  now  in  Saskatchewan  upon  a 


in 


A   WOMAN    IN    CANADA 

farm  of  my  own — I  think  I  may  claim  to  have  a 
good  knowledge  of  the  country.  Like  "  Suc- 
cessful Man,"  I  emigrated  to  Canada  independ- 
ently, which  seems  to  be  the  only  way  to  avoid 
trouble.  The  Canadian  Immigration  Depart- 
ment specially  advise  against  dealing  with  pri- 
vate agents  and  advertisements  such  as  ended 
so  disastrously  for  the  "  Three  Who  Failed." 

Arriving  at  Winnipeg,  I  applied  at  the 
Government  Bureau  for  a  position,  and  was 
sent  out  to  a  country  town  in  Manitoba  with  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  the  postmaster,  asking 
him  to  place  me  with  some  farmer  needing  help. 
Unfortunately,  this  old  postmaster  got  in  a 
temper,  saying  he  had  "no  connection  with 
the  Immigration  Department."  However,  he 
stated  the  case  to  some  farmers  that  had  just 
called  for  their  mail.  They  told  me  of  a  man 
whom  they  thought  needed  help.  As  I  had 
only  thirty  cents  in  my  pocket  and  was  prac- 
tically stranded,  and  night  drawing  near,  I  of 
necessity  paid  the  farmer  a  visit.  His  hospital- 
ity was  all  that  could  be  desired,  and,  after 
keeping  me  overnight — I  suppose  to  "size  me 
up,"  for  I  was  pale-faced  and  anything  but 
sturdy-looking — told  me  he  did  not  really  need 

112 


THE   PRAIRIES 

a  man,  but  directed  me  to  another  farmer ;  and, 
after  walking  fifteen  miles  from  place  to  place, 
I  finally  obtained  a  position  at  fifteen  dollars  per 
month. 

I  was  not  altogether  "  green  "  at  farm  work, 
but  being  new  to  the  country  was  to  my  dis- 
advantage, and  Canadian  farmers,  like  most 
employers,  will  not  pay  any  more  than  they  can 
help.  After  serving  six  months  in  my  first  berth 
I  changed  from  place  to  place,  always  getting 
highest  wages — fifteen  dollars  for  winter  and 
thirty  dollars  for  summer.  I  always  selected  the 
larger  farms,  for  on  them  they  usually  have 
some  system  and  pay  highest  wages,  and  a  man 
learns  quicker.  On  the  small  farms,  where 
there  is  only  one  man,  he  has  everything  to  do ; 
system  is  lacking,  which  often  makes  the  work- 
ing hours  long.  I  have  worked  on  large  farms 
of  2,000  acres  and  upwards  with  as  many  as  ten 
other  men,  each  having  four  horses  under  his 
care  and  to  work. 

"  Successful  Man  "  said  he  "  always  avoided 
the  bachelors"  because  of  their  "wretched  es- 
tablishments and  the  absence  of  female  help." 
It  is  true  some  of  them  are  negligent,  but  not  all 

of  them  are  as  black  as  he  has  painted  them.    I 
H  113 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

myself  am  a  bachelor,  not  through  choice,  but 
rather  force  of  circumstances,  and  know  the 
situation  only  too  well.  I  am  constrained  to  put 
aside  my  natural  modesty  to  modify  the  state- 
ment that  in  "  these  establishments  "  there  are 
"no  properly-cooked  meals,  no  regular  hours, 
general  disorder,  dirt,  etc."  I  have  known  many 
to  be  systematic,  orderly,  and  excellent  cooks; 
and  some  I  have  known  to  receive  great  praise 
at  the  hands  of  women  for  their  household 
management.  Recently  I  had  a  threshing 
machine  with  a  crew  of  sixteen  men  (and  this 
is  the  average  number  in  the  West)  to  do  my 
threshing;  and  I  had  to  do  all  the  cooking 
alone  for  them  for  three  meals.  Through  force 
of  circumstances  I  have  become  fairly  profici- 
ent in  this  art,  though  this  is  the  first  time  I 
have  been  put  to  so  severe  a  test. 

As  to  the  absence  of  women,  which  "  Suc- 
cessful Man  "  mentions,  it  is  not  the  fault  of  the 
bachelors.  The  bachelors  are  a  great  majority, 
and  the  women  are  not  in  the  country.  Any 
woman  who  ventures  here  will  receive  more* 
than  her  share  of  attention,  and,  most  likely, 
be  promptly  appropriated  by  some  bachelor 
anxious  for  a  happier  state.  The  crying  need 
114 


n  Canada 
Women  are  Scarce  in  the  North  West 

Page  115 

. 


e' 


THE   PRAIRIES 

of  Western  Canada  is  women;  it  is  like  that 
heathen  cry  which  comes  to  the  missionary — 
"Come  over  and  help  us."  Though  Canada 
is  not  altogether  "heathen,"  it  needs  the  mis- 
sionary spirit  of  women  to  make  it  a  crowning 
success,  and  no  doubt  many  of  the  teeming 
multitude  of  British  women  would  profit  by 
this  golden  opportunity.  The  life,  though 
strenuous,  is  not  altogether  monotonous,  for  one 
can  have  one's  hours  of  leisure  in  which  to  cul- 
tivate the  mind  as  well  as  the  land,  if  the  man  so 
desires. 

Yours  faithfully, 

J.  G.  S.,  Sask.,  Canada. 

That  man  deserves  a  good  wife  !  I  have  lingered 
to  quote  and  comment  because  there  is  so  much 
written  one  way  and  another  on  the  prairie  farm-life 
that  English  readers  must  often  be  rarely  puzzled 
to  know  what  to  believe.  Every  one  writes  sincerely, 
I  think,  from  the  individual  point  of  view.  Every 
reader  may  be  sure  that  in  himself  alone  is  the  stuff 
to  make  this  picture  of  Canada  come  true,  or  that. 


CHAPTER   VI 

PRAIRIE    STUDIES 

THE  trail  is  what  one  might  call  hummocky,  the 
heat  is  fierce,  and  I  am  getting  my  skirt  covered 
with  grease  from  a  new  kind  of  cartridge.  My  face 
and  hands  I  gave  over  to  perdition  after  the  first 
ten  minutes  with  them,  but  the  extension  of  damage 
to  my  skirt  is  less  easy  to  bear  as  I  am  "travelling 
light,"  and  it  will  be  ten  days  before  I  reach  Calgary 
and  my  trunk ! 

The  little  smokeless  bullets  I  used  at  first  were 
hardly  big  enough  to  kill,  and  after  I  had  suffered 
seeing  half-a-dozen  little  furry  gophers  die  slowly 
in  great  rebellion,  I  open  a  box  of  black-powder 
cartridges  and  become  a  pillar  of  grease ! — and 
mercy.  I  am  really  driving  out  over  this  sun- 
smitten  prairie  to  see  an  Englishwoman  who  has 
newly  settled  in  Canada,  and  learn  from  her  of  the 
conditions,  but  the  journey  is  considerably  gilded 
by  the  loan  of  a  '22  Winchester  and  the  presence  of 
a  driver  who  connives  at  gopher-shooting.  We 
116 


PRAIRIE    STUDIES 

dawdle  along  and  shoot  from  the  rig  whenever  the 
boy  turns  with  a  "  Say !  there's  a  dandy  shot,"  and 
I  see  a  pretty  squirrelly  person  sitting  by  his  hole 
staring  defiance  with  his  cheeks  bulged  with  stolen 
wheat.  I  would  recommend  gophers  to  any  one 
who  prefers  a  rifle  to  a  shot-gun — they  give  quite  as 
good  sport  as  rooks  in  May,  and  that  is  saying  a 
good  deal.  We  lose  our  way  once  and  I  am 
electrified  to  find  a  patch  of  prairie  roses  in  bloom. 
They  are  the  loveliest  things  of  wonder,  in  that 
desert  of  scorched  grass — from  dead  white  to  deep 
red  they  grow  on  low  bushes  a  foot  or  so  high  and 
smell  with  a  wild,  warm  sweetness  impossible  to 
describe;  we  find  the  trail  again  and  see  at  last  the 
place  we  are  looking  for.  Out  on  the  livid  grass  it 
stands,  a  mean  black  shack  of  wood  and  pulp-paper, 
a  lowlier  shelter  than  many  a  farmer's  beast  would 
have  in  England.  My  heart  sinks  with  pity  as  we 
approach — how  can  anybody  live  in  such  a  shell 
here  in  this  arid,  treeless  desert?  The  rig  draws 
up  and  a  man  comes  out  of  the  doorway,  I  get  a 
glimpse  into  a  stifling  den  of  flies,  and  am  reminded 
of  the  accommodation  in  a  gipsy's  caravan — this 
looks  no  bigger.  There  is  a  small  tent  in  front  of 
the  shack — I  suppose  for  sleeping  in  in  dry  weather. 
The  man  listens  to  my  story  and  takes  me  round  to 
117 


A   WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

see  his  wife;  he  is  a  nice  man,  deeply  tanned,  with 
humorous  eyes  and  a  strong  chin.  I  like  his  face. 
His  wife  is  sitting  the  other  side  of  the  shack  in  the 
shade,  nursing  a  fat  baby.  As  I  sit  beside  her  I  am 
wholly  prepared  for  an  outburst  of  grumbling,  and, 
indeed,  I  feel  I  have  no  right  to  expect  anything 
else.  But  lo !  like  the  roses  in  the  gasping  prairie 
there  blooms  nothing  but  courage  and  cheerfulness 
from  her  tale. 

"  Lonely  !  not  a  bit  now  I  have  my  baby  !  But 
even  without  him  there  was  plenty  to  do.  A  farmer's 
wife  in  Canada  must  expect  work.  In  seeding-time 
she  will  be  up  at  4  a.m.  to  get  the  men  their  break- 
fast. Then  she  will  have  to  milk,  and  separate  the 
cream  afterwards,  if  they  have  a  separator.  If  there 
are  several  cows  it  is  quite  a  back-aching  task. 
Then  there  will  be  the  house  to  clean,  the  breakfast 
things  to  wash  up,  the  beds  to  make,  and  she  must 
not  waste  time  over  that  part  of  her  day  for  there  is 
dinner  to  cook  for  hungry  men  by  11.30.  After 
washing  up  again  the  afternoon  will  mean  bread- 
making,  or  clothes-washing  and  ironing,  or  jam- 
making,  or  butter-churning — one  of  the  endless 
things  like  that  anyway,  and  at  7.30  or  6.30  (accord- 
ing to  the  season  of  the  year)  she  must  have  "  tea  " 

ready.    Tea  is  nearly  as  big  a  meal  as  dinner  and 
118 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

the  last  meal  of  the  day.  After  that  she  must  wash 
up,  then  milk  two  cows  and  separate  her  cream 
before  she  can  think  of  going  to  bed.  Probably 
there  will  be  some  darning  or  mending  to  do  even 
then.  That  is  a  straightforward  day,  but  it  is  greatly 
complicated  when  the  children  begin  to  come." 

She  has  told  me  the  tale  of  labour  quite  simply. 
Her  eyes  are  happy,  her  face  is  beautiful  with  health 
and  courage. 

"We  only  came  out  a  year  ago,"  she  continues; 
"  in  a  week  or  two  we  will  move  into  a  good  house — 
this  is  very  uncomfortable — my  husband  has  bought 
another  farm  and  it  has  a  house  on  it.  Isn't  my 
boy  beautiful?  but  he  was  born  before  his  time. 
You  wouldn't  think  so,  would  you?  I  had  to  go  so 
far  to  reach  the  hospital  that  the  journey  upset  me, 
and  I  was  very  afraid  for  him,  he  was  nearly  a 
month  too  soon." 

The  baby  is  a  magnificent  chap,  worthy  of  un- 
stinted praise  and  gets  it,  though  he  dislikes  my  way 
of  holding  him  and  clamours  to  get  back  to  the 
arms  he  is  growing  to  know.  "Do  you  think  he 
will  smile  at  me  soon?"  she  says.  "I  am  so  glad 
to  have  him,  but  the  women  suffer  much  out  here  in 
these  wilds  for  lack  of  proper  nurses.  They  want 

qualified   midwives   who  will   turn   to   when   their 
119 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

patients  are  settled,  and  do  housework  for  them. 
It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  know  how  many  prairie 
women  go  through  their  confinements  alone;  I  was 
very  lucky,  I  was  able  to  get  to  a  hospital,  but  lots 
of  them  can't."  I  ask  her  if  she  is  homesick  for  the 
old  country,  and  she  saddens  for  a  second.  "Will 
one  ever  lose  that  feeling,  I  wonder?  It  will 
come  all  right.  We  are  getting  on,  we  are  not 
going  to  give  in — we  have  never  thought  of  doing 
that." 

The  man  comes  out  of  the  shack  with  tea  and 
bread  and  butter  for  me — he  has  prepared  it  all 
y  quietly  while  I  was  talking;  as  he  returns  to  his 
work  the  young  wife  watches  him  very  fondly.  "  Eng- 
lishmen make  better  husbands  than  Canadians,"  she 
announces,  and  I  observe  that  the  latter  would  not 
like  to  hear  her  say  so.  We  laugh  and  talk  on  about 
the  life,  the  people,  the  country. 

I  discern  in  her  a  reserve  of  cheerfulness  that 
promises  success  for  both  in  the  venture.  Her 
laughter  is  not  forced,  it  bubbles  continually  from 
some  inner  fount  of  joy.  They  came  from  the 
Midlands,  and  neither  of  them  understood  land 
culture,  in  general  a  foolhardy  experiment.  But 
these  two  young  English  people  are  on  a  fair  way 
to  success — I  cannot  exactly  say  why.  They  may 

120 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

be  intelligent  above  the  average,  they  may  have 
brought  considerable  capital,  they  may,  or  he  may, 
own  to  some  streak  of  farmer  blood  which  helps 
him  to  learn  readily,  it  may  be  unusual  industry  (a 
quality  which  always  brings  success  in  Canada),  or 
it  may  be — who  knows? — that  old-fashioned  love  has 
them  in  grip,  and  makes  everything  seem  easy  for 
each  other  and  nothing  too  hard  to  win.  I  have 
pictured  them  exactly  as  I  found  them — I  cannot  hit 
on  what  made  them  so  interesting  and  so  nice  in 
their  squalid  shack.  I  only  know  that  their  eyes 
were  kind  when  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  they 
were  very  happy  in  surroundings  which  many  would 
have  bitterly  resented.  I  realize  one  thing  as  I  look 
at  them  and  say  "  Good-bye  " — the  hardness  of  a 
settler's  lot  is  infinitely  lessened  if  he  has  a  wife  to 
smile  with  him.,  A  grumbling  woman  could  have 
made  life  hell  for  both  on  that  blazing,  shadeless 
plain. 

If  I  were  to  come  next  year  I  should  see  them  in 
a  nice  house,  with  granaries  and  cow-sheds;  with 
more  acres  of  prairie  broken  into  grain,  and  a  small 
fat  person  toddling  round  who  has  learned  to  smile 
at  mother. 

Going,  I  sniff  industriously — it  almost  feels  as  if 
I  can  smell  mignonette  !  I  accuse  them  inwardly 

121 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

of  having  made  me  homesick  with  their  peaceful 
English  voices;  but  a  few  yards  from  the  shack  J 
see  a  plaintive  tribute  to  our  common  nationality — 
a  square  yard,  not  more,  of  prairie  land  hedged 
round  with  pegs  and  string,  where  bloom  gloriously 
mignonette  and  nasturtium. 

****** 

I  am  prepared  to  write  Canada  down  a  tropical 
country !  This  is  mid-September  and  the  heat  is 
fierce;  the  train  ambles  along  over  a  new  wobbly 
track — the  passengers  have  long  ago  given  up  resist- 
ance and  are  lying  or  sitting,  gasping,  in  every 
position  of  wretchedness.  Some  of  us  are  sitting 
on  the  end  of  the  car,  blinded  with  dust  and  glare, 
but  getting  some  slight  draught  from  the  motion  of 
the  train.  I  am  on  my  way  to  an  old  settler's  farm 
— they  came  out  sixteen  years  ago,  have  done  well, 
and  belong  to  the  type  of  moneyed  farmers  now. 
The  train  brings  me  at  last  to  the  station  of  a  little 
prairie  township,  and  there  a  burly  man  with  a  red 
face  claims  me  with  a  hospitable  grunt. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  to  meet  me,"  I  say  politely. 
"  You  must  be  busy  at  this  time  of  year?  " 

"Yes,"  he  says,  "we'm  busy.  Mind  that  step. 
It's  deceitful.  More  slips  off  than  gets  on  with  it." 

I  make  for  the  step  gingerly.     It  is  a  very  little 
122 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

one  behind  a  big  wheel,  and  I  "slip  off  it  as  most 
do,"  to  the  great  discomfort  of  my  shins.  When  I 
get  fixed,  the  horses  turn  towards  the  sunset  and  we 
drive  in  a  fairy  world  of  amethyst  light,  creek  and 
bush  and  slough  mantled  in  purple  and  gold.  The 
farmer  is  pleased  with  my  admiration. 

"You  should  see  this  'ere  in  spring,"  he  says, 
"when  acres  of  purple  crokers  bloom  wild  over  the 
prairie,  and  them  tiger-lilies  and  wild  roses  and  that 
maiden'air  fern  they  think  such  a  lot  of  in  the  ould 
country;  sakes !  you'd  oughter  see  it  then." 

He  tells  me  of  the  early  struggles.  He  was  a 
cobbler  in  England  and  went  into  farming  where 
he  was  "beggared  by  a  little  farm  of  nine  acres  at 
a  rental  of  £3  an  acre."  Now  he  has  1,500  acres  of 
his  own  land  and  "money  in  the  bank,"  besides 
stock.  But  the  early  struggles  were  hard;  they 
would  have  gone  back  to  England  scores  of  times 
if  they  had  had  the  money,  he  says.  At  first  he 
worked  hard  only  to  make  money  to  pay  the  pas- 
sage back ;  but  hard  work  brought  the  reward  of  this 
country,  money — more  money  than  he  had  ever 
handled  before,  and  he  'determined  to  stay  on  and 
see  if  he  could  not  go  back  with  a  few  thousand 
dollars.  Now  he  tells  me  he  could  not  live  any- 
where in  the  world  but  this  free  North-West. 
123 


A   WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

The  farmhouse  proves  to  be  a  large  building  of 
brick — a  sign  in  itself  of  prosperity,  at  the  door  a 
short,  stout  lady  in  gorgeous  apparel  beams  affably. 
"  The  missus,"  he  says  shortly,  "  and  the  lady  from 
England."  The  missus  and  the  lady  shake  hands, 
and  I  see  her  eyes  travel  in  acute  disappointment 
over  my  plain  linen  dress  and  Panama  hat.  I  follow 
her  into  the  house  humbly  conscious  that  I  have 
fallen  short  of  a  preconceived  ideal  of  what  the 
"lady  from  England"  should  look  like.  We  go 
into  the  parlour,  a  realm  of  fumed  oak  chairs  and 
violent  cretonnes,  garrulous  with  pink  and  blue 
flower-vases  and  "knick-knacks,"  and  there  we  sit 
stiffly,  discussing  the  weather  and  politics.  I  learn 
that  "my  'usbind  is  a  Conservative  and  don't  'old 
with  them  grafters  at  all."  Also  that  "  Mrs.  Warren 
and  Mrs.  Suter  called  on  me  this  afternoon,  or  I 
would  a'  come  to  meet  you."  This  with  some  pride. 
?\  I  wonder  vaguely  if  a  "  grafter  "  is  a  Socialist  or  a 
Liberal,  and  how  my  hostess  has  time  for  calling  or 
being  called  upon  in  this  busy  land.  The  room  is 
very  stuffy  and  does  not  seem  to  have  been  dusted 
for  some  time.  Grievous  odours  of  cooking  assail 
the  air;  I  long  to  be  allowed  to  go  out  on  the 
"lawn"  (a  patch  of  prairie  grass)  and  look  at  the 
petunias,  which  riot  in  confusion  everywhere.  But 
124 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

conversation  drags  on,  every  now  and  then  a 
daughter  of  the  house  will  come  in  and  sit  for  a 
moment,  looking  at  me  with  her  hands  folded  on 
her  lap.  Then  she  returns  to  the  region  of  smells. 
(I  want  to  see  the  ordinary  daily  life  and  this  is  not 
at  all  what  I  came  for.)  By  and  by  we  go  in  to 
"  tea  " — a  heavy  meal  of  ham  and  cold  beef,  honey 
and  jam,  cakes  and  tea.  The  whole  family  is  there, 
including  the  farm-hands;  every  one  helps  himself 
— the  flies  most  of  all — and  I  suffer  several  shocks. 
Food  is  here  in  plenty,  but  carelessly  served — 
dirtily  served.  I  endure  agonies  of  conscience  as 
the  farm-help  near  me  takes  a  fly-blown  slice  of  beef 
on  his  fork  from  the  common  dish  in  the  centre  of 
the  table.  Ought  I  to  tell  him?  Or  is  he  used  to 
it?  Would  my  hostess  be  hurt?  Is  it  my  duty  to 
hurt  her  and  tell  her  the  beef  is  not  fit  to  eat? 
While  the  dispute  rages  within  the  farm-help  has 
eaten  his  beef,  and  I  resign  him  to  his  fate.  The 
tablecloth  is  very  dirty,  the  butter  has  not  been  put 
in  the  ice  safe  (an  unpardonable  sin  in  Canada, 
where  every  household  has  its  store  of  ice  gathered 
in  winter).  I  drink  a  cup  of  tea  and  plead  a  head- 
ache for  lack  of  appetite.  After  the  meal  is  over  I 
volunteer  to  turn  the  "  separator,"  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  "Missus,"  who,  I  am  sure,  thinks  I  have 
125 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

never  done  an  hour's  work  in  my  life.  But  I  am 
again  badly  shocked.  The  separator  is  near  the 
kitchen  stove,  a  very  inferno,  and  the  last  place  for 
milk  to  be  in  this  weather.  The  flies  make  high 
holiday,  for  the  wire-netted  door  is  propped  wide 
open  instead  of  being  kept  shut;  the  pails  are  none 
too  clean,  the  strainer  is  certainly  not  clean.  I  feel 
I  want  to  scald  every  vessel  in  the  place,  to  pack  ice 
round  the  milk  corner,  and  to  kill  every  fly,  to  scrub 
the  greasy,  dingy  floor,  and  box  the  ears  of  Missus 
and  her  tribe  of  feckless  daughters.  This  is  an  ex- 
perience indeed.  Here  I  am  finding  the  farmer's 
wife  as  she  should  not  be;  a  woman  of  plebeian 
stock  who,  with  prosperity,  is  greedily  clutching  the 
worst  features  of  the  class  above  her,  which  claims 
all  the  admiration  of  her  foolish,  snobbish  soul. 

She  must  wear  a  silk  blouse — and  "  call "  of  an 
afternoon  forsooth — and  neglect  her  home  for 
society.  I  retire  to  bed  wrathful  and  perplexed. 

After  an  hour  in  bed  an  odious  suspicion  pre- 
sents itself.  It  increases  in  virulence  and  becomes 
a  certainty.  I  consider  the  touch  of  an  unclean 
insect  an  affront — it  is  a  thing  I  refuse  to  tolerate. 
With  ludicrous  precautions  against  the  acquisition 
of  one  of  the  creatures  I  dress  and  creep  down- 
stairs to  sleep  on  the  "  lawn."  For  three  hideous 
126 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

days  I  live  on  tea  and  toast,  sleeping  on  the  lawn  at 
night  when  every  one  else  has  gone  to  bed,  and  rising 
before  any  one  is  up  to  avoid  discovery.  Then  I 
resist  all  invitation  to  prolong  my  visit,  and  take 
train  for  a  farm  six  hundred  miles  away  where  I  am 
going  to  study  conditions  in  the  house  of  an  English 
.settler  and  his  wife,  neither  so  new  as  the  first  nor 
so  old-established  as  these  last. 

As  I  drive  away,  pursued  by  cordial  good-byes 
(for  the  Missus  has  forgiven  me  my  low-born  taste 
for  farm-work  and  hatred  of  "  calling  "),  I  muse  on 
the  pity  of  it  all.  These  people  are  rich,  they  could 
have  their  house  cleaned,  papered,  painted — they 
could  afford  to  hire  servants  to  keep  it  nice  if  such 
were  to  be  found  in  the  district  and  they  didn't  want 
to  work  themselves;  they  have  no  excuse  for  dirt 
but  one — they  don't  know  any  better.  They  come 
of  a  poor  old-country  stock,  bred  probably  for 
hundreds  of  years  in  poverty  and  dirt,  ignorance 
and  class-worship.  They  don't  know  any  better. 
And  the  pity  is  for  the  land  of  their  adoption. 
****** 

I  am  sitting  beside  my  "  good,  reliable  driver  "  in 

the  hired  single  rig,  which  is  to  take  me  to  a  farm 

on  the  Eagle   Hills  fifteen  miles  away.     I  have 

especially  described  the  kind  of  driver  I  want  as 

127 


A    WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

experience  has  taught  me  the  grief  of  trusting  to 
unskilled  pilots  among  the  sloughs  and  mud-holes 
on  the  prairie  trails ;  instinct  tells  me  that  this  good- 
looking  young  man,  with  his  fiery  eye  and  casual 
acceptance  of  my  directions,  is  hardly  up  to  my 
description.  I  wonder  whether  to  make  a  fuss  and 
ask  at  the  livery  stable  for  another,  but  decide 
against,  probably  he  is  all  right.  So  off  we  go  at 
an  easy  lope  to  follow  Red  Pheasant  trail.  The 
ferry  is  crowded  with  oxen  and  wagons,  with  rigs 
and  "democrats";  true  it  is  that  the  mare  prefers 
the  side  of  the  trail  to  the  middle  of  it  and  we  ride 
most  of  the  way  at  a  fearful  angle,  but  the  sun  holds 
us  in  such  kind  regard,  and  the  blue  harebells  fling 
such  a  frail  defiance  to  the  wind  that  there  is  no 
room  for  anything  but  happiness.  If  it  were  pos- 
sible I  would  describe  the  country,  but  there  is  no 
way.  I  am  unable  to  show  to  English  minds  the 
wide  Western  horizon,  the  height  and  blueness  of 
the  skies,  the  stinging  caress  of  the  wind,  sweet  with 
scent  of  the  upland  hay  and  the  wild  charm  of  the 
prairie  when  it  breaks,  as  it  does  here,  into  rolling 
dunes  of  grass  and  scrub.  Between  the  little  hills 
lie  broad  blue  lakes — I  had  thought  Manitoba 
beautiful,  now  I  am  fain  to  forget  her  in  Saskat- 
chewan. Wind  and  sky  and  lonely  spaces  .  .  . 
128 


A   WC 

experience  has  taught  me  the  grief  of  * 

pilots  JiUiOf'i^  the  sloughs  and  mu(; 
on  the  prairie  trails ;  instinct  tells  me  that  this  good 
looking  young  man,  w-i-ih  his  fiery  eye  and  casual 
aoTptJuet.'  ol  my  directions,  is  hardly  up  to  m> 
'.irsviipfcoa.    I  wonder  whether  to  make  a  fuss  and 
ask   at  the   livery  stable  for  another,   but   decide 
against,  probably  he  is  all  right.     So  o2  we  go  at 
an  easy  lope  to  follow  Red  Pheasant  trail.     Th< 
ferry  is  crowded  with  oxen  and  wagons,  with 
and  "democrats";   true  it  is  that  the  mare  prefen 

Near  Leanchoil  where  Otto  lives 
most  of  the  way  at  a  fearful  angle,  but  the  sun  holds 
us  in  such  kind  regar<fr»rtd  the  >lu<?  harebells 
such  a  frail  defiance  to  the  wind  that  there  is  n<> 
room  for  anything  but  happiness.  If  it  were  pos- 
sible I  would  describe  the  country,  but  there  is  no 
way.  I  am  unable  to  show  to  English  minds  the 
wide  Western  horizon,  the  height  and  blueness  of 
the  skies,  the  stinging  caress  of  the  wind,  sweet  with 
scent  of  the  upland  hay  and  the  wild  charm  of  the 
prairie  when  it  breaks,  as  it  does  here,  into  rolling 
dunes  of  grass  and  scrub.  Between  the  little  hills 
lie  broad  blue  lakes — I  had  thought  Manitoba 
beautiful,  now  I  am  fain  to  forget  her  in  Saskat 
chewan.  Wind  and  sky  and  lonely  spaces  ,  ;  . 
128 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

there  is  that  in  the  West  which  will  make  my  heart 
bleed  to  leave  it.  ...  The  afternoon  wears  on,  the  sun 
plunges  behind  the  hills  and  I  begin  to  realize  that 
the  mare  is  slacking  wearily,  the  air  is  growing  crisp 
with  frost,  that  Fifteen  miles  was  never  so  long  in 
the  world,  and  that  my  "good,  reliable"  driver  is 
looking  round  uneasily.  "Are  we  lost?"  I  ask. 

"'Guess  so,"  he  answers,  and  so  we  are.  After 
driving  on  and  on  we  find  a  homestead  and  learn 
that  we  are  nearing  "  Swift  Current,"  miles  from 
"  Red  Pheasant."  The  settler  is  pleased  to  see 
strangers,  and  keeps  us  a  long  time  outside  his  shack 
while  he  tells  us  the  way.  ,The  sun  drops  rapidly,  the 
air  grows  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth,  and  I  sit 
brooding  on  the  pleasures  of  a  night  on  the  open 
prairie.  I  try  to  believe  what  the  settlers  say  about 
the  coyotes — that  they  are  cowards  and  run  away  if 
you  "  shoo  "  them.  I  try  to  persuade  myself  that  it 
will  not  be  horribly  cold,  and  that  three  oranges  in 
my  sachel  will  supply  us  with  food  and  drink. 
Every  now  and  then  the  mare  gets  us  into  a  mud- 
hole  or  shies  at  an  insecure  log  bridge.  At  last  we 
find  a  French  half-breed  on  a  lean  broncho;  he 
tells  us  we  are  wrong  again,  and  I  ask  him  if  we 
can  find  the  place  at  all  to-night.  He  thinks  so  if 
we  don't  go  wrong  any  more,  and  I  offer  him  a 
i  129 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

dollar  to  put  us  right.  He  leads  us  to  Red  Pheasant 
trail  and  we  jog  along  for  eight  more  miles,  lit  by 
the  Northern  lights,  shivering  miserably. 

At  last  we  see  a  light  on  the  hill,  we  conciliate  a 
big  Newfoundland  dog,  and  an  English  voice  says 
kindly,  "You  are  blue  with  the  cold,  now  come 
in  at  once."  Soon,  from  the  security  of  warm 
sheets  and  woolly  blankets  I  listen  to  the  coyotes 
howling. 

A  step  passes  my  door  at  dawn.  I  get  up  and 
go  down-stairs;  there  she  is — my  pretty  hostess 
with  her  young  face  and  grey  hair,  lighting  the 
kitchen  fire  for  the  day's  work.  I  watch  her  for  a 
little  while.  She  has  a  contented  face  and  works 
very  neatly;  her  dress  is  a  pretty  blue  cotton  and 
over  it  is  a  linen  apron,  the  sleeves  are  rolled  to  the 
elbow,  her  feet  are  thickly  shod,  she  wears  a  low 
collar,  her  skirt  is  four  inches  from  the  ground, 
there  is  nothing  to  impede  her  movements,  and  yet 
the  whole  effect  is  very  smart  and  workmanlike. 

Presently  she  goes  out  and  I  follow  her ;  we  walk 
down  to  the  corral  in  the  tender  light  that  hangs 
like  a  kiss  on  the  brow  of  day;  I  watch  her  milk 
the  six  cows,  help  her  feed  the  calves,  and  gather 
in  the  breakfast  eggs ;  we  linger  a  minute  to  admire 
the  black  baby  pigs  that  race  from  bush  to  barn, 
130 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

sleek  and  ridiculous.  We  sympathize,  at  a  distance, 
with  poor  Tim  the  terrier,  who  has  lately  killed  a 
skunk  and  been  shut  up  till  he  can  be  disinfected; 
we  tread  delicately  like  Agag  through  the  dewy 
golden-rod  to  the  kitchen  garden,  where  we  gather 
some  squaw  corn  for  breakfast,  and  I  have  time  to 
admire  the  pitch  of  cultivation  to  which  it  has  been 
brought, — onions,  beets,  celery,  potatoes,  carrots, 
cabbages,  turnips,  peas,  beans,  all  growing 
luxuriously  in  the  rich  black  loam. 

"  I  love  the  garden,"  she  says;  "  I  do  most  of  it 
myself.  Aren't  the  sweet  peas  lovely?  The 
Canadians  use  tinned  vegetables  far  too  much — it 
is  not  healthy,  and  they  can  grow  them  beautifully 
if  they  will  take  the  trouble.  They  have  several 
little  faults,  only  I  would  hesitate  to  tell  them  so — 
they  spoil  their  complexions  and  make  themselves 
delicate  by  keeping  their  houses  too  hot.  They 
think  me  mad  because  I  have  lots  of  fresh  air  in 
the  house,  and  because  my  boys  have  a  bath  every 
day  and  four  clean  shirts  a  week."  It  is  on  the  tip 
of  my  tongue  to  tell  her  I  know  of  some  English 
settlers  who  would  think  these  things  mad  too,  but 
I  refrain.  Her  loyalty  to  the  old  country,  so  often 
derided  out  here,  is  too  sweet  to  taint  with  shame 

for  any  of  its  people. 

1 2  131 


A    WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

"We  have  been  out  nearly  six  years,"  she  tells 
me  while  she  is  preparing  breakfast,  talking  in  little 
jerks  while  she  runs  from  cellar  to  stove  and  stove 
to  table;  "but  my  husband  came  out  two  and  a 
half  years  before  me — that  was  a  long,  cruel  wait 
for  us  with  only  letters  and  photographs  to  live  on; 
he  was  in  a  city  office  at  first,  but  he  was  too  big  and 
strong  to  stand  the  sedentary  stuffy  life;  after  we 
talked  it  over  we  decided  to  risk  our  £250  saved 
for  furnishing  and  try  farming  in  Canada;  he  came 
out  homesteaded  and  made  good — he  worked  as  a 
labourer  first,  learning  the  soil  and  the  conditions 
and  saving  money  all  the  time.  When  he  came  to 
till  his  own  land  and  build  his  own  house  he  was 
able  to  profit  by  all  he  had  learned,  it  saved  him 
hundreds  of  dollars."  .  .  .  "But  the  boss  hasn't 
told  you  what  she  was  doing  all  the  time,"  says  her 
husband,  coming  in  from  his  chores;  he  is  a  fair- 
haired  giant  of  thirty-three  or  so  and  looks  less  like 
any  city  man  I  have  ever  seen.  "She  went  and 
trained  for  a  nurse,  because  she  said  the  farm  work 
could  never  be  as  hard  as  hospital  work  and  it 
taught  her  to  get  up  early.  That  was  good,  wasn't 
it?  When  she  started  here,  I  tell  you,  she  often 
drove  the  hayrake  with  a  pair  of  oxen,  and  I've 
known  her  pitch  hay  till  sundown — we're  in  better 
132 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

shape  now  and  doing  good;    she  doesn't  do  that 
any  more." 

"  It's  a  lovely  life,"  she  says,  "  everything  smells 
fair  and  sweet — there  are  young,  healthy,  live 
things  round  you  all  the  time." 

The  meal  is  fragrant  with  the  steam  of  good 
coffee,  the  taste  of  clover  honey  and  wild-strawberry 
jam,  eggs  so  fresh  that  they  are  creamier  than  cream 
itself,  golden  bannocks  and  home-made  bread, 
which  is  the  crown  of  every  settler's  table !  This 
homestead  is  very  different  from  the  last  one. 
Breed  has  a  great  influence  in  the  ordering  of  lives ; 
with  exactly  the  same  materials  to  her  hand  one 
Englishwoman  makes  of  her  home  a  paradise  and 
the  other  in  her  ignorance  a  smellsome  hovel. 

While  the  farmer  and  the  farm-hands  start  break- 
fast she  runs  up-stairs  for  Humpty  and  Dumpty, 
who  in  due  course  appear,  shiny  and  hungry,  but 
when  she  has  her  own  breakfast  I  don't  to  this 
moment  recollect.  We  had  ours,  and  they  had  theirs, 
and  I  suppose  she  had  hers  too,  but  it  must  have 
been  quick.  When  the  farmer  goes  out  to  plough 
fireguards  round  the  stacks  I  engage  the  Humpty 
Dumpties  in  a  miraculous  fairy  story,  full  of  candy 
and  pop-corn,  while  Mummy  makes  beds  and  rushes 
from  room  to  room  like  a  Utopian  whirlwind  that 
133 


A  WOMAN   IN  CANADA 

leaves  order  in  its  train.  They  are  four  and  two 
years  old,  these  babies;  as  they  listen  to  the  oracle 
with  their  round,  brown  eyes  and  curly  hair  wide- 
spread about  their  heads  like  haloes,  I  speculate  on 
how  they  would  have  fared  in  England,  and  realize 
that  this  broad  heritage,  won  by  their  parents  from 
the  wild,  is  a  nobler  gift  from  one  generation  to  an- 
other than  the  unendowed  gift  of  life  which  would 
have  been  all  they  would  have  got  in  the  old  country. 
Aye,  and  that  gift,  too,  is  often  tainted  at  the  spring. 
.  .  .  The  day  is  short  because  it  is  so  full;  her 
young  face,  brown-eyed,  and  rosy  under  its  mass  of 
grey  hair,  beams  on  me  with  the  good  nature  of 
perfect  health  and  high  spirits,  twinkling  when  I 
express  astonishment  at  her  energy,  jerking  out 
scraps  of  information  at  odd  intervals. 

"Jim  says  you  can  shoot  some  wild  duck  if  you 
go  with  him  to-morrow — we  can  lend  you  a  gun — 
he'll  be  by  the  lake  and  you  can  get  good  sport 
while  he  is  at  work;  we  want  some  more  meat."  I 
profess  modest  incompetence. 

"  They're  so  thick  you  couldn't  help  hitting  them, 
the  temptation  is  to  kill  too  many;  prairie  chicken 
are  more  difficult.  No !  I  don't  sell  much  butter,  I 
could  if  I  made  more,  but  I  do  want  help ;  there  is 
none  to  be  got  in  the  West,  you  know;  directly  an 
134 


. 

[  have  a 
I  must  get  them  shers 

/  men— think 
. 

Interior  of  a  Log  Cabin 
>\ly  thresh  from 

Page  135 

• 

Hariand   an. 
do   of  :"iap,    a 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

active,  clever  woman  comes  out  she  gets  married. 
I  wish  I  could  find  one  to  help  me  with  dairy  and 
chickens,  and  the  pigs,  they  are  all  my  '  perquisites,' 
and  I  could  make  a  lot  of  money  by  them  if  I  had 
more  time.  This  afternoon  I  must  make  bread,  and 
bannocks  if  you  like  them;  those  onions  are  ready 
for  pickling,  and  I  have  all  Jim's  winter  vests  to 
make.  I  must  get  them  cut  out  before  the  threshers 
come.  They'll  be  here  for  two  and  a  half  days, 
twenty  men — think  of  the  feeding !  I  used  up  a 
whole  hog  last  year.  They  don't  mind  if  the  service 
is  rough  so  long  as  the  food  is  good.  Yes !  we 
generally  thresh  from  stack,  the  grain  sometimes 
improves  in  colour  by  stacking  and  it's  safer,  too. 
A  little  rain  will  delay  a  great  time  if  you  thresh 
from  stock."  I  listen  to  her  as  I  wander  from  the 
dining-kitchen  to  the  living-sitting-room;  her  taste 
is  good — here  are  no  lithographs,  but  plain  green 
walls  hung  with  the  "  Four  Seasons,"  Millet's 
"Gleaners,"  Rossetti's  "Beata  Beatrix";  a  book- 
case where  Scott  jostles  Omar,  Don  Quixote  leans 
against  Schopenhauer,  and  Dickens  riots  in  beauti- 
ful red  calf  alongside  Henry  Harland  and  De 
Maupassant;  a  dado  of  green  burlap,  a  small 
cottage  piano — that  is  all,  except  for  the  vases  of 
sweet  peas,  and  the  Dresden  cups  and  saucers, 
135 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

choice  but  few,  carefully  carried  from  the  old 
country  six  years  ago.  A  restful  room — I  feel  that 
to  look  in  it  is  to  know  its  owners  have  indeed  "  made 
good"  in  Canada. 

I  ask  her  about  the  birth  of  her  babies.  "  Don't 
talk  of  it,"  she  says ;  "  I  nearly  died  last  time,  and 
we  thought  poor  Dumpty  surely  must  die.  He  was 
born  hours  before  the  doctor  came,  and  the  nurse 
was  away  on  another  case  thirty  miles  off.  I  was 
alone  but  for  Jim,  he  sent  the  chore-boy  for  the 
doctor  and  he  lost  his  way  in  a  blizzard.  Don't 
talk  of  it.  We  need  nurses  at  reasonable  distances 
all  over  the  prairies — sensible,  skilled  women,  but 
they  are  hard  to  get." 

The  same  cry  as  that  first  woman  gave !  If  the 
Dominion  Government  would  secure  to  itself  a  fine 
race  it  must  watch  the  needs  of  its  mothers. 

"After  bread-baking  we  will  take  a  walk  and 
look  at  the  standing  wheat,  if  you  like." 

We  set  forth  near  milking-time,  and  walk  past 
the  gopher  holes  and  badger  holes  and  pale  wolf- 
willow  to  the  standing  corn.  It  rustles  in  the  wind 
and  exudes  the  faintest  hint  of  a  warm  grainy  smell 
under  the  blazing  sun;  the  slight  harsh  sound  re- 
minds me  fantastically  of  bank  notes  rustling,  it 
billows  like  a  sea,  wave  on  wave,  acre  on  acre, 
136 


PRAIRIE    STUDIES 

mile  on  mile;  timely  bluffs  make  wind-breaks  for 
the  crop,  and  shine  like  green  oases  in  the  Sahara 
of  growing  gold.  Here,  where  they  found  virgin 
prairie,  she  stands;  the  heavy  ears  lap  against  her 
splendid  hips,  and  here  and  there  they  tip  her 
breast;  round  her  skirts  the  children  cling,  she 
moves  in  this  beautiful,  fruitful  land  like  Ceres 
among  plenty. 

"  Now,  Humpty,  if  you  look  at  the  new  Auntie 
over  there  you'll  see  she  is  making  a  'mental 
picture,'  and  if  you  look  at  the  sun  you'll  see  he  is 
making  long  shadows.  The  two  don't  agree.  Long 
shadows  say  bed-time  for  little  Humpties  and  little 
Dumpties,  so  Auntie's  picture  must  melt  away." 
Off  home  we  all  go  like  geese  in  single  file.  Beauti- 
ful big  Mummy  first,  then  fat  Humpty,  the  sleepy 
Dumpty,  and  lastly  "  Auntie  "  making  notes. 

"  No,  it's  not  with  the  troubles  of  farming,  if  it 
was  any  trouble  at  all  it  was  from  living  in  a  highly 
rented  Putney  house  with  a  lot  of  brothers  and 
sisters  who  needed  more  money  than  father  could 
earn !  "  She  has  bathed  the  two  rolls  of  fat  and  is 
putting  them  to  bed.  "  It's  hereditary — I  was  grey 
at  twenty  and  my  brother  at  eighteen !  Do  you 
hear  the  cow-bells  ?  "  I  look  out  of  the  window,  far 
away  I  see  the  tiny  windmill  arms  of  the  binder 
137 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

flapping  industriously ;  I  hear  a  sleepy  "  Amen  "  fol- 
lowed by  "  Good-night "  behind  me. 

Here  is  the  sleek,  slow  herd ;  one  by  one  the  cows 
come  lowing  into  the  corral.  There  she  is,  pails  in 
hand,  going  to  meet  them  among  the  wolf-willow 
and  golden-rod. 


My  conscience  stirs  uneasily — in  all  my  wander- 
ings through  this  beautiful  busy  country  I  have  not 
/found  an  Englishwoman  to  tell  me  in  close  detail 
her  experiences  of  Canadian  domestic  life  as  she 
found  it  on  first  landing,  white-hot  with  eager  in- 
dustry— and  ignorance.  They  would  be  useful  read- 
ing, I  know,  to  intending  immigrants,  and  till  I  find 
them  I  feel  I  have  hardly  obeyed  the  official  instruc- 
tions to  "  describe  Canada  from  a  woman's  point  of 
view."  A  difficulty  I  have  never  foreseen  confronts 
me,  for  the  feckless  settlers  have  nothing  of  value 
to  tell,  little  but  self-revealing  grumbles  to  offer, 
and  the  workers  have  so  much  to  do  that  they  will 
hardly  talk  about  it.  It  is  quite  near  the  end  of  my 
sojourn  in  the  country  before  I  find  what  I  want : 
an  English  girl  who  came  out  two  years  ago  to  keep 
house  for  her  brothers,  and  who  tells  her  story 
vividly  while  she  gets  tea  ready  in  the  little  wooden 

138 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

house  out  on  the  prairie.  She  is  young  and  pretty, 
I  watch  her  work  with  pleasure;  she  has  curly  red 
hair  and  a  pleasant  voice,  her  hands  are  red  and 
rough,  an  honourable  sign  in  this  country.  Far 
away  on  the  horizon  is  a  crimson  ring  of  sunset,  in 
the  middle  distance  a  straw-stack  burns  with  a 
pale  yellow  flame. 

"  I'll  tell  you  of  my  first  day,"  she  says.  "  I  can 
never  forget  how  odd  it  all  was.  I  got  to  Regina 
at  two  in  the  morning,  and  whenever  I  think  of  the 
city  I  see  it  as  I  saw  it  then  for  the  first  time,  silent 
and  grey,  with  its  unpretentious  rows  of  wooden 
houses.  My  brothers  had  been  '  batching '  it,  and 
welcomed  me  gladly;  they  are  not  farmers,  they 
work  in  the  city  and  had  had  many  discomforts  to 
put  up  with.  I  started  right  into  work  at  once — I 
got  up  that  same  morning  to  make  their  breakfast; 
they  were  asleep  still,  and  I  wanted  to  please  them 
from  the  first  day  they  had  me  there.  I  went  into 
the  kitchen  to  make  the  fire,  but  could  find  no  wood, 
no  coal,  no  water;  I  looked  about  for  the  bundles 
of  tidy  sticks  one  always  has  in  the  old  country, 
nothing  to  be  seen.  Then  I  remembered  I  must  not 
expect  comforts,  and  went  outside  to  hunt.  I  found 
a  shed  with  coal,  but  all  the  wood  was  big  round 
pine  logs,  hopeless  for  kindlings.  I  hunted  for  a 
139 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

chopper.  It  cost  me  a  long  time  and  a  cut  finger  to 
splinter  enough  for  my  purpose,  and  when  I  tried 
the  stove — oh !  I  wish  you'd  seen  how  clumsy  I 
was.  I  tried  to  light  the  fire  from  the  front  like  we 
did  at  home,  but  I  found  it  worked  from  the  top, 
and  after  my  eyes  were  smarting  with  smoke  and 
my  temper  ruffled  it  began  to  draw.  Then  for  the 
water :  I  looked  everywhere,  there  was  none  to  be 
found,  no  taps,  no  barrel,  no  anything !  I  took  a 
pail  and  searched  round  about  for  a  well,  but  at 
last  had  to  call  one  of  the  boys  and  he  took  me 
down  to  the  well  that  supplies  several  of  us  here — 
a  good  four  hundred  yards  away. 

"  It  was  with  real  dismay  that  I  realized  how  every 
drop  of  water  I  used  must  be  drawn  from  the  well 
and  carried  all  that  way.  At  last  I  got  them  some 
tea  and  bread  and  bacon,  and  sent  them  off  to  work 
with  a  list  of  wanted  stores.  We  are  too  far  from 
the  shops  to  be  really  comfortable  here.  After  they 
had  gone  I  looked  round.  First  to  wash  up  the 
breakfast  things.  There  was  no  sink,  no  sign  of  a 
sink;  earnest  search  revealed  a  pail  full  of  tea- 
leaves,  potato-parings  and  refuse  hidden  behind  a 
packing-case — evidently  this  must  be  my  portable 
sink;  but  where  to  empty  it?  I  went  to  the  door 
and  surveyed  the  blank  prairie;  at  last  I  took  a 
140 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

spade  and  dug  a  deep  hole  far  from  the  shack,  for 
the  boys  had  evidently  emptied  the  '  sink '  out  of 
the  front  or  back  door,  or  anywhere  handy,  during 
their  reign,  and  the  method  did  not  commend  itself 
to  me.  With  a  pail  and  tin  basin  I  made  shift  to 
wash  up;  then  made  the  beds,  cleaned  the  dusty 
windows,  scrubbed  the  kitchen  floor,  and  then  made 
for  my  great  work.  Early  in  proceedings  I  had 
spied  in  one  corner  of  a  room  up-stairs  a  heap  of 
dirty  clothes,  socks  full  of  holes,  tailless  shirts  and 
other  bachelor  signs,  which  made  my  female  heart 
to  bleed.  The  tablecloths  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  used  to  clean  boots  with — at  least  two  months' 
washing  stared  me  in  the  face.  Half-a-mile  or  more 
away  I  spied  a  neighbour's  shack — there  I  went  to 
borrow  a  wash-tub  after  a  hopeless  search  for  the 
thing  at  home,  and  I  first  drew  four  pails  of  water 
up  from  the  well,  putting  three  of  the  pails  straight 
on  the  stove  to  heat.  The  neighbour,  a  slatternly 
Irish  woman,  with  tousled  hair  hanging  about  her 
face,  and  gifted  with  a  dingy,  sore-eyed  child,  lent 
me  her  tub  with  all  the  good-will  in  the  world. 
With  indescribable  back-ache  I  washed  the  pile  of 
clothes  and  linen  from  pure  black  to  pale  grey,  the 
best  I  could  compass,  and  then  was  hard  put  to  for 

a  clothes-line.     At  last  I  remembered  a  cord  round 
141 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

a  trunk  up-stairs,  and  unknotted  it  with  sodden 
fingers  wondering  where  to  fix  it  to — there  was  no 
pole,  there  are  no  trees  here !  Finally  I  strung  it 
between  the  house  and  woodshed,  and  hung  out  the 
washing  to  dry.  There  was  hardly  any  food  in  the 
place,  I  boiled  some  potatoes  and  made  a  '  hasty ' 
pudding  for  my  dinner.  When  the  boys  came  in 
with  the  stores  I  prepared  their  supper  and  listened 
with  seemly  humility  to  their  expressions  of  admira- 
tion and  delight !  " 

Funny  little  woman  with  the  red  hair  and  red 
hands !  What  will  the  "  boys "  do  when  she 
marries?  She  has  refused  two  offers  already  for 
their  sakes,  but  she  can  hardly  be  expected  to  do 
that  for  ever.  I  look  round  me,  and  see  how  beauti- 
fully she  keeps  the  house;  outside  she  has  rigged 
up  a  primitive  boot-scraper  to  save  her  shining 
floors,  a  clothes-line  stretches  proudly  between  poles 
beyond  the  back  door ;  endless  homely  contrivances 
bear  witness  to  her  ready  wit  and  industry.  The 
"  boys  "  must  marry  too,  in  self-defence  !  But  wives 

\  are  scarce  in  Western  Canada. 

****** 

Here  is  a  Dutch  cattle-herd,  who  has  charge  of  a 
fine  dairy  farm  five  miles  from  Regina.  He  is  a 
big,  handsome  man  who  talks  English  with  the 

same  quaint  haunting  accent  that   I  have  always 
142 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

associated  with  Nico  Jungman.  His  is  a  splendid 
herd  of  grades  and  thoroughbred  Ayrshires — but, 
then,  it  ought  to  be  splendid.  He  "  mothers  "  them 
as  a  woman  her  children.  The  cattle  are  "in"— 
they  will  be  kept  in  from  now  (mid-October)  till  the 
middle  of  May,  going  out  sometimes  for  a  few 
hours  on  the  very  fine  days.  Only  the  young  and 
dry  stock  is  allowed  to  range  through  the  winter,  the 
milch  cows  need  warmth  and  care — and  don't  they 
get  it !  I  follow  him  into  the  warm,  sweet-smelling 
byre  where  a  fat  grey  cat  prances  frantically  after 
the  prongs  of  his  pitchfork,  and  there  he  passes 
from  one  prize-winner  to  another,  telling  me  how 
each  one  has  her  different  feed — this  one  is  going 
to  beef  and  so  is  on  bran,  which  does  not  make  fat 
and  gives  a  good  yield  of  milk;  this  one  has  oats 
chopped  and  flaxmeal  and  middlings,  she  needs 
building  up;  this  one  is  off  her  feed  and  is  there- 
fore in  disgrace,  having  her  milk  tested  by  Dr. 
Charlton  the  bacteriologist  to  fix  the  trouble.  We 
look  at  the  sturdy  calves,  nineteen  of  them  all  born 
in  the  purple,  and  he  strokes  their  backs,  fluffy  with 
the  coming  winter  coats.  At  a  wary  distance  I 
admire  the  great  bull,  and  suffer  with  what  dignity 
I  can  his  evident  dislike  of  me.  Cornelius  Zoon 
pats  him  familiarly,  and  says  he  is  annoyed  because 
he  "hasn't  seen  anything  like  you  before."  The 
143 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

kindly  Board  of  Trade  official,  who  has  driven  me 
over  to  the  farm,  explains  this  hard  saying.  "  He 
means  that  women  hardly  ever  come  here,"  that's 
all !  The  herd  tells  me  of  the  crops — how  they 
grow  alfalfa  for  the  calves,  but  do  not  grow  hay; 
instead  they  cut  the  "prairie  wool"  (the  native 
grass)  and  stack  it,  it  is  just  as  good  as  grown  hay. 
His  daily  programme  of  average  food  in  that  byre 
reads  like  a  fairy  tale,  in  my  ignorance  I  never 
guessed  cows  could  eat  so  much.  At  4  a.m.  he 
gives  them  their  first  meal  of  bran  or  chop;  at 
6.20  an  oatsheaf  each;  at  7.30  water;  at  10  another 
oatsheaf;  at  noon  more  water;  at  i  he  gives  them 
hay;  at  4  p.m.  chop;  at  5.30  sheaf;  at  6.30  water; 
at  7  hay  again,  and  twice  a  week  a  little  salt !  All 
the  while  this  big  Dutchman  is  working  towards 
'  ultimate  independence.  That  is  the  glory  of  work 
in  Canada.  It  has  such  rewards.  He  tells  me  of 
his  half -section  (320  acres),  half  of  which  he  has 
homesteaded  and  the  other  half  "pre-empted." 
Little  by  little  he  will  build  his  fortunes,  when  he 
can  "quit"  working  for  hire  and  start  altogether 
on  his  own  land  he  will  be  on  the  way  to  prosperity. 
His  round,  rosy,  child-like  face  glows  as  he  talks, 
his  blue  eyes  beam  with  hope. 


144 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

One  of  the  most  difficult  things  in  life  is  to  refute- 
an  accusation  of  vulgarity.  Difficult  because  it  is 
only  the  whole  of  oneself — that  is  to  say,  one's  life, 
one's  work,  one's  mental  outlook — that  can  be  called 
in  witness  for  the  defence.  Here  is  a  cutting  which 
reached  me  on  my  return  to  England. 

An  Englishwoman  by  birth,  but  a  Canadian 
by  adoption,  has  written  to  the  Regina  Leader, 
criticizing  Mrs.  Cran's  study  of  a  prairie  home, 
which  was  published  on  this  page  last  week. 
She  thinks  Mrs.  Cran  must  have  met  a  very 
unusual  class  of  people.  She  has  visited  many 
farm  homes,  and  has  never  seen  dirtily  served 
food,  nor  has  she  met  any  farmers  who  did  not 
introduce  their  wives.  She  also  considers  the 
farmer's  daughter,  who  sits  with  her  hands  in 
her  lap  and  says  nothing,  quite  an  exception, 
for,  as  a  rule,  farmers'  daughters  can  talk,  and 
talk  well  too.  She  says — 

"  Certainly  I  am  amused  at  the  vexation  of 
Mrs.  G.  Cran,  because  the  farmer's  wife  wears 
a  silk  blouse  and  receives  callers.  Why  should 
she  not?  Surely  the  women  who  share  with 
their  husbands  the  isolation  incumbent  upon 
farm  life  may  be  permitted  to  indulge  in  neigh- 
K  145 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

hourly  '  calls '  and  sociability,  which  to  my 
mind  seems  better  than  a  visit  made  in  the 
interest  (?)  of  journalism,  and  while  accepting 
hospitality  with  outward  cordiality,  feeling 
'  wrathful '  and  vicious,  and  writing  up  one's 
host  and  hostess  to  expose  their  faults  and  fail- 
ings. But  while  I  am  sorry  the  lady's  '  journal- 
istic industry '  landed  her  with  such  undesirable 
'  plebeians,'  I  rejoice  that  the  number  of  such  is 
very  small,  and  look  forward  to  the  time  when 
those  who  have  bravely  worked  through  the 
early  years  in  the  Great  West  shall  reap  to  the 
full  extent  all  it  has  in  store  for  them  of  reward, 
and  satisfaction  in  looking  back  at  work  well 
done,  and  instead  of  pitying  the  land  of  their 
adoption  I  am  proud  of  the  pioneer  men  and 
women,  those  who  have  helped,  and  are  still 
helping,  to  open  up  this  country  of  wonderful 
possibilities.  May  their  number  increase." 

It  is  hardly  intelligent  criticism,  it  is  stupid  to 
judge  of  a  building  by  a  brick.  The  lady  judges 
by  one  of  a  series  of  studies,  as  those  who  read  may 
see.  She  is  first  of  all  inaccurate;  the  farmer  did 
introduce  his  wife,  simply,  shortly,  but  quite  nicely. 

She  misapprehends  me  when  she  gibes  at  my  "  vexa- 
146 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

tion  "  in  the  matter  of  silk  blouses  and  calls.  The 
farmer's  wife  may  wear  silk  blouses  and  silk  hats 
and  silk  skirts,  and  sleep  in  silk  sheets  under  a 
silken  canopy,  she  may  have  callers  by  the  gross 
every  hour  of  every  day  with  my  entire  approval — 
if  that  counts  for  anything — if  she  keeps  her  house 
clean,  and  can  afford  these  luxuries.  She  says  she 
has  visited  many  farms  and  never  found  dirt.  I  did, 
and  I  am  not  the  only  one.  Let  me  quote  in  my 
defence  the  "transplanted  Englishwoman."  She 
says — 

Even  a  tent  is  preferable  to  close  contact 
with  people  whose  ways  in  "  little  things  that 
count"  are  offensive.  The  discomforts  of  a 
small  room,  an  uneven  floor,  and  an  inadequate 
supply  of  crockery  are  discomforts  that  one 
can  be  happy  with.  The  presence  of  a  man 
who  spits  on  the  floor,  and  of  a  room-mate  who 
never  bathes  and  cannot  stand  a  breath  of  fresh 
air  in  a  fetid  sleeping-room,  are  discomforts 
which,  to  a  refined  woman,  mean  Purgatory. 
I  speak  from  a  month's  experience  of  this 
species  of  discomfort  in  a  backwoods  home- 
stead. The  bed  to  which  I  was  introduced  had 

no  sheets,  and  the  blankets  were  of  a  dirty 
KZ  147 


A   WOMAN    IN    CANADA 

greyish-brown  colour,  and  had  been  in  use  all 
the  winter.  There  was  but  one  sleeping-place, 
as  it  was  termed,  for  the  whole  family  and  any 
chance  visitors,  flimsy  curtains  separating  the 
beds.  There  were,  of  course,  no  toilet  arrange- 
ments. Every  one  was  supposed  to  wash  and 
comb  his  or  her  hair  in  the  kitchen,  the  small 
wash-basin  and  hanging  glass  having  their 
place  on  a  bench  which  held  the  water-pails, 
saucepans,  etc.  I  caused  much  amazement  by 
taking  the  basin  of  water  and  my  own  hair- 
brush and  hand-glass  out  to  the  cowshed,  and 
there  performing  my  toilet  in  a  clean  corner. 
The  men  chewed  and  spat  continuously  while 
indoors. 

This  is  in  the  nature  of  corroboration,  I  think. 
Then  my  critic  on  the  Regina  paper  accuses  me  of 
a  vulgar  offence,  one  which  wounds  me  even  to 
think  of,  wholly  undeserved  as  it  is.  "Accepting 
hospitality  with  outward  cordiality,  feeling  wrathful 
and  vicious,  and  writing  up  one's  host  and  hostess 
to  expose  their  faults  and  failings."  I  may  have 
drawn  this  accusation  upon  myself  by  not  stating 
in  every  article  that  wherever  I  went  through  the 
whole  of  my  journey  I  said  straight  off,  "I  am 
148 


PRAIRIE    STUDIES 

writing  of  things  as  I  find  them  over  here.  May  I 
make  notes  of  your  daily  doings  and  surroundings 
and  use  them  ?  Do  you  mind  ?  "  I  never  went  to 
any  place  without  making  my  purpose  clear.  I 
always  asked  permission.  I  never  took  bread  and 
salt  under  guise  of  an  ordinary  friendly  visit.  With 
the  accordance  of  such  permission  my  way  lay  clear. 
It  was  always  given ;  if  it  was  given  under  the  idea 
that  I  should  smooth  the  rough  and  gloss  the  dull, 
then  I  am  sorry — for  the  giver.  The  writer  says  I 
felt  "  wrathful "  and  vicious.  I  put  it  to  those  who 
have  read  this  chapter,  Have  I  seemed  vicious? 
"Wrathful."  Yes.  Wrathful  with  the  conditions 
of  any  social  system  which  can  breed  people  in 
ignorance  and  dirt,  but  the  wrath  is  for  England, 
the  sorrow  for  Canada  that  there  should  be  grafted 
on  to  her  fine  stock  such  undesirables  of  our  civiliz- 
ation. I  have  not  over-stated  one  fact  in  that 
article,  nothing  is  set  down  in  malice,  bare  record  is 
all  I  have  attempted.  Finally  I  would  say  that  if 
the  Western  paper  which  quoted  my  article  did  not 
jay  it  was  one  of  a  series,  and  quote  or  outline  the 
others  it  did  me  an  injustice. 

I  have  refrained  from  statistics  in  these  prairie 
descriptions  because  I  so  well  remember  how  they 
made  the  very  name  of  Canada  a  boredom  to  me, 
H9 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

before  I  came  over  and  saw  the  beautiful  country. 
But  some  of  the  officials  to  whom  I  betrayed  this 
ill-governed  dislike  were  very  shocked.  They  said 
no  book  on  the  country  is  any  good  that  does  not 
comment  on  its  marvellous  figuresj  one  of  them 
drew  up  a  beautiful  table  for  my  private  edifica- 
tion. I  have  not  read  it.  But  here  it  is,  lest  any 
fall  by  the  way  in  learning  of  Canada  from  me,  and 
think  it  is  all  landscape  and  no  dollars. 

WESTERN  CROPS,  1909 
The  following  is  the   Official  Government 
Estimate  of   1909  crops,  dated  Ottawa,   i5th 
October,  1909,  and  covering  the  Provinces  of 
Manitoba,  Saskatchewan  and  Alberta  only — 

Bushels. 

Wheat,  total  yield  ....  120,340,000 
Oats,  ,,  „  ...  156,800,000 
Barley,  „  „  ...  30,240,000 

At  their  present  market  values  the  above 
crops  represent  the  gigantic  sum  of  nearly 
$185,000,000. 

A  FEW  COMPARATIVE  FACTS 
The  total  gold  production  from  the  Yukon 
for  ten  years,  from  1896  to  1906,  represents  a 


PRAIRIE   STUDIES 

value  of  $114,000,000;  but,  from  this  year's 
crop  alone,  our  Western  farmers  will  earn  about 
sixty-two  per  cent,  more  than  the  above  sum. 

The  total  value  of  diamonds  pro- 
duced in  1905  (last  available 
figures)  from  the  world's  rich- 
est mines  at  Kimberley,  South 
Africa,  was  about $34,000,000 

The  total  output  of  gold  for  the 
same  year  from  the  entire 
Transvaal  reached  the  sum  of 
about $104,000,000 


Or  taken  together $138,000,000 


Our  Western  farmers  will  realize  a  greater 
sum  by  about  thirty  per  cent,  from  this  season's 
crop. 

The  whole  world's  silver  production  for  the  \ 
year   1905  totalled  a  value  of   $282,000,000. 
Our  Western  farmers  will  earn  from  this  year's 
crop  a  sum  equal  to  more  than  half  of  the  value 
of  the  whole  world's  annual  output  of  silver.        S 

The  world's  gold  production  for  1905 
totalled  about  $380,000,000.  The  earnings  of 
pur  Western  farmers  from  this  year's  crops 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

will  represent  a  sum  equal  to  about  forty-nine 
'per  cent,  of  the  value  of  the  whole  world's  out- 
put of  gold  for  the  year  mentioned. 


Canada  represents  about  one-third  of  the 
entire  area  of  the  whole  British  Empire.  Yet, 
only  one-quarter  of  this  area  is  at  present 
occupied,  and  only  about  one-fortieth  is  under 
cultivation. 

I    still    like   my  way   best.      But   that   may   be 
obstinacy. 


A  WOMAN  IN  CANA 

will  represent  a  sum  equal  to  a! 

pgf  cent,  of  the  value  of  the  whole  world 

put  of  gold  for  the  year  mentioned. 


Canada  represents  about  one-third  of 
entire  area  of  the  whole  British  Empire.    Yet, 
only   one-quarter   of   this   area   is   at   present 
occupied,  and  only  about  one-fortieth  is  unde? 
cultivation. 

I    still    like   my  way   best.      But   that   may   be 

obstinacy. 

Where  Real  Sport  may  be  had 

P*ge  152 


152 


••••> 
M  I 


CHAPTER   VII 

POULTRY    FARMING   AND    MARKET   GARDENING 

ALTHOUGH  I  am  anxiously  looking  out  for  "  bache- 
lor "  women  on  the  prairies  I  do  not  seem  to  find  any. 
I  mean  by  this  phrase  women  who  are  working  the 
land  "  on  their  own,"  singly  or  in  clusters.  At  last  it 
is  borne  in  upon  me  that  there  are  no  women  on  the 
prairies  except  the  wives  and  daughters  of  farmers, 
and  they  are  scarce  enough;  but  travelling  as  I  am 
doing  at  this  stage  of  my  visit,  week  in  and  week  out, 
over  soil  so  rich,  I  am  constrained  to  wonder  if  there 
is  any  reason  why  women  should  not  come  out  and 
work  it  as  well  as  men.  No  one  questions  its  fer- 
tility and  abundant  profits,  nor  the  fact  that  hundreds 
of  healthy  Englishwomen  are  encumbering  the  old 
country  and  leading  profitless  lives.  The  labour  of 
"  homesteading  "  would  be  very  great  for  women,  I 
can  understand  their  shirking  it;  and  the  lure  of 
1 60  acres  of  free  land  is  not  :so  golden,  when  faced  in 
detail,  now  that  Canada  is  fast  settling  up,  as  it  is 
impossible  to  homestead  within  easy  reach  of  the 
153 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

railway,  a  most  important  matter  where  the  question 
of  carrying  goods  to  market  is  concerned.  The  dis- 
tance, too,  doubles  the  expense  of  conveying  lumber 
for  fuel  and  building  purposes,  furniture  and  imple- 
ments and  stock  to  the  farm ;  it  also  makes  the  home- 
steader a  very  lonely  person.  To  "  make  good  "  on 
a  free  farm  a  woman  would  need  either  much  courage 
and  capital,  or  considerable  male  labour,  besides 
agricultural  skill. 

Land,  however,  can  still  be  bought  at  any  price 
y  from  ten  dollars  (£2)  an  acre  and  upwards  within  a 
few  miles  of  the  railway,  and  only  those  who  have 
been  over  here  can  appreciate  the  opportunities  for 
money-making  in  Canada.  Women  in  England  have 
no  conception  of  the  openings  there  are  for  them  in 
tlie  great  North-West.  Given  health  and  industry, 
there  is  a  fortune  waiting  for  them  in  that  marvellous 
prairie  loam,  just  as  surely  as  for  the  men  who  go  out 
to  grow  wheat  and  run  stock-farms.  Above  all  there  is 
a  splendid  opening  for  our  women  gardeners.  Plenty 
of  women  now-a-days  train  in  agriculture  and  horti- 
culture, but  the  demand  for  their  services  is  at  best 
small  in  Great  Britain,  while  it  is  urgent  round  the 
rapidly  growing  prairie  towns.  These  towns  are 
utterly  unlike  anything  English ;  built  of  wood,  they 
spring  up  like  mushrooms  wherever  some  accident  of 
154 


POULTRY   FARMING 

rail  or  water  in  the  locality  makes  them  convenient 
centres  of  access  to  the  outer  world.  Thither  come 
the  farmers  and  ranchers  to  sell  and  buy,  to  bring 
their  sick,  to  fetch  their  mail,  to  hire  the  labour  which 
is  so  dear  and  scarce  in  the  North- West — and  to 
"see  life." 

They  are  excellent  centres,  moreover,  for  the  sale 
of  market  garden  produce,  which  at  present  is,  like 
labour,  both  dear  and  scarce.  The  Canadian  house- 
wives use  tinned  goods  to  a  tremendous  extent  be- 
cause their  men  prefer  the  big  gamble  of  wheat- 
growing  to  the  steady,  if  slower,  road  to  fortune 
offered  by  vegetable,  fruit  and  flower  growing.  Here, 
then,  is  the  opportunity  for  Englishwomen.  Let 
them  come  out  in  twos  and  threes,  unless  any  single 
woman  has  herself  sufficient  capital,  and  (just  as  im- 
portant) courage  for  a  lonely  life;  let  them  settle 
within  marketable  driving  distance  of  such  cities  as 
Saskatoon,  Regina,  Edmonton,  Calgary,  etc.,  and 
they  will  find  awaiting  them  every  facility  for  a  life 
of  independence  and  certain  ultimate  success  in  the 
grandest  climate  in  the  world.  The  brilliant  bracing 
air,  the  bustle  of  industry  and  of  hope  which  pervade 
the  prairies  are  beyond  my  powers  to  describe.  If 
they  would  prefer  to  try  such  a  centre  as  Winnipeg 
they  must  be  prepared  to  pay  bigger  prices  for  their 
155 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

land,  or  else  to  settle  near  the  smaller  towns,  like 
Birtle,  which  is  eight  hours  by  rail  from  Winnipeg, 
where  excellent  land  is  to  be  bought  for  ten  dollars 
(£2)  an  acre.  Mr.  Larcombe  has  800  acres  at  Birtle, 
where  he  raises  excellent  wheat,  yet  he  finds  it  pays 
him  to  devote  more  and  more  of  his  land  every  year 
to  growing  potatoes,  beets,  tomatoes,  pumpkins,  etc., 
for  the  Winnipeg  market.  He  would  be  an  invalu- 
able and  willing  adviser  to  any  one  proposing  to 
compete  with  him ;  it  sounds  altruistic,  but  the  market 
is  large  and  grows  yearly  larger ;  also  he  is  an  ardent 
Imperialist  who  keenly  desires  to  see  British  settlers 
on  Canadian  soil.  It  is  possible  to  settle  within  an 
hour,  by  electric  car,  from  the  city  on  the  Assiniboine 
River,  but  land  there  fetches  250  dollars  an  acre. 
Winnipeg  offers  a  greater  market  for  fruit,  flowers  and 
vegetables  than  any  city  in  Canada.  It  imports  hun- 
dreds of  car-loads  yearly  from  the  United  States,  all 
subject  to  33  per  cent,  duty,  not  to  mention  the  high 
freight  rates.  The  soil  is  magnificent,  a  warm  quick 
vegetable  mould  which  has  been  known  to  produce 
650  bushels  of  potatoes  to  the  acre.  Figuring  that 
out  at  50  cents  a  bushel  shows  a  yield  of  325 
dollars  an  acre,  and  50  cents  is  a  low  estimate.  I 
met  a  man  here  in  September  who  had  just  received 
1.25  to  1.50  dollars  per  bushel  for  his  last  load! 

156 


POULTRY   FARMING 

All  vegetables  sell  readily.  Some  of  the  companies 
will  do  the  first  year's  ploughing  for  buyers  of  market 
garden  lots,  and  take  payment  by  instalment  as 
profits  come  along ;  personally  I  should  always  sug- 
gest the  advisability  of  starting  fair  with  sufficient 
capital  to  be  unencumbered  by  any  such  debt,  al- 
though many  a  wealthy  Canadian  of  to-day  began  in 
that  way. 

Land  round  the  other  cities  I  mentioned  can  be 
purchased  now  for  twenty-five  dollars  to  thirty 
dollars  an  acre,  generally  speaking,  and  they  offer  a 
steadily  growing  market.  Round  Saskatoon  land  may 
be  bought  for  anything  from  ten  dollars  to  twenty- 
five  dollars  an  acre,  in  accordance  with  its  proximity 
to  the  city,  a  factor  the  value  of  which  to  a  market 
gardener  it  is  unnecessary  to  emphasize.  The  soil 
is  of  marvellous  fertility — three  to  four  feet  of  loam 
over  clay — and  one  or  two  of  the  townspeople  have 
begun  to  grow  their  own  vegetables,  in  despair  of 
getting  them  any  other  way.  In  Mrs.  Hanson's 
garden  at  Saskatoon  are  cucumbers,  carrots,  to- 
matoes, marrows,  asparagus,  celery,  onions,  beets, 
radishes,  turnips,  potatoes,  strawberries,  raspberries, 
currants  and  gooseberries.  The  season  is  short,  and 
housekeepers  who  can  get  fresh  vegetables  store 
them  in  "root-cellars"  for  the  winter — they  are  also 
157 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

very  clever  at  pickling  them.  As  evidence  of  the 
rapid  growth  of  these  prairie  cities  I  may  mention 
that  Saskatoon  had  200  inhabitants  six  years  ago, 
and  has  10,000  to-day.  The  story  of  the  transforma- 
tion of  Winnipeg  I  have  already  narrated.  Edmon- 
ton is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  prosperous  of 
the  prairie  cities — and  Calgary,  "the  capital  of 
ranchland,"  is  another  wonderful  place  for  such  a 
venture  as  I  am  advocating.  It  stands  at  the  feet  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  is  warmed  throughout  the 
winter  by  Chinook  winds,  fed  by  a  glacial  river  of 
indescribable  beauty,  and  boasts,  even  in  Canada, 
an  atmosphere  of  exceptional  brilliance  and  ex- 
hilaration. 

For  the  benefit  of  such  of  its  subjects  as  live  by 
the  soil,  the  Dominion  Government,  as  I  have 
already  said,  supports  nine  experimental  farms,  of 
which  two  are  in  Saskatchewan,  two  in  Alberta,  and 
one  in  Manitoba,  so  that  the  prairie  provinces  are 
well  supplied.  The  importance  of  these  farms  to 
settlers  is  beyond  count — there  experiments  are 
ceaselessly  in  progress  for  the  identification  and 
destruction  of  weeds  and  pests,  for  the  breeding  out 
of  flowers,  fruit,  grain  and  vegetables  which  will 
stand  the  hard  North-West  winters,  or  ripen  before 
the  earliest  frost,  or  in  some  way  render  the  grower 

158 


POULTRY   FARMING 

immune  from  climatic  hazards  in  his  ventures.  The 
farms  exist  solely  for  the  use  of  the  people,  and 
results  of  successful  experiments  are  made  public 
property  at  once ;  advice  is  given  free,  and  the  liter- 
ature they  publish  is  of  extraordinary  value  to  those 
interested  in  the  land.  I  have  spoken  of  these  farms 
before,  but  the  matter  will  bear  repetition  in  con- 
nection with  market  gardening. 

I  am  particularly  struck  with  the  possibilities  for 
women  market  gardeners  at  the  Manitoba  Hall  in 
Winnipeg,  where  I  am  in  time  to  see  the  Horticul- 
tural Exhibition.  There  I  find  an  old  familiar 
friend,  Beauty  of  Hebron,  and  Early  Rose,  and 
Early  Jersey  Wakefield,  among  other  potato  tribes. 
The  latter  were  sown  on  June  i;th,  and  win  first 
prize  on  September  ist.  Strange  pear-shaped  to- 
matoes, too,  I  see ;  Swiss  Chard,  an  unfamiliar  vege- 
table, with  stalks  like  flat  white  rhubarb  ending  in  a 
leaf  similar  to  that  of  a  cabbage  with  white  veins; 
petunias,  asters,  carnations,  zinnias,  stocks,  sweet 
peas,  cacti  and  a  few  pathetic  half-wild  roses.  Pump- 
kins and  citrons  are  here,  and  home-made  wines  and 
jams  in  abundance — yellow  misty  dandelion  wine 
that  carries  me  back  to  thirsty  childhood  hours  in 
the  hay-fields,  when  sunburnt  peasants  drank  dande- 
lion "  beer  "  out  of  big  stone  bottles,  and  we  children 
159 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

clamoured  vainly  for  that  nectar  instead  of  tepid 
milk.  One  never-to-be-forgotten  day  I  persuaded 
an  infant  brother  to  accompany  me  to  the  stone  jar, 
and  we  drank  furtively,  like  the  dwarfs  in  the  old 
myth,  of  that  Odhaerir,  honey-sweet  and  just  as  fatal, 
for  the  Odin-eye  of  a  parent  discovered  us  later 
disgracefully  fuddled  under  a  briar  hedge.  I  am 
straying  from  my  subject,  however,  and  will  not 
pursue  the  story;  it  is  hardly  a  creditable  one,  and 
nothing  whatever  to  'do  with  Canada ;  moreover,  the 
rest  of  it  is  painful  even  in  remembrance.  To  return 
to  Manitoba  Hall,  I  see  parsnip  wine,  bronze  like  an 
Austrian  copper  briar  rose  with  the  sun  on  it ;  cherry 
wine,  black  and  opaque;  white  currant,  a  warm 
orange;  raspberry  vinegar,  homely  pickles ;  and  one 
exhibit  round  which  I  hover  fascinated — the  sweet 
herbs  !  Thyme,  summer  savory,  sage,  marjoram  with 
flowers  like  "cherry  pie"  or  heliotrope,  and  sweet 
basil,  with  its  pale  green  spikes  and  small  white 
flowers,  indissolubly  connected  with  memories  of 
Keats  and  Isabella. 

Herbs  are  always  quaintly  attractive  with  their 
beautiful  names,  their  odd  perfumes,  their  virtues 
and  sobriety.  English  cooks  ignore  them  in  the 
most  unintelligent  fashion,  few  will  use  rosemary 
for  veal  stuffing,  or  put  chervil,  tarragon  or  dande- 
160 


POULTRY   FARMING 

lion  into  their  lettuce  salads,  thereby  missing  count- 
less subtleties  dear  to  a  discriminating  palate.  Mint 
and  parsley  they  will  admit  in  their  dishes,  but  the 
difficulty  of  getting  an  English  cook  to  put  a 
chopped  chive-spike  with  mashed  potatoes  is  beyond 
belief — sometimes  they  will  rise  to  borage  for  Cup, 
but  chives  for  potatoes — never.  As  Schloesser  has 
it,  "  once  upon  a  time,  when  things  went  more  slowly 
and  life  was  easier,  the  culture  and  culling  of  the 
simples  which  went  to  make  the  olitory,  or  herb 
garden,  was  as  much  a  part  of  female  education  as  a 
nice  deportment."  It  is  with  considerable  admira- 
tion, therefore,  that  I  linger  by  the  herb  stall  in  Mani- 
toba Hall  and  see  that  Canadians  are  not  above 
growing  herbs.  There  is  an  immense  market  for 
market  garden  produce  out  West — flowers  are  dear 
and  sell  well;  vegetables  are  greatly  needed;  it 
seems  an  infinite  pity,  therefore,  that  any  one  should 
think  of  inserting  such  an  advertisement  as  ap- 
peared the  other  day  in  a  Surrey  paper.  A  trained 
woman  gardener  offered  her  services  free  in  ex- 
change for  a  house !  It  sounds  incredible ;  but  it 
is  a  fact.  Nor  is  it  unusual  in  England.  Here  is  a 
woman,  trained  expensively,  ready  to  haggle  her 
skill  for  a  home !  Why  does  she  not  go  out  West, 
where  many  a  farmer  would  gladly  pay  her  well  to 
L  161 


A    WOMAN    IN    CANADA 

"  run  "  a  few  acres  for  flowers  and  vegetables,  while 
he  and  his  men  attend  to  the  wheat  growing?  She 
can  save  money  and  ultimately  buy  her  own  land; 
it  is  easy  to  save  in  these  wild  places  of  the  world, 
where  there  are  none  of  the  lures  to  spend  which 
make  saving  such  a  dire  and  difficult  game  in  the  old 
country;  there  are  no  after-season  sales,  no  enter- 
taining, no  taxicabs,  no  theatres ;  it  is  hard  to  spend 
money  indeed;  and  there  is  every  inducement  to 
make  it.  It  is  easy  to  acquire  land  in  a  slow,  sane, 
industrious  way,  and  work  it  profitably.  Market 
gardening  requires  no  such  outlay  as  wheat  farming ; 
that  is  a  venture  which  does  not  begin  to  pay  till 
1 60  acres  are  tilled,  a  feat  which  takes  some  doing 
in  the  bush-covered  parts  of  the  prairie  with  only  a 
scrub-plough  to  help.  The  ploughing  of  a  few 
acres,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not  a  very  formidable 
undertaking,  and  returns  in  flowers  and  vegetables 
would  be  steady. 

Before  I  left  England  a  woman  I  know  asked  me 
to  look  out  for  an  opening  for  her  out  West.  Her 
comely  face,  drawn  into  puckers  of  anxiety,  haunts 
me  as  I  travel ;  I  make  inquiries  on  her  behalf,  and 
get  five  offers  for  her  services  on  the  prairie  lands, 
one  in  Nova  Scotia,  none  in  British  Columbia.  Four 
out  of  the  five  would-be  employers  are  anxious  to 
162 


POULTRY   FARMING 

engage  her  as  domestic  help,  practically  as  servant, 
a  post  at  which  I  beg  no  reader  to  sniff.  Every 
woman  is  a  servant  where  labour  is  so  scarce,  and 
the  wives  among  them  throw  in  their  travail  and 
child-rearing  as  well !  The  wages  offered  range 
from  ten  to  twenty  dollars  a  month.  The  fifth  offer 
is  to  run  a  poultry  department  on  a  large  farm  of 
800  acres  near  Winnipeg.  The  farmer  wants  to 
keep  poultry,  there  is  a  good  market  for  it  in  the 
city;  his  daughters  are  already  fully  occupied  with 
the  housework  and  dairy,  and  he  would  like  an  Eng- 
lishwoman "for  company"  for  them  as  well  as  to 
manage  the  poultry.  He  says  he  will  "  deed  "  her 
five  acres  to  work  on,  make  them  wolf-proof,  al- 
though he  cannot  promise  they  will  be  hawk-proof, 
and  give  her  fifteen  dollars  a  month,  to  become 
twenty  if  she  likes  the  work  and  stays  on,  and  as 
perquisite  all  the  eggs  to  sell  that  are  not  wanted 
for  the  house  or  for  sitting.  I  remember  the  worried 
face  in  the  Devonshire  rose-garden — 

"Auntie  is  very  kind,  but  what  am  I  to  do  when 
she  dies?  I  have  no  trade;  I  look  after  the  fowls 
for  her ;  she  gives  me  five  shillings  a  week  for  that, 
and  I  have  to  dress  on  it.  I  can't  save.  I  am  thirty. 
I  shall  never  marry  now.  No  one  wants  an  old 

maid.  ..."    I  remember  her,  and  tell  the  farmer  I 
La  !63 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

think  I  know  an  Englishwoman  who  will  suit.  I 
picture  her  round,  rosy,  good-tempered  chubbiness 
in  this  land  barren  of  women,  and  tell  myself  that 
some  lonely  farmer  will  learn  one  day  how  clever 
she  is  in  all  female  arts,  sewing,  cooking  and  filling  a 
house  brimful  of  domestic  comforts,  and  I  write  to 
her  detailing  all  the  offers,  keeping  the  best  till  the 
last;  but  she  does  not  come. 

What  is  the  fatal  inertia  which  makes  our  women 
remain  parasites  on  the  community?  Do  they  fear 
to  travel?  Why  do  they  persist  in  staying  in  a 
country  where  they  are  not  wanted,  just  because  they 
were  born  in  it? 

I  never  learn  why  the  Devonshire  girl  goes  on 
living  with  an  aunt  who  thinks  herself  a  philan- 
thropist for  keeping  here.  The  only  reason  ever 
offered  is,  "  It  seems  such  a  dreadful  long  way  away 
from  every  one." 

Hawks  and  wolves  on  the  prairie  do  much  damage 
among  the  poultry,  I  gather.  The  "boys"  shoot 
the  hawks  and  trap  the  wolves,  but  they  are  very 
tiresome.  The  prairie  wolf  must  not  be  confounded 
with  the  savage  timber  wolf,  and  is  more  properly 
known  as  a  coyote ;  he  is  more  like  a  wild  dog,  and  is 
occasionally  dangerous  when  driven  by  hunger  and 
hunting  in  large  packs — never  when  by  himself. 
164 


POULTRY   FARMING 

The  coyotes  howl  in  shrill  intermittent  style,  eerie 
and  discordant.  They  are  commonly  called  wolves 
among  the  settlers,  and  their  coats  make  excellent 
rugs  for  the  sleighs  in  winter.  A  coyote  is  respons- 
ible on  one  occasion  for  a  paroxysm  of  homesickness 
on  my  part !  I  am  being  entertained  to  tea  at  a 
farmhouse  and  presently  mother  has  to  clear  up  and 
put  a  brace  of  babes  to  bed,  so  Miss  Seven-year-old 
takes  me  for  a  walk  round  the  byres.  I  try  to  tell 
her  about  the  King  of  the  Swallows,  who  pulls  the 
hair  off  the  reels  in  little  girls'  heads  and  makes  it 
grow  long,  awfully  long,  but  she  muddles  him  up 
with  Absalom;  a  similar  fate  overtakes  Cinderella, 
who,  by  some  obscure  mental  process,  she  confounds 
with  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den;  thus  we  drift  into 
Sunday  school  talk,  and  I  learn  a  lot.  She  has  a 
lovely  face,  this  little  prairie  girl,  with  a  pale,  fine 
skin  and  wide  blue  eyes,  deep,  dark  blue,  fringed 
with  black  lashes.  She  is  very  animated.  I  am  hear- 
ing about  "  Amananeve  "  and  a  serpent,  when  a  long 
wild  keening  rends  the  air.  Upon  a  mound  near  by 
a  coyote  points  his  nose  to  the  sky.  Her  chatter 
ceases,  and  she  clings  to  me  trembling :  "  I  don't 
like  the  wolves."  Whereupon  memory  plays  me  a 
cruel  trick ;  I  feel  as  if  it  were  my  own  little  chatter- 
box clinging  to  me,  and  I  want  to  leave  Canada  and 

165 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

all  it  contains  and  rush  to  her.  We  retire  indoors 
discomfited,  and,  to  cheer  Miss  Seven-year-old,  I 
sing  Moody  and  Sankey  hymns  to  the  harmonium 
while  the  rig  is  being  got  ready  to  take  me  away. 
It  is  the  only  music  I  can  find. 

I  learn  a  great  deal  about  poultry  farming  from 
Mr.  Prain,  of  the  Scottish  Agricultural  Commission, 
during  my  sojourn  in  Edmonton.  He  is  one  of  the 
greatest  living  authorities  on  poultry,  and  does  not 
keep  all  his  knowledge  to  himself  like  some  experts. 
If  it  is  not  an  impertinence  I  should  like  to  say  in 
passing  that  the  report  of  that  Commission  should 
be  of  inestimable  value  to  any  intending  emigrant  to 
Canada.  It  contains  the  collected  opinions  of 
twenty-two  Scotchmen,  men  of  repute,  position  and 
learning,  all  experts  in  agricultural  matters,  who 
went  through  Canada  last  autumn  at  the  behest  of 
the  Dominion  Government  to  report  on  the  con- 
ditions of  the  country  and  the  possibilities  it  offers 
to  settlers.  It  is  published  by  Blackwood  and  Sons 
at  the  modest  sum  of  one  shilling;  here  is  part  of 
Mr.  Prain's  report  on  poultry  keeping,  a  branch  of 
farming  which  Englishwomen  with  some  capital 
and  a  desire  for  a  career  would  do  well  to 
study — 


166 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

all  it  contains  and  rush  to  her.     We  retir 
discomfited,  and,  to  cheer  Miss  Seven-year-old 
sing  Moody  a?id  Sankey  hymns  to  the  harmoni 
while  the  rig  i>  being  got  ready  to  take  me  aw 
It  w  the  only  music  I  can  find. 

I  learn  a  great  deal  about  poultry  farming  fr 
Mr.  Prain,  of  the  Scottish  Agricultural  Commissi 
during  my  sojourn  in  Edmonton.  He  is  one  of 
greatest  living  authorities  on  poultry,  and  dbes  ; 
keep  all  his  knowledge  to  himself  like  some  expe 
If  it  is  not  an  impertinence  I  should  like  to  say 
passing  that  the  report  of  that  Commission  shoi 
be  of  inestimable  value  to  any  intending  emigrant 
Canada.  It  contain^  jth&  collected  opinions 
twenty-two  Scotchmen,  men  of  repute,  position  i 
learning,  all  experts  in  agricultural  matters,  v 
went  through  Canada  last  autumn  at  the  behest 
the  Dominion  Government  to  report  on  the  c 
ditions  of  the  country  and  the  possibilities  it  off 
to  settlers.  It  is  published  by  Blackwood  and  S< 
at  the  modest  sum  of  one  shilling;  here  is  part 
Mr.  Prain's  report  on  poultry  keeping,  a  branch 
farming  which  Englishwomen  with  some  cap 
and  a  desire  for  a  career  would  do  well 
study — 


166 


POULTRY   FARMING 

Canada  possesses  unique  opportunities  for 
raising  poultry  keeping  to  an  important  industry. 
With  the  exception  of  the  bare  prairie  lands, 
there  is  abundant  natural  shelter  everywhere  in 
the  woods,  forest,  and  bushy  scrub  which  clothe 
the  earth,  providing  not  only  protection  from 
the  weather,  but  affording  a  supply  of  insect  and 
animal  food  so  necessary  to  the  health  of  this 
kind  of  stock.  In  the  apple  orchards  of  the 
eastern  provinces,  in  British  Columbia,  and  in 
the  magnificent  fruit  valley  of  the  Niagara  Pen- 
insula, no  better  conditions  could  exist  for  the 
profitable  keeping  of  fowls;  the  two  industries 
of  fruit  growing  and  poultry  keeping  so  natur- 
ally fit  into  and  supplement  each  other.  Whilst 
the  fruit-trees  supply  the  shade  from  the  sun 
and  the  shelter  from  the  storm,  so  helpful  and 
beneficial  to  the  fowls,  these  active,  foraging 
animals  are  continually  devouring  all  insect  and 
grub  pests  which  are  their  natural  food,  but 
which  are  the  deadly  enemies  of  the  fruit-trees. 
Then  the  labour  connected  with  the  two  in- 
dustries is  so  divided  that  the  busy  season  of 
the  fruit  picking  is  distinctly  separated  from  the 
hatching  and  rearing  of  the  chickens.  Particu- 
larly is  the  labour  reduced  when  the  birds  are 
167 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

put  out  in  colony  houses  all  over  the  orchards. 
The  minimum  of  attention  is  required  by  this 
system,  while  the  ground  derives  the  benefit  from 
the  manure  being  equally  distributed  over  it. 
There  is  ample  evidence  of  the  successful  com- 
bination of  these  two  industries,  to  the  mutual 
benefit  of  both,  to  prove  that  this  practice  might 
be  most  judiciously  and  profitably  extended. 

The  prices  obtained  for  table  poultry  and 
eggs  all  over  Canada  assure  a  profit  to  the  pro- 
ducer under  good  management.  Taking  the 
whole  country,  the  lowest  summer  price  for  eggs 
will  not  be  under  8d.  per  dozen,  and  the  mini- 
mum winter  price  not  under  is.  $d.  per  dozen. 
Table  chickens  bring  Sd.  per  lb.,  dressed  weight, 
rising  to  is.  per  lb.  for  crate-fattened  birds. 
Ducklings  make  about  the  same  rates,  and  there 
is  always  a  good  market  for  turkeys  and  geese. 
In  British  Columbia  prices  are  much  higher, 
but  this  is  counteracted  to  some  extent  by  the 
dearer  price  of  poultry  food.  In  the  eastern 
provinces  grain  is  also  somewhat  high  in  price, 
but  with  better  distributing  facilities  from  the 
great  grain-growing  areas,  prices  will  gradually 
be  equalized.  Cheap  frosted  wheat  is  often 
available,  and  this  can  be  used  freely  along  with 
1 68 


POULTRY    FARMING 

other  kinds  of  food.  Although  the  past  six  or 
seven  years  have  seen  an  enormous  increase  in 
the  poultry  produce  of  the  Dominion,  prices,  in 
sympathy  with  the  other  markets  of  the  world, 
are  tending  upwards. 

From  the  last  census  returns  of  1901  the  total 
poultry  population  of  Canada  is  stated  at 
17,922,658.  Competent  authorities  estimate 
that  the  province  of  Ontario  alone  now  pos- 
sesses 13,000,000  hens,  so  that  in  1908  the 
poultry  population  was  probably  twice  what  it 
was  in  1901.  Yet  in  spite  of  this  doubled  work- 
ing plant,  as  it  might  be  called,  the  consuming 
capacity  of  the  Dominion  has  been  increasing 
at  a  higher  ratio.  While  at  one  time  it  was 
considered  impossible  to  consume  all  the  pro- 
duce raised,  it  has  now  become  the  problem  to 
supply  the  home  market.  In  1902,  11,635,108 
dozens  of  eggs  were  exported,  valued  at 
1,733,242  dollars.  This  had  fallen  in  1906  to 
2,921,725  dozens,  valued  at  495, 176  dollars,  and 
in  1908  to  1,365,890  dozens,  valued  at  301,818 
dollars.  From  1902  to  1906  the  value  of  im- 
ported eggs  had  fallen  from  169,457  dollars  to 
88,937  dollars.  In  1908  the  value  of  the  im- 
ports of  eggs  was  214,994  dollars.  The  fall  in 
169 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

exports,  especially  to  Britain,  is  due  to  the  in- 
creased demands  of  the  home  market.  This 
strong  local  demand  is  an  undoubted  incentive 
to  greater  effort  on  the  part  of  the  Canadian 
poultry  grower.  The  exports  and  imports  of 
live  birds  have  both  notably  increased,  due 
presumably  to  the  freer  interchange  of  breed- 
ing stock  between  Canada  and  other  countries. 
Very  few  large  utility  or  commercial  poultry 
farms  are  to  be  found  in  Canada.  The  ten- 
dency is  rather  to  extend  the  industry  on  surer 
and  better  lines  through  the  farmers  taking  a 
more  intelligent  interest  in  the  fowls,  and  mak- 
ing them  a  regular  paying  part  of  the  farm  stock. 
The  exhibition  side  of  poultry  keeping  is  well 
advanced  in  Canada.  Fanciers  are  numerous, 
and  as  keenly  active  in  introducing  and  improv- 
ing new  breeds  as  they  are  in  the  old  country. 
They  play  their  part  in  fostering  and  educating 
public  opinion.  They  also  distribute  eggs  and 
cockerels  of  pure  breeds,  which  go  to  build  up 
and  improve  the  strains  of  other  breeders.  Con- 
versation with  many  of  these  fanciers  brought 
out  that  the  demand  for  pure  eggs  and  cock- 
erels of  the  useful  varieties  was  increasing  enor- 
mously, indirectly  proving  the  greater  interest 
170 


POULTRY   FARMING 

manifested  in  poultry  keeping.  At  most  of  the 
agricultural  shows  exhibitions  of  poultry  stock 
are  encouraged  by  liberal  classification  and 
good  prizes.  Table  poultry  and  egg  classes  are 
almost  invariably  provided. 

In  the  maritime  provinces  of  Prince  Edward 
Island,  Nova  Scotia  and  New  Brunswick  the 
opportunities  for  successful  poultry  keeping  are 
to  some  slight  extent  modified  by  the  price  of 
grain,  which  has  to  be  carried  for  food  to  all 
kinds  of  stock  from  the  Far  West.  The  heavy 
carriage,  with  the  dealer's  and  speculator's  pro- 
fit added,  makes  dear  grain,  thus  raising  the 
cost  of  production.  At  the  same  time  a  flock  of 
fowls,  from  twenty-five  to  a  hundred  or  so  on 
each  farm,  when  looked  after  with  reasonable 
care,  leaves  a  good  margin  of  profit.  The  waste 
grain,  vegetables,  etc.,  augmented  by  a  small 
quantity  of  maize  meal,  carries  the  birds  through 
the  winter  at  a  very  small  cost.  Farmers  gener- 
ally are  doing  well  with  their  fowls,  and  the 
custom  of  adding  these  to  the  regular  stock  of 
the  farm  is  rapidly  increasing.  .  .  . 

Quebec  and  Ontario,  being  the  oldest  settled 
provinces,  with  several  large  cities  as  conveni- 
ent markets,  naturally  take  the  lead  in  the  pro- 
171 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

duction  of  poultry  produce.  From  these  prov- 
inces a  considerable  surplus  is  sent  west  every 
year  to  the  growing  towns,  the  mining  districts, 
and  British  Columbia.  Poultry  keeping  is  much 
more  recognized  as  a  regular  part  of  the  regime 
of  the  farm  in  these  provinces  than  it  is  any- 
where else  in  the  Dominion.  With  the  Mac- 
Donald  College  near  Montreal,  the  Central 
Experimental  Farm  at  Ottawa,  the  Ontario 
College  at  Guelph,  the  scientific  and  educative 
sides  of  poultry  keeping  are  well  provided  for. 
The  wonder  is  that  an  organized  system  of 
marketing  the  produce  has  not  yet  been  intro- 
duced. .  .  . 

The  provinces  of  Manitoba,  Saskatchewan 
and  Alberta,  particularly  the  latter  two,  are  so 
much  taken  up  with  grain  growing,  the  farms 
are  still  so  scattered,  and  labour  so  difficult  to 
obtain,  that  no  great  output  of  poultry  produce 
can  as  yet  be  reasonably  looked  for.  As  it  is, 
considerable  importations  of  poultry  produce 
have  to  be  made  every  year,  though  this  will 
very  soon  be  reversed  when  these  provinces  get 
more  thickly  settled.  The  climate,  though 
sometimes  extremely  cold  in  winter,  need  be  no 

hindrance  to  the  development  of  the  industry. 
172 


POULTRY   FARMING 

Many  successful  examples  could  be  quoted  to 
prove  this  point.  Even  round  the  outskirts  of 
the  towns  many  well-bred  flocks  of  fowls  can 
be  seen  on  the  town  lots.  This  might  be  called 
a  characteristic  feature  of  most  Canadian  towns, 
the  birds  being  kept  more  with  an  eye  to  profit 
than  merely  as  a  hobby.  Turkeys  seem  to 
thrive  so  well  in  these  provinces  that  it  might 
be  profitable  to  specialize  in  the  production  of 
this  favourite  table  delicacy.  ...  In  Alberta 
in  1906  the  Provincial  Government  started  co- 
operative poultry  fattening  stations  at  five 
centres,  Wetaskawin,  Lacombe,  Red  Deer,  In- 
nisfail,  and  Olds.  The  principle  of  these 
stations  was  to  take  the  ordinary  unfattened 
fowls  from  the  farmers,  and  to  fatten,  kill, 
dress  and  market  them.  Formerly  the  farmers 
only  got  from  eight  to  ten  cents  per  pound  live 
weight,  then  crate-fattened,  killed,  dressed  and 
put  them  on  the  market.  After  deducting  all 
costs  the  farmers  were  returned  four  and  a 
quarter  cents  per  pound,  in  addition  to  the  eight 
cents  advanced  at  purchase.  This  system  had 
been  successfully  established  in  other  districts. 
Alberta  has  now  engaged  an  expert  to  devote 
his  whole  time  to  the  development  of  poultry 
173 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

keeping  in  the  province.  Throughout  the  whole 
of  the  north-west  provinces  poultry  stock  keep 
remarkably  healthy.  The  wet  weather  in  the 
hatching  season,  particularly  in  June,  is  prob- 
ably the  worst  handicap  the  farmers  have  to 
contend  with,  but  this  might  probably  be  ob- 
viated by  earlier  hatching  and  by  a  little  more 
attention  to  housing. 

In  British  Columbia  the  opportunities  for 
poultry  keeping  are  most  inviting.  In  fact, 
almost  ideal  conditions  exist  for  this  industry 
in  the  fine  climate,  associated  often  with  excel- 
lent soil  and  unlimited  shelter.  When  to  these 
natural  advantages  is  added  a  splendid  home 
market  for  the  produce  in  the  mining  districts 
and  in  Vancouver,  the  wonder  is  that  much 
more  is  not  done  in  this  direction.  As  in  Nova 
Scotia,  the  fruit  orchards  might  most  judiciously 
be  more  extensively  used  as  chicken  nurseries. 
Feed  is  certainly  higher,  but  this  only  relates 
to  grains,  and  after  all,  fowls  in  such  conditions 
as  usually  predominate  in  British  Columbia  can 
be  kept  at  a  moderate  cost.  At  Agassiz  Experi- 
mental Farm  there  is  a  poultry  branch  which 
distributes  a  considerable  number  of  eggs  and 
cockerels.  In  Vancouver  Island,  where  fruit 


POULTRY    FARMING 

growing  and  market  gardening  are  extensively 
gone  into,  it  is  the  custom  to  keep  flocks  of 
fowls  in  conjunction  with  these  two  industries. 
The  Okanagan  Valley,  and  other  districts  of 
the  same  kind,  present  most  favourable  oppor- 
tunities for  the  development  of  this  industry. 
Looking  at  all  the  circumstances,  there  seems 
no  reason  why  British  Columbia  should  not 
supply  her  own  markets  with  poultry  produce, 
as  well  as  export  a  surplus,  rather  than  have  to 
import  it  as  at  present. 

The  united  testimony  gathered  from  all  ex- 
perimental farms,  and  other  reliable  sources, 
agrees  in  the  essential  principles  of  housing.  It 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  winter  over  the 
greater  part  of  Canada  lasts  at  least  four 
months,  and  that  the  temperature  falls  occa- 
sionally to  forty  and  forty-five  degrees  below 
zero,  while  the  thermometer  often  registers  one 
hundred  degrees  in  summer.  The  variations  of 
temperature  are  accordingly  much  greater  than 
in  Britain.  The  housing  problem  is,  therefore, 
one  of  the  utmost  importance.  One  of  the  re- 
cognized essentials,  then,  is  light;  at  least  one- 
third  part  of  the  south,  or  front  end  of  the 
house,  should  be  of  glass  or  open  to  the  sun. 
175 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

Abundance  of  fresh  air  is  of  equal  importance ; 
this  is  secured  by  having  the  front  of  the  house 
almost  entirely  open,  but  protected  in  extreme 
weather  by  cotton  curtains  or  sliding  glass  win- 
dows. The  open  front,  with  sides,  back  and 
roof  tight,  gives  plenty  of  fresh  air  without 
draught  or  through  ventilation.  The  minimum 
depth  of  a  house  of  this  kind  should  not  be 
under  eight  feet,  with  the  perches  low  and  close 
to  the  back.  An  additional  cotton  screen  sus- 
pended before  the  perches  when  the  weather  be- 
comes extreme,  protects  the  combs  and  feet  of 
the  birds  from  being  frozen.  In  some  houses 
with  span  roofs  the  upper  space  is  packed  with 
straw,  which  admits  of  top-ventilation  and  ab- 
sorbs moisture  as  well;  but,  with  the  proper 
amount  of  open  front,  the  straw  is  unnecessary. 
The  main  idea  is  perfect  dryness  of  atmosphere 
inside  the  house.  Dampness  to  any  degree  is 
fatal  with  low  temperatures,  therefore  the  floor 
ought  to  be  tightly  jointed  and  raised  from  the 
ground  six  or  eight  inches,  as  well  as  littered 
three  or  four  inches  deep  with  cut  straw  or 
roughage  of  some  kind.  It  is  marvellous  how 
birds  thrive  and  lay  in  the  coldest  weather  when 

housed  as  above  described. 
176 


1 


POULTRY   FARMING 

The  tendency  at  the  present  time  is  to  feed 
dry  grain  and  discontinue  mash  foods.  It  is 
admitted  that  mash  foods  may  force  growth  in 
the  young  birds,  and  also  stimulate  egg  produc- 
tion, but  for  breeding  stock  the  eggs  are  con- 
sidered to  hatch  better  and  give  stronger  chicks 
when  dry  food  is  used.  Sometimes  sprouted 
grain,  or  grain  steeped  in  boiling  water,  is  given, 
also  clover  leaves  or  cut  clover  which  has  been 
well  steeped  in  boiling  water.  Green  food,  such 
as  mangels,  turnips,  cabbage  and  sugar  beets, 
is  freely  fed,  also  animal  meal  or  green  bone. 
The  self-feeding  hopper  system  is  quite  com- 
monly adopted  for  grain,  bran,  etc.,  and  also  for 
oyster-shell  and  grit.  Where  wet  mash  food  is 
used  the  practice  is  tending  towards  giving  it  at 
night  instead  of  in  the  morning.  The  custom 
of  scattering  grain  in  the  litter  is  universal,  and 
altogether  the  methods  of  feeding  seem  to  be 
most  intelligently  understood.  .  .  . 

The  tendency  of  the  Canadian  farmer  is  to 
go  in  for  general  purpose  fowls,  rather  than 
for  those  with  pronounced  characteristics  of  one 
kind  or  another.  Thus  Plymouth  Rocks,  Wyan- 
dottes,  Orpingtons  and  Rhode  Island  Reds  may 
be  reckoned  the  favourites,  with  Plymouth 
177 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

Rocks  easily  leading.  This  variety  is  undoubt- 
edly the  standard  fowl  of  the  country,  and  it 
certainly  seems  to  fulfil  its  dual  purpose  of  egg 
production  and  table  qualities  admirably.  Some 
strains,  such  as  those  at  Guelph  Experimental 
Farm,  are  remarkable  for  their  prolific  laying, 
early  maturity  and  fine  table  qualities.  The 
White  Wyandotte  and  Buff  Orpington  are  also 
much  kept  for  their  all-round  good  points,  while 
the  Rho*de  Island  Reds  are  considered  exr 
tremely  hardy.  Of  the  Mediterranean  breeds, 
probably  the  Brown  and  White  Leghorns  are 
the  most  popular,  with  Minorcas  and  Anda- 
lusians  next. 


178 


mm. 


A  WOMAN   IN  -DA 

Rocks  easily  leading.  This  variety  is  uno 
fdly  the  standard  fowl  of  the  country,  and  i? 
certainly  seeing  to  fulfil  its  dual  purpose  of  egg 
production  and  table  qualities  admirably.  Some 
strain's  such  as  those  at  Guelph  Experimental 
Farm  arc  remarkable  for  their  prolific  laying, 
early  maturity  and  fine  table  qualities.  The 
White  Wyandotte  and  Buff  Orpington 'are  also 
much  kept  for  their  all  round  good  points,  while 
the  Rho*de  Island  Reds  are  considered  ex- 
tremely hardy.  Of  the  Mediterranean  breeds* 

''^^^n^'WttieWitf  Le 
the  most  popular,  with   Minorcas  and  Anda 

lusians  next. 

Page  178 


178 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS    AND    BRITISH    COLUMBIA 

FROM  Edmonton  to  Calgary.  The  pulses  dance 
to  think  of  it,  for  that  means  a  journey  afterwards 
through  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  wonderful,  the 
world-famed !  Before  I  leave  the  prairie  city,  how- 
ever, which  to  me  must  ever  be  connected  with  pic- 
tures of  the  Agricultural  Commission  and  long  talks 
on  poultry,  I  meet  Mrs.  Balmer  Watt,  an  interest- 
ing journalist,  whose  little  book  Town  and  Trail  is 
very  well  worth  reading  by  any  woman  who  thinks 
of  settling  in  Edmonton.  The  Press  all  over  Canada 
has  been  very  good  to  me;  here  and  now  I  would 
like  to  tender  it  my  heartiest  thanks.  Mrs.  Balmer 
Watt  has  been  caught  by  the  spirit  of  the  West,  the 
bias  of  her  mind  leads  her  to  analyze  and  brood  over 
it,  unlike  the  majority  who  merely  take  it  for  granted 
and  enjoy  it.  "  Out  on  the  prairies,"  she  says,  "  face 
to  face  with  their  naked  souls,  men  and  women  come 
into  possession  of  a  depth  of  wisdom  impossible  to 
attain  surrounded  by  the  distractions  of  the  town. 
And  what,  after  all,  is  the  secret  of  the  spirit  that 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

animates  the  whole  West  .  .  .  from  the  centre  of  the 
newest  cities  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  farthest 
distant  homesteads  .  .  .  but  the  joy  of  labour,  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  in  each  man's  hands  lies  the 
possibility  of  his  own  future  ?  "  True  words. 

I  leave  Edmonton,  the  beautiful,  prosperous  capi- 
tal of  Alberta,  built  on  the  banks  of  a  gold-bearing 
river,  and  storm  Calgary  in  a  mazy  hurry  to  see  Mr. 
Turner's  ranch;  he  is  out  of  town,  so  I  miss  the 
ranch,  but  am  entertained  delightfully  by  the  editor 
of  the  Calgary  Herald,  with  whose  wife  I  have  a 
long  talk  about  the  need  of  maternity  nurses  on  the 
prairie.  More  of  that  later.  And  then  Calgary,  the 
capital  of  Ranchland,  the  gate  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains— happy  Calgary  nestling  in  the  beautiful  cup 
that  is  neither  prairie  nor  mountain,  but  girt  with 
both — Calgary  moves  away  from  the  train,  and  I 
watch  her  fade  into  distance;  we  are  approaching 
the  great  gate  of  the  mountains  which  stretches  be- 
tween the  prairies  and  the  Pacific  slopes.  Travellers 
tell  of  it,  how  it  towers  to  heaven  and  leans  to  hell, 
how  it  is  riven  of  valleys  and  gives  back  sound  with 
a  terrible  voice,  how  it  is  ranged  by  the  bear  and 
shadowed  by  the  lone  eagle.  Men  with  pens  dipped 
in  fire  have  told  of  the  Rockies,  I  will  be  betrayed 
into  no  competition  with  them.  The  air  that  sweeps 
1 80 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

by  is  brilliant  and  rare,  so  rare  that  it  makes  a  novice 
"  out  of  breath,"  but  it  gives  at  the  same  time  a  tre- 
mendous exhilaration  of  spirits.  That  phrase  comes 
old  and  stale,  it  sounds  like  the  sort  of  thing  every- 
body will  say  who  speaks  of  mountains,  but  it  means 
a  very  great  deal,  it  means  that  one  is  happy — and 
happiness  is  the  gift  of  the  gods,  sought  desperately 
all  the  world  over,  from  the  loafer  in  a  gin-palace 
to  the  King  watching  his  horse  win  the  Derby.  I 
lean  from  the  end  of  the  car,  and  the  silver  rails  slip 
away  from  our  wheels.  As  we  approach  the  greatest 
scenic  track  of  railway  in  the  world  a  fellow-traveller 
tells  of  the  old  days  of  the  road  when  men  fed  on 
fishy  pork — pork  which  in  its  lifetime  had  wandered 
by  the  shore  eating  dead  salmon — the  days  when 
they  shot  for  the  pot  and  not  for  sport,  when  they 
lived  for  a  week  on  a  trumpeter  swan  and  fed  on 
white  beans  for  a  fortnight.  Here  is  the  perfected 
result  of  those  days  of  travail  for  all  the  world  to 
enjoy.  As  the  train  enters  the  Bow  River  Valley 
and  the  mountains  close  in  upon  us,  I  learn  the  taste 
of  awe. 

Under  Mount  Stephen  stands  a  brown  house  built 
of  wooden  shingles,  in  the  hall  is  a  great  open  hearth 
where  logs  burn  continuously.  Here  the  sportsmen 

come  and  go — go  in  a  flurry  of  earnest  hope,  and 
181 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

return  excited  or  depressed  as  they  have  found  the 
sport,  though  they  never  come  back  empty-handed. 
If  they  have  not  grizzly  bear  they  have  black  bear, 
if  not  caribou  they  have  deer.  Standing  by  the 
dancing  logs  I  watch  the  last  bear-parties  come  in 
from  Leanchoil,  very  happy  and  excited,  with  three 
splendid  skins;  a  slight  fair  woman  who  has  been 
standing  near  the  fire  too,  for  the  first  snow  has 
fallen,  goes  up  to  them  and  talks  about  their  sport. 
Presently  one  of  them  calls  her  by  name,  "  Mrs. 
Schaffer  " ;  I  look  at  her  with  intense  interest,  there 
could  hardly  be  two  women  of  that  name  in  this 
particular  spot.  It  is  known  to  every  one  that  she 
started  from  here  in  June  intending  to  go  over  the 
Wilcox  Pass,  down  the  Athabasca,  and  up  the  Miette 
River,  across  the  Yellowhead  to  the  old  Tete  Jaune 
Cache.  Every  one  has  heard  how  she  started  on 
horseback  with  one  other  woman,  two  guides  and  a 
pack-train  of  twenty-two  horses.  There  can  hardly 
be  two  Mrs.  Schaffers,  I  tell  myself,  at  this  place 
in  September.  I  study  her  closely;  she  has  fair 
hair  that  has  been  burned  fairer  by  the  sun,  a  skin 
once  fair,  now  deeply  tanned,  slim  arms  that  are 
browner  still,  and  a  smooth  voice  with  a  strong 
American  accent.  What  can  this  little  woman  have 

'in  her  so  fearless  that  she  is  gaining  the  reputation 
182 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

of  an  intrepid  explorer?  Her  manner  is  gentle ;  one 
derides  the  notion  of  a  bias  to  masculinity ;  perhaps 
she  is  so  sincerely  an  artist  that  she  loves  the  virgin 
wild  before  its  bloom  is  pushed  aside  by  the  white 
man's  presence,  for  the  red  man  defiles  no  more  than 
the  caribou  or  wandering  bear.  If  this  is  the  Mrs. 
Schaffer  I  mean,  she  is  the  woman  who  lectures 
before  geographical  societies,  who  illustrated  with 
her  brush  the  Alpine  Flora  of  the  Canadian  Rockies, 
who  has  written  for  the  Canadian  Alpine  Journal 
and  the  Geographical  Journal  of  Philadelphia,  and 
who  lectured  in  Boston  before  the  Appalachian  Club ; 
the  woman  who  goes  on  exploring  expeditions  for 
three  or  four  months  at  a  time — and  who  is  men- 
tioned by  Kipling  in  his  Letters. 

Later  in  the  day  we  meet  and  talk,  and  I  see  the 
companion  of  her  travels  for  the  last  three  expedi- 
tions, Miss  Adams,  a  little  dark,  neat  woman  and  a 
keen  geologist,  with  a  head  shaped  beautifully  like 
that  of  an  Egyptian  priest.  They  talk  amusingly, 
and  without  the  least  pride,  of  their  "trip,"  they 
show  me  countless  photographs  taken  on  the  way. 
"First  you  must  meet  Mr.  Muggins.  He  is  the 
dearest.  See  his  sad  face,  he  got  to  thinking  us  a 
parcel  of  lunatics  at  times  when  we  kept  him  too 
long  on  the  raft.  Oh !  and  you  must  see  the  raft, 
183  ' 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

it  was  the  most  primitive  thing,  but  we  were  so  proud 
of  it.  When  we  found  the  horses  could  not  swim 
the  Maligne  we  'unpacked'  them  and  got  across 
on  the  raft,  it  was  the  only  way.  Another  time  we 
had  to  unpack  them  and  coax  them  one  by  one  over 
a  twenty-foot  bluff  with  a  rope.  I  say  'we5  did,  but 
really  our  two  guides  did;  they  are  both  English- 
men, and  nobody  can  imagine  the  care  and  trouble 
those  two  men  took !  The  passing  of  that  bluff  is 
becoming  history  in  the  country.  It  was  always  sup- 
posed to  be  impassable.  I  am  afraid  the  photo- 
graph is  rather  indistinct." 

It  is  rather,  but  I  manage  to  make  out  the  figure 
of  a  perturbed  horse  coming  down  a  precipice  at 
an  acute  angle,  and  a  row  of  others  looking  nerv- 
ously on  from  above. 

"  Here  is  our  camp  on  the  Maligne  Lake.  We 
had  great  trouble  in  finding  that  lake.  We  got  there 
eventually  from  a  map  drawn  by  Sampson  Beaver, 
one  of  the  Stony  Tribe,  an  Indian  who  had  never 
seen  a  map  in  his  life.  It  was  the  crudest  pencil 
sketch  in  the  world,  but  it  served  its  purpose.  It  is 
twenty  miles  long,  and  has  never  known  a  sound  save 
the  moccasined  foot  of  the  Indians.  Ours  was  the 
first  white  man's  camp  in  that  far-away  hunting 
ground.  Here  is  our  pack-train — yes,  the  figure  on 
184 


THE   ROCKY   MOl 

horsebacl  ih  wore  r 

it's  safer.  sion  to  civilization.   Say. 

isn't  [er  mother  is  a  quarter 

and  her  f  look  at  'the  Indian 

in  that  child !  See  the  way  she  carries  her  doll. 
And  she  brought  it  in  a  moss-bag!  Here  is  a  tiny 
picture  of  the  raft  going  ov  do  look  at 

Mr.  Muggins  being  carried  Saskatchewan, 

he  is  very  amusing  when  th-  ts  at  all  rough. 

He  just  sits  and  cries  till  he  is  carried,  and  when 
he  is  safe  in  his  master's  arms  hf  looks  as  proud 
andindiffer&raF^if?"  Maligne  ^"dinner-table. 
You  see  it  shows  five  diners,  and  obviously  another 
present  to  take  the  phofcfgrlf)h.  That  comes  about 
because  the  first  month  we  had  Mr.  Brown  the  botan- 
ist and  his  guide  with  us.  After  that  we  were  only 
the  four.  Here  is  Mount  Re  >oun- 

tain  in  the  Rocky  range,  and  at  t\  hoto- 

graphed  twice  before.'5 
"  What  made  you  beg 

"  Well ! — I  began  with  rork,  making 

small  explorations  in  search  In  that  way 

I  learned  to  live  on  horsebac  s  .  >  out  two  days, 

four  days,  a  week,  two  weeks,  a  month,  four  months, 

on;  to  jump  muskegs,  to  take  a  loaded  animal 

>thold  on  slip- 
185 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

horseback  is  me — we  both  wore  breeches  in  the  wild, 
it's  safer,  skirts  are  a  concession  to  civilization.  Say, 
isn't  this  child  cute  ?  Her  mother  is  a  quarter-breed 
and  her  father  a  white  man,  yet  look  at  the  Indian 
in  that  child !  See  the  way  she  carries  her  doll. 
And  she  brought  it  in  a  moss-bag !  Here  is  a  tiny 
picture  of  the  raft  going  over  the  lake;  do  look  at 
Mr.  Muggins  being  carried  over  the  Saskatchewan, 
he  is  very  amusing  when  the  water  is  at  all  rough. 
He  just  sits  and  cries  till  he  is  carried,  and  when 
he  is  safe  in  his  master's  arms  he  looks  as  proud 
and  indifferent  as  possible.  Here  is  our  dinner-table. 
You  see  it  shows  five  diners,  and  obviously  another 
present  to  take  the  photograph.  That  comes  about 
because  the  first  month  we  had  Mr.  Brown  the  botan- 
ist and  his  guide  with  us.  After  that  we  were  only 
the  four.  Here  is  Mount  Robson,  the  highest  moun- 
tain in  the  Rocky  range,  and  at  the  most  only  photo- 
graphed twice  before." 

"  What  made  you  begin  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  Well ! — I  began  with  the  botanical  work,  making 
small  explorations  in  search  of  plants.  In  that  way 
I  learned  to  live  on  horseback,  to  camp  out  two  days, 
four  days,  a  week,  two  weeks,  a  month,  four  months, 
and  so  on;  to  jump  muskegs,  to  take  a  loaded  animal 
up  and  round  rock  ridges,  to  keep  a  foothold  on  slip- 
185 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

pery,  sliding  mud.  After  I  had  learned  so  much  it 
was  hard  to  sit  with  folded  hands  listening  politely  to 
the  stories  of  Colin,  Stutfield,  Wooley,  Outram,  Fay, 
Thompson  and  Coleman  of  the  hills  I  so  longed  to 
see — stories  of  the  vast  unexplored  glorious  country 
beyond!  It  bred  rebellion.  We  looked  to  each 
other  and  said,  'Why  not?  We  can  starve  as  well 
as  they;  a  muskeg  will  be  no  softer  for  us  than  for 
them,  the  ground  will  be  no  harder  to  sleep  on,  the 
waters  no  deeper  to  swim  nor  colder  if  we  fall  in.' " 
So  they  talk;  telling  vivaciously,  without  vanity, 
of  their  amazing  venture ;  giving  photographs,  some 
of  which  appear  in  this  chapter.  The  "  muskeg  " 
referred  to  is  bogland;  it  is  the  word  used  over 
here  for  dangerous,  treacherous  bogs  which  seem  to 
abound  both  in  the  Rockies  and  Ontario.  (I  am 
liable  to  remember  the  Ontarian  belt  as  I  was  caught 
in  the  Kenora  washout,  where  a  cloud-burst  washed 
away  a  long  stretch  of  track  built  over  difficult  boggy 
land,  and  my  train  was  thirty  hours  late  arriving  at 
Winnipeg  !)  I  met  Miss  Agnes  Laut,  the  authoress; 
I  go  to  Emerald  Lake  and  wonder,  as  every  traveller 
wonders,  at  the  deep  green  waters,  clear  and  bril- 
liant, cradled  among  the  mountains,  with  no  appar- 
ent excuse  for  their  wonderful  colour.  The  chalet 
is  empty,  it  is  late  in  the  year  for  travellers,  but  the 
1 86 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

man  in  charge  comes  out  to  see  how  we  are  im- 
pressed with  his  beautiful  lake.  Directly  he  speaks 
I  know  him  for  English — he  is  a  Birmingham  man. 
We  chat  a  little,  he  is  of  the  rover  type  and  loves 
the  wild  mountain  fastnesses.  We  mention  New 
Street,  the  Arcade,  Five  Ways,  Hagley  Road — each 
name  painting  a  different  picture  of  the  busy  Midland 
metropolis  to  our  English  minds — the  words  strike 
crudely  on  the  ear  by  the  calm  waterside,  they  echo 
incongruously  up  the  steeps,  though  we  speak  softly 
— he  takes  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  looks  across 
the  green  water — looks  at  the  jagged  heights  about 
him,  looks  to  the  sunset  and  grows  silent.  He  would 
not  go  back.  He  could  not.  If  he  did  the  moun- 
tains would  call  till  his  heart  broke.  Returning  to 
Mount  Stephen,  Otto  the  guide  shows  me  how  to 
"  shy  "  straight.  He  sees  a  spruce-partridge  on  a 
bough  and  kills  it  with  a  stone.  I  am  impressed  less 
with  his  skill  than  with  the  instinct  to  kill  which 
animates  all  his  conversation,  and  is  after  all  his 
means  of  livelihood.  He  tells  me  that  the  spruce- 
partridge  is  usually  known  as  the  fool-hen  because 
of  its  silly  habit  of  sitting  still  to  be  stoned,  also 
that  the  ruffed  willow-grouse  is  protected  by  law. 
He  has  lived  at  Leanchoil  and  Field  for  seven  years, 
and  knows  all  the  trails  for  two  hundred  miles  round. 


A    WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

I  ask  if  one  can  fish  much  here,  and  he  tells  tales 
of  the  trout  in  the  Kootenays,  of  the  silver  and  grey 
heckle,  of  fishing  up  to  ice-time  till  my  ears  ache  to 
hear  the  keen  swish  of  a  line  cleaving  the  air,  my 
eyes  to  see  a  silver  fly  tip  the  water.  Next  day  I 
find  the  west-bound  train  is  cancelled,  so  start  forth 
to  try  riding  astride;  the  indescribable  mosses,  the 
trees  gnawed  by  porcupine,  the  thickets  bright  with 
scarlet  bunch-berries  lure  one  to  brave  the  passes ;  I 
find  a  beast  which  proves  a  very  Samson  among 
gees;  after  two  or  three  hours  he  makes  for  home 
just  as  violently  as  he  started  away  from  it;  he  has 
galloped  and  curveted  up  the  Yoho  Pass  in  great 
good  humour,  utterly  regardless  of  the  tremors 
which  might  possibly  possess  a  rider  unused  to 
Rocky  Mountain  roads.  I  am  wondering  if  there 
is  any  chance  of  slipping  into  the  hotel  unseen — 
there  are  no  side-saddles  "out  West."  Walking 
feels  odd  in  this  kit.  Other  women  can  look  very 
smart  and  workman-like  in  the  queer  Mexican 
saddles,  and  out  of  them  too,  but  I  haven't  yet  "  got 
the  habit."  Round  the  last  perilous  corner,  past  the 
livery  barn,  and  over  the  shining  railway  track  we 
dash  to  the  hotel  steps.  I  peer  about  me  in  the 
dusky  light  and  cautiously  prepare  to  dismount.  No 

one  who  has  not  been  in  one  knows  how  many  humps 
188 


THE   ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

there  are  on  these  Western  saddles.  I  am  swaying 
and  struggling  in  great  disturbance  of  mind  when  a 
civil  voice  offers  help. 

A  lady  of  apparently  forty  or  so,  with  one  of  those 
even  voices  that  go  with  "  decided  "  opinions,  has 
seen  my  difficulties.  I  explain  my  modest  appre- 
hensions, and  she  tells  me  she  has  felt  the  same, 
also  that  she  has  been  up  the  Burgess  Pass  alone 
and  is  only  just  down.  I  am  engineered  over  the 
humps  and  out  of  the  funny  wooden  stirrups,  and  I 
thank  her  with  great  respect.  Fancy  climbing  the 
Burgess  alone  !  The  Yoho  with  a  horse  is  bad 
enough. 

We  meet  at  breakfast  next  morning  and  I  find 
she  is  a  very  handsome  girl  of  twenty-seven  or  there- 
abouts, brilliant  in  conversation,  intelligently  vague 
in  all  her  opinions.  It  is  impossible  to  think  and  be 
"  decided  "  since  the  discovery  of  radium.  There 
are  some  buckwheat  cakes  on  the  menu,  and  we 
have  two  helpings,  then  tell  each  other  we  are 
greedy. 

"But  all  nice  things  are  greedy,"  she  says, 
"babies,  you  know,  and  dogs  and  roses." 

I  tell  her  of  my  vain  efforts  to  grow  roses  on  the 
sand  in  Surrey;  she  tells  me  to  try  basic  slag,  and 

we  wander  into  a  highly  technical  discourse  on  rose 
189 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

manners,  on  habits  and  varieties,  winding  up  with 
Mendelian  theories. 

"  I  am  taking  home  some  seeds  of  the  wild  prairie- 
roses,"  I  tell  her,  "to  try  and  breed  out  a  garden 
variety  that  will  stand  hard  winters." 

"  So  am  I,"  she  cries. 

We  stare,  then  laugh.  Here  we  are,  two  lone 
Englishwomen  who  have  drifted  together  for  an 
instant  in  the  toil  of  travel,  and  a  chance  word  re- 
veals us  both  bent  on  the  same  quest,  infinitely  inter- 
ested in  the  same  problems. 

She  has  some  relatives  lately  settled  in  British 
Columbia,  and  has  heard  so  much  talk  of  Canada 
that  she  has  come  out  to  see  for  herself  if  she  would 
like  to  live  in  it.  She  has  trained  as  a  horticultural- 
ist,  and  asks  what  chances  there  are  for  women  out 
here. 

"  Endless  ones  for  the  right  kind,"  I  answer 
warmly.  "  England  is  glutted  with  female  labour, 
Canada  faints  for  want  of  it.  It  looks  like  the  sim- 
plest problem  in  the  world  to  solve.  In  reality  it  is 
bristling  with  difficulties." 

Her  clever  face  crinkles  into  lines  of  perplexity. 

"  How  ?  "  she  asks. 

"  Because  Englishwomen  are  used  to  a  communal 
life.    That's  why,"  I  answer. 
190 


ROCKY   IV 

She  m  r  strong",  fine 

intere 

emboc  Jinglishwoman,  the 

kind  .'  There  is  c«. 

tn  her  and  and  refinement  too, 

and  all  th  ire  lit  by  the  radiant  intelli- 

•as  from  ever 

"You  are  sui  she 

"  Will  you  ring  me  up  and  tell  me  if  you  have 

•  nd  inclination  to  th  me  out 

on  the  farm  ?  " 

"Mr.  Muggins" 

We  say  good-bye.    I  see  nor  embark  on  the  west- 
bound train  with  regret — another  of  the  <%  bhips  that 

Page  igi 

in  the  night." 
Though  there  are  sv. 
;ibia,  I  seem  to  be- 
England  v.  Canada  qua/ 
province  in  the  Dominion;  : 
r  I  remember 

North- West  r  part 

.aada.  and  is  mos^ 

which  rouses  bate.    \Y 

hatred,  and  I 
.orthy  British 

191 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

She  muses,  and  I  watch  her  strong,  fine  face  with 
interest  and  pleasure.  She  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
embodiment  of  the  best  kind  of  Englishwoman,  the 
kind  so  greatly  needed  out  West.  There  is  courage 
in  her  and  endurance,  gentleness  and  refinement  too, 
and  all  these  qualities  are  lit  by  the  radiant  intelli- 
gence that  beams  from  every  glance. 

"  You  are  sure  to  stay  at  Victoria  later  on,"  she 
says.  "  Will  you  ring  me  up  and  tell  me  if  you  have 
time  and  inclination  to  stay  a  few  days  with  me  out 
on  the  farm?" 

We  say  good-bye.  I  see  her  embark  on  the  west- 
bound train  with  regret — another  of  the  "  ships  that 
pass  in  the  night." 

Though  there  are  so  many  English  in  British 
Columbia,  I  seem  to  become  engaged  in  more  of  the 
England  v.  Canada  quarrels  there  than  in  any  other 
province  in  the  Dominion ;  one  Mr.  Hamber  in  par- 
ticular I  remember  says  that  the  English  population 
of  the  North-West  is  greater  than  in  any  other  part 
of  Canada,  and  is  mostly  composed  of  wastrels — a 
statement  which  rouses  me  to  fiery  debate.  We  end 
in  mutual  hatred,  and  I  repeat  the  performance  with 
so  many  worthy  British  Columbians  that  at  last  big 
Jim  Macdonell  proclaims  himself  my  champion. 
Any  one  who  quarrels  with  me  must  fight  him — and 
191 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

thereafter  peace.  "  Big  Jim  "  is  the  biggest  man  I 
have  ever  seen  in  my  life,  a  Scotchman  and  a  famous 
engineer.  He  is  doing  a  tunnelling  operation  be- 
tween Laggan  and  Field  for  the  Canadian  Pacific 
Railway,  and  has  a  great  colony  of  navvies  en- 
camped like  a  city  for  the  last  two  years  on  the  base 
of  operations ;  he  has  built  a  house  there  for  his  wife 
and  babies  and  partner,  has  a  hospital  with  a  doctor 
and  nurse  for  the  staff,  and  reigns  like  a  burly  blue- 
eyed  Scottish  chieftain  among  his  men.  He  tells 
me  a  retort  to  silence  the  Eastern  Canadian  with 
when  he  quarrels  with  me  about  the  silliness  of  Eng- 
lish settlers,  and  he,  "  Big  Jim,"  is  not  at  hand  to 
fight  him — I  am  to  say,  "The  Englishman  in 
Ontario  is  a  fool?  Well,  if  you  went  West  would 
you  know  how  to  throw  the  diamond  hitch  ?  "  And 
they  never  know.  There  is  only  one  way  to  throw 
the  hitch  which  will  fix  the  pack  on  a  pony's  back ; 
an  intricate  piece  of  Western  lore  it  is,  and  quite 
unknown  of  the  tenderfoot. 

I  learn  a  great  deal  in  the  mountains  about  the 
minerals  in  this  province ;  there  is  an  aerial  lead  and 
silver  mine  on  Mount  Stephen,  and  much  talk  of  ore 
goes  on ;  I  learn  that  the  yield  shows  about  twelve  per 
cent,  of  zinc,  three  ounces  silver  to  the  ton,  and  that 
the  only  foreign  element  is  lime,  the  easiest  substance 
192 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

of  all  to  eliminate.  I  look  at  it,  on  the  face  of  the 
mountain  like  Dracula,  and  can  perceive  the  advan- 
tage of  its  position ;  it  is  above  the  railway,  and  they 
do  not  have  to  sink  for  ore.  They  drive  straight 
into  the  mountain,  and  the  metal  travels  with  its  own 
weight  to  the  truck.  I  strenuously  evade  all  hospitable 
efforts  to  drag  me  up  to  it.  Gold,  silver,  copper, 
lead,  antimony,  mercury,  coal,  zinc,  iron  are  all  found 
in  British  Columbia — a  noble  array.  Mining  has 
been  dull  of  recent  years  owing  to  long  litigation. 
Last  June  the  Dominion  Government  re-enacted  the 
Lead  Bounties  Act,  practically  making  lead  worth 
£18  sterling  per  long  ton.  There  were  good  reasons 
for  it,  as  the  United  States  impose  enormous  import 
duty  on  the  ore,  also  the  cost  of  production  is  great, 
and  the  freight  rate  to  the  London  market  on  pig- 
lead  amounts  to  £4  per  ton.  At  the  coast  Vancouver 
Island  has  huge  deposits  of  iron,  copper,  gold  and 
silver.  All  this  and  more  of  mining  passes  to  and 
fro  in  talk,  generally  of  an  evening — the  days  are 
devoured  of  work  and  sport;  a  young  man  with  a 
head  of  distraught  hair  and  melancholy  eyes  tells  me 
most  of  it — he  is  a  miner.  I  wonder  as  I  listen  if  his 
hair  would  lie  down  flat  with  surprise  if  he  found  a 
real  enormous  gold  nugget  one  day  in  his  life,  and 

if  his  miserable  face  could  ever  look  pleased.    Soon 
N  193 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

I  say  good-bye  to  him,  to  Big  Jim  and  his  little 
pretty  wife,  to  Otto,  to  the  explorer-woman  who  goes 
not  as  the  crow  flies,  but  as  the  trail  winds,  to  the 
little  wooden  house  among  the  eternal  mountains — 
to  the  spluttering  log  fire,  to  the  happy  hunters. 

On  the  train  I  lean  as  usual  from  the  car  and  smell 
again  the  smell  of  Canada — pine  and  cedar,  pine 
and  cedar — here  is  the  muddy  Fraser  River  laced 
with  emerald  mountain  streams;  down  the  sides  of 
the  canon  grows  the  burning  bush,  there  are  splashes 
like  blood  on  the  rock-face  of  maple  deeply  red. 
Here  is  a  gold  dredge  at  work  on  the  river,  here  is 
Agassiz,  with  her  deserted  orchards,  where  Mr. 
Prain  shot  a  bear.  We  run  into  a  litter  of  pigs  and 
leave  a  steaming,  throbbing  corpse  behind;  here  is 
a  little  settlement  called  Cheam — I  wonder  what 
homesick  Surrey  man  named  it  so.  At  Harrison 
Mills  is  a  pond  of  water-lilies  gleaming  silver  tones 
in  green  sward,  all  girdled  with  mountains.  Here  the 
turgid  Fraser  turns  green,  she  is  cleansed  by  some 
miracle  of  the  mud  of  her  earlier  courses;  here  is 
a  butterfly,  here  bracken,  dandelion,  clover,  yarrow, 
a  hedged  lane — this  country  is  like  England,  like 
England ! 

From  the  livid  grasses  of  the  prairie  to  the  sunny 

orchards,  the  bracken,  the  ivy,  the  pleasant,  low- 
194 


THE   ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

pitched  voices,  from  a  desert  of  grass,  of  wheat,  of 
scrub,  where  the  wolf -willow  glimmers  on  the  wind- 
bitten  wold,  from  the  prairies  to  this  paradise  is 
change  indeed.  Here  in  this  other  more  beautiful 
England,  British  Columbia,  the  roads  wind  in  mossy 
dells  unsoiled  of  weary  feet  tramping  to  win  a  daily 
pittance,  unstained  of  the  filth  of  cities,  untamed, 
unbroken;  the  bracken  stands  twenty  feet  high,  the 
cedar  and  arbutus  grow  down  to  the  edge  of  the  sea, 
the  deer  and  salmon  share  wood  and  water.  I  tread 
its  ways  bemused  with  wonder,  morose  with  the 
impact  of  sensation.  I  suffer  the  strange  faces 
about  me  almost  as  a  bodily  hurt,  for  they  are  used 
to  this  wonderful  country,  and  look  with  the  aloof- 
ness of  incomprehension  at  my  amaze.  From  Van- 
couver I  take  steamer  to  Victoria,  the  capital  city  of 
British  Columbia,  and  the  great  mart  of  Vancouver 
Island,  on  which  it  is  built.  We  steam  for  five  or 
six  hours  through  the  Straits  of  Georgia,  threading 
among  the  green  islands  with  Mount  Baker  look- 
ing like  Fujiyama,  white-capped  against  an  amethyst 
sky;  the  gulls  sway  against  the  breeze,  the  under 
wing  dyed  with  pink  reflected  from  the  brilliant 
sunset  water.  I  wander  curiously  about  the  streets 
of  Victoria;  they  are  wide  and  beautiful,  just  tilted 

from  the  level  of  a  sheer  copy  of  the  Old  Country 
N2  I95 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

by  the  Oriental  bias.  Here  are  the  little  yellow  Japs 
and  Chinks,  with  their  quiet,  busy  ways,  their  cease- 
less industrious  coming  and  going.  Their  shops  are 
here,  their  names  line  the  streets,  they  are  as  much 
part  of  the  social  machine  as  are  these  high-nosed, 
slim,  tall  men  and  women  who  speak  "  army  "  from 
every  pore  and  who  are  Victoria.  The  gardens  are 
fenced  from  public  view  by  clipped  holly  hedges, 
ivy  grows  joyously,  a  welcome  sight  never  seen  on 
the  prairies.  Here  is  a  garden  full  of  roses,  Mrs. 
John  Laing  nodding  on  her  long  stalk;  La  France, 
the  rascal  who  pays  so  ill  for  cutting  and  is  so  beauti- 
ful that  one  always  finds  garden-room  for  her  in 
spite  of  her  withery  habits;  Frau  Karl  Druschki, 
long,  white,  graceful;  Dorothy  Perkins,  vigorous  of 
growth;  a  brilliant  dragon-fly  poises  over  her — he 
looks  a  little  weak  in  the  wing,  perhaps,  but  this  is 
mid-October — he  lingers  round  as  though  he  re- 
members the  pink  clusters  which  must  have  made 
that  rambler  a  glory  when  it  was  in  full  bloom;  he 
is  annoyed  with  "  Dorothy,"  and  goes  over  to  Mrs. 
John  Laing  for  comfort.  This  brilliant  sea  and  sky, 
this  island  of  flowers  and  sweet  scents  makes  me 
envy  the  high-nosed  ones  who  come  to  live  here  in 
the  afternoon  of  life.  At  Oyster  Cove,  in  Esqui- 
mault  Harbour,  Captain  Williams  walks  in  his  big 
196 


THE    ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

wading-boots  among  the  apple-trees  and  wax-berries 
telling  me  all  the  dowdy  things  that  can  happen  to 
oysters  if  they  are  not  nicely  managed.  Wo  Lung, 
whose  long  pigtail  is  wound  round  his  head  like  a 
cap,  goes  down  to  the  cove  to  grapple  some  up  for 
me  to  taste;  the  Captain  takes  me  down  to  the  sea 
and  shows  how  they  are  "  planted  "  with  sea-paths 
so  that  between  he  can  walk  round  and  turn  them 
over  whenever  he  wants  to.  It  is  like  a  sea  garden, 
and  its  summer-house  is  a  wooden  hut  on  the  raft 
where  he  sorts  his  oysters  over.  Wo  Lung  staggers 
away  with  a  heavy  load,  and  I  follow  the  Captain  up 
to  the  apple-orchard  once  more,  wondering  how 
many  I  am  expected  to  "  taste." 

Inland,  happy  as  man  must  have  been  when  he 
first  saw  Eden,  I  wander  between  splendid  avenues 
of  balmy  cedar  that  make  a  luxury  of  breathing; 
maple  burns  in  crimson  and  gold  against  the  deep 
rich  green  of  the  pines — brown  and  gold  and  green 
— green  and  gold  and  brown — it  is  like  looking  at 
Dante  Rossetti's  palette.  One  Martin  Vannier 
drives  me  to  Cowichan  Bay,  the  landscape  is  pure 
joy  every  inch  of  the  way.  The  roads  are  wide  and 
well  kept,  edged  with  picturesque  snake-fences 
almost  hidden  under  brown-gold  bracken;  here  is 
a  rich  orchard  where  the  apples  hang  among  their 
197 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

leaves  like  little  crimson  Chinese  lanterns,  when  the 
sun  strikes  them  the  untouched  bloom  glows  like 
mauve  violet.  Here  is  a  herd  of  red  polls,  fat  and 
contented  in  pasture  that  looks  like  parkland,  mag- 
nificently timbered.  The  blue  jays  chatter  as  we 
pass,  Mount  Tzouhalem  rises  beside  us,  a  burning 
mountain  in  its  radiant  garb  of  autumn  foliage.  A 
funny  mongrel  with  a  fox-terrier  head,  a  setter  body 
and  a  Pomeranian  tail  attaches  himself  to  our  "rig" 
and  barks  at  every  elderberry  bush — somebody 
must  have  given  him  some  to  eat  at  one  time.  On 
the  slope  of  a  hill  by  Cowichan  Bay  is  a  pretty  house 
of  wood  that  reveals  itself  as  Buena  Vista  Hotel — 
set  in  trees  that  would  grace  the  noblest  English 
park.  We  unhitch  Jimmy,  the  dapple  grey  who  has 
shied  industriously  at  every  blade  of  grass  on  the 
road,  and  reward  him  with  a  feed  of  oats.  The  mon- 
grel rejects  my  overtures,  coupled  though  they  are 
with  enticing  smells  of  lunch,  and  makes  for  the  bush 
to  hunt  for  elderberry-trees ;  he  gives  a  friendly  leer 
from  a  clump  of  ferns  and  disappears  for  the  after- 
noon. Men  come  and  go — for  lunch,  for  a  drink,  for 
a  word  with  our  host,  and  I  watch  them  enviously — 
they  all  have  guns,  they  all  have  setters,  they  all 
roam  these  glorious  woods  from  day  to  day ;  I  am  a 
momentary  sojourner  who  would  so  gladly  stay  for 
198 


THE    ROCKY  MOUNTAINS 

ever,  and  I  wonder  that  they  can  wear  a  mask  of 
calmness  whose  heritage  is  set  in  these  pleasant 
paths. 

Martin  discovers  that  it  is  little  use  going  after 
pheasants,  as  we  had  intended,  without  a  dog;  so 
we  borrow  a  line  and  spoon  from  our  host,  and  go 
down  on  the  bay  to  troll  for  salmon.  The  glittering 
bait  whirls  busily  in  our  wake ;  we  row  up  and  down 
and  round  and  about.  The  sun  settles  closelier 
among  the  mountains,  the  little  breeze  fades  to  a 
whimpering  calm,  the  gulls  scream  greedily  over 
their  fishing,  carrion  crows  flap  heavy  wings  over  the 
dead  fish  on  the  shore.  The  wet  line  is  twisted 
round  my  hand  lest  a  sudden  jerk  betrays  my  absent- 
mindedness  to  Martin — and  in  such  a  peace  as  is 
beyond  praise,  beyond  description,  the  day  wears 
toward  sunset. 

The  whole  atmosphere  of  this  lovely  island  is 
opposite  to  that  strenuous,  bracing  prairie-life  I  have 
recently  passed  through.  There  the  days  tingle  with 
work,  with  the  massing  of  moneys,  the  stress  of  toil. 
Here  the  climate  is  warm  and  sensuous,  the  most 
part  of  the  settlers  have  small  incomes  and  are  con- 
tent with  the  happiness  of  "  enough  "  rather  than  the 
excitement  of  "more."  I  sit  brooding  on  the  com- 
fortable lives  gentlepeople  live  here  in  Nature's 
199 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

lovely  garden  island  on  incomes  which  in  the  old 
country  mean  penury  with  all  its  attendant  humilia- 
tions and  demoralizations;  I  am  so  engrossed  with 
thought  and  bitter  with  envy  for  the  people  who  own 
the  beautiful  acres  on  either  hand  that  I  forget  the 
tiny  thrill  of  the  whirling  spoon,  and  am  nearly 
jerked  out  of  the  boat  when  a  furious  salmon  finds 
himself  hooked.  I  collect  my  scattered  thoughts  and 
begin  to  haul  him  in  amid  excited  advice  from 
Martin,  but  I  am  not  quick  enough.  The  line  slacks 
for  one  instant,  a  great  bar  of  indignant  silver  flashes 
into  the  air  and  deluges  me  with  water,  he  has  twisted 
himself  free,  and  I  am  in  horrible  disgrace.  Martin 
says  he  was  a  fifteen-pounder,  and  looks  at  me  with 
such  grief  and  scorn  that  I  forget  Vancouver  Island 
and  remember  that  I  am  out  to  fish.  You  see  he  was 
lost  through  clumsy  playing,  and  Martin  would  for- 
give clumsy  gaffing  sooner  than  that.  After  long 
patience  I  get  a  three-pound  rock-cod,  and  suffer  the 
forbearance  of  my  guide  all  the  way  back.  I  point 
out  the  beauty  of  the  catch  as  his  ruddy  translucence 
fades  to  pallor  streaked  with  brilliant  yellow,  and 
flushes  again  to  red-brown,  but  the  fifteen  pounds 
of  silver  salmon  hang  in  Martin's  mind  and  I  am  not 
acquitted.  I  suggest  that  the  lost  magnificence  may 

have  been  a  "cohoe,"  but  even  that  slight  comfort 
200 


THE   ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

is  denied  me — Martin  says  he  was  a  fifteen-pound 
"  spring,"  and  I  marvel  at  his  quickness  of  sight. 

A  tired,  bloody-jowled  mongrel  meets  us  with  a 
yap  of  joy  under  the  cedars  and  arbutus;  I  sneak 
past  him  with  the  rock-cod  spiked  on  a  stick  (the 
horny  fins  are  supposed  to  be  poisonous);  I  do  not 
even  pat  the  dog  as  we  pass,  I  suspect  him  from  his 
torpidity  and  gore  of  being  a  much  better  sportsman 
than  I  have  proved  myself  to  be. 

I  find  my  ship  of  the  night,  the  lady  gardener  of 
the  Rockies,  is  not  to  "pass"  after  all;  we  meet 
again,  and  one  drenching  morn  at  four  of  the  clock 
she  and  I,  with  her  uncle  and  aunt,  may  be  seen  row- 
ing dismally  towards  one  of  the  little  islands  that 
cluster  round  Vancouver  Island,  where  they  have 
bought  a  large  estate.  This  is  the  beginning  of  the 
rainy  season.  Her  uncle  gives  me  "tips"  for  the 
good  of  other  Englishmen  who  are  coming  out. 

"  Tell  'em  not  to  bring  out  silly  spiral  gaiters  that 
let  in  the  wet,  but  puttees  for  choice,  or  gaiters  to 
button  up  the  side  and  come  well  over  the  boot.  Tell 
'em  to  bring  a  gabardine,  and  learn  how  to  shoe  a 
horse,  and  how  to  do  a  little  cobbling,  and  how  to 
use  saw,  chisel,  axe  and  plane." 

I  listen  respectfully  while  I  struggle  to  row  in 
the  bow ;  the  oar  is  all  right  but  the  rowlock  is  broken, 
201 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

and  I  keep  getting  into  disgrace  because  I  can't 
keep  time  with  stroke;  also  my  hair  is  hanging  in 
front  of  my  face  dripping  like  the  eaves  of  a  thatched 
roof,  and  it  is  difficult  to  see  when  the  back  in  front 
of  me  bends.  Presently  "  the  boys  "  spy  us  from 
afar  and  bring  the  launch  to  the  rescue. 

What  a  beautiful  place  they  have !  I  cannot 
wonder  army  people  come  out  here,  I  only  wonder 
any  one  keeps  away.  I  am  taken  over  the  bay  to 
troll  with  rod  and  line  in  the  Siwash  way.  Four 
fathoms  from  spoon  to  lead,  and  two  fathoms  from 
lead  to  point  of  rod.  We  use  cuttyhunk  and  a  lead 
of  about  three  ounces.  I  land  some  nice  fish,  and  am 
only  sorry  that  Martin  is  not  here  to  see.  His  scorn- 
ful eyes  are  a  humiliating  memory.  My  gardener 
friend  is  not  only  versed  in  horticulture;  in  a  little 
dairy  under  giant  Douglas  firs  I  watch  her  churn  the 
pale  cream,  and  I  stand  gazing  in  ignorance,  but 
faith,  at  the  glass  disc  which  is  to  "get  clear  when 
the  butter  comes."  Fascinated  I  hover  over  the  pile 
of  golden  grains  washed  and  rewashed  and  washed 
again;  her  clever  hands  finally  pat  and  mould  it  to 
the  guise  in  which  one  is  accustomed  to  meet  butter. 
I  watch  her  melt  yeast  cake,  and  help  her  stir  the 
dough  till  our  arms  ache,  the  pleasant  acrid  yeasty 
smell  fills  the  kitchen.  We  troll  the  bay  for  more 
202 


THE   ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

fish,  and  catch  a  big  "  cohoe  "  who  gives  us  great 
sport  and  a  cod  who  gives  us  an  excellent  breakfast; 
we  tramp  the  woods  with  a  '25/20  Winchester  and 
stock  the  larder  with  venison  because  "  the  deer  have 
eaten  up  all  Auntie's  winter  cabbage." 

In  the  sunset  we  walk,  we  two  moderns,  in  the 
primal  glades  discussing  the  Fabian  Society, 
eugenics,  Brieux,  Ibsen,  Tolstoy,  all  the  questions 
and  question-makers  that  have  been  born  of  our 
teeming  population  and  the  stress  of  civilization. 

"  Incongruous  in  such  a  setting,"  I  say  at  last,  but 
she  does  not  agree. 

"  Here  is  the  young  world  to  be  built.  Where 
else  should  be  discussed  the  lesson  of  the  old  ? "  she 
says. 

"What  has  it  taught  us? "  I  ask,  being  older  and 
less  buoyant. 

"  That  all's  well  with  the  world  !  That  races,  like 
the  flame,  go  upward !  That  the  new  is  better  than 
the  old,  that  the  future  is  greater  than  tradition." 

British  Columbia  is  opening  up  every  year;  the 
Grand  Trunk  Pacific  will  soon  make  the  Kitsumga- 
lum  Valley  a  rival  in  fruit-growing  with  the  Okana- 
gan.  The  province  is  thickly  grown  with  valuable 
trees,  it  has  the  sea,  it  has  minerals,  it  is  rich  beyond 
belief  in  every  natural  beauty.  It  is  a  sportsman's 
203 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

paradise  where  range  the  bear — black,  grizzly,  cin- 
namon; the  moose,  caribou,  deer,  wapiti  or  elk,  the 
bighorn,  or  Rocky  Mountain  sheep,  of  all  Canadian 
game  the  most  wary  and  difficult  to  bag  (every  head 
brought  down  represents  honest  hard  work  and 
straight  shooting);  the  mountain  goat  abounds,  that 
singular  bearded  beast,  most  daring  of  all  mountain 
climbers;  wolves;  puma,  or  cougar,  often  called 
panther  or  mountain  lion;  lynx;  antelope;  besides 
the  small  game :  foxes,  hares,  rabbits,  mink,  hsher 
martin,  sable,  otter,  beaver,  muskrat,  wolverine  and 
the  rest.  Although  few  persons,  however  keen, 
would  visit  this  province  merely  for  the  sake  of  its 
wing  shooting,  yet  it  is  undeniable  that,  with  the 
exception  of  Manitoba,  Alberta,  Saskatchewan  and 
Athabasca,  a  man  may  find  as  much  work  for  his 
breechloader  here  as  anywhere  abroad.  Five  species 
of  grouse,  and  vast  quantities  of  wildfowl,  from 
swans  to  teal,  abound  in  suitable  localities.  The 
marshes  of  the  Columbia  swarm  with  mallard  and 
other  choice  duck  in  the  autumn ;  the  Arrow  Lakes 
and  the  upper  valley  of  the  Fraser  form  a  trough 
much  frequented  by  the  wild  geese  during  their 
migrations,  and  the  fiords  and  sounds  of  the  coast 
shelter  great  flocks  of  wildfowl  throughout  the  winter 

— the  winters  of  the  Pacific  are  very  much  less  rigor- 
204 


THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS 

ous  than  those  of  the  Atlantic,  and  a  very  large 
proportion  of  the  birds  do  not  go  farther  south  than 
Vancouver  Island. 

The  fishing  is  so  remarkable  that  no  one  can 
realize  the  quantities  of  salmon  and  trout  to  be  found 
in  the  streams  till  he  or  she  has  visited  British 
Columbia. 

The  province  is  divided  into  eight  districts,  each 
of  which  would  require  a  whole  book  to  set  forth  its 
peculiarities  of  soil,  climate,  mineral  and  timber  re- 
sources and  diversity  of  scenery !  There  is  the 
Kootenay  district,  drained  by  the  Columbia  and 
Kootenay  rivers,  which  combines  in  odd  juxtaposi- 
tion fruit  orchards  and  copper  mines.  There  is  Yale, 
the  garden  of  British  Columbia,  with  its  lakes  and 
sunny  orchards;  Lillooet,  the  pastoral  country  de- 
voted to  dairying  and  cattle  raising;  there  is  West- 
minster, which  includes  the  fertile  valley  of  the 
Lower  Fraser,  famous  for  its  lumbering  and  salmon 
canning  industries — unfortunately  the  canneries  are 
closed  at  this  time  of  the  year  and  I  do  not  see 
over  them ;  Cariboo  and  Cassiar,  great  unexploited 
tracts  of  close  on  200,000,000  acres  which  look  to  the 
new  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  Railway  to  bring  settlers 
to  mine  for  gold  and  work  the  fertile  belts;  there 
are  the  Comox  district  and  Vancouver  Island,  where 
205 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

fruits  are  prolific  and  fishing,  quartz  mining,  copper 
smelting,  whaling  and  shipbuilding  are  staple  in- 
dustries. 

Victoria,  the  capital  of  British  Columbia,  is  an 
important  business  and  industrial  centre.  It  shares 
with  Vancouver  the  northern  trade  and  that  of  the 
interior;  the  vessels  entered  and  cleared  during 
1906-7  were  3,625,  and  of  these  2,077  were  foreign. 
It  is  the  first  port  of  call  for  the  trans- Pacific  liners 
and  northern  steamers,  as  well  as  all  the  big  freighters 
which  round  the  Horn  for  Puget  Sound  points. 

Labour  is  scarce  and  dear.  Women  can  command 
in  domestic  service  anything  from  fifteen  to  thirty- 
five  dollars  a  month  with  board. 

In  brilliant  sunshine  I  leave  Vancouver,  gathered 
like  a  child  to  the  breast  of  the  mountains,  and  turn 
my  face  to  the  east  again.  On  the  prairie  tract  the 
train  gets  snowed  up  at  Maple  Creek;  after  the 
tropical  vegetation,  the  rugged  magnificence  of 
British  Columbia,  these  lowly  hills  and  vast  treeless 
spaces  covered  with  snow  under  a  blue-green  sky  are 
odd  indeed.  We  wait  on  the  train  day  after  day, 
discussing  the  country's  platitude,  topographical  and 
domestic,  watching  the  gophers  playing  on  the  glit- 
tering snow  by  the  track.  This  is  a^  unusually  early 
blizzard,  and  people  tell  storm  stories  in  the  intervals 
206 


A   WOMAN    IN  'C  \ 

fruits  are  prolific  and  fishing,  quartz  min; 
smelting,  whahng  and  shipbuilding  are 
dustries, 

Victor**,  the  capital  of  British  Columbia,  is  an 
important  i.'Otiness  and  industrial  centre.  It  shares 
with  Vancouver  the  northern  trade  and  that  of  the 
interior;  the  vessels  entered  and  cleared  during 
1906-7  were  3.625,  and  of  these  2,077  were  foreign. 
It  is  the  first  port  of  call  for  the  trans- Pacific  liners 
and  northern  steamers,  as  well  as  all  the  big  freighters 
which  round  the  Horn  for  Puget  Sound  points. 

*  is'SMr.' M<*g$n*^ge&  "tfiWdet.'u 
in  domestic  service  anything  from  fifteen  to  thirty- 
liars  a  month  W£&  iaonrn. 

In  brilliant  sunshine  I  leave  Vancouver,  gatn 
like  a  child  to  the  breast  of  the  mountains,  am 
my  face  to  the  east  again.    On  the  prairie  tract  the 
train  gets  snowed  up  at  Maple  Creek;    after  the 
tropical    vegetation,    the    rugged    magnificence    of 
British  Columbia,  these  lowly  hills  and  vast  tr 
spaces  covered  with  snow  under  a  blue-green  sk 
odd  indeed.     We  wait  on  the  train  day  after  day, 
discussing  the  country's  platitude,  topographic 
domestic,  watching  the  gophers  playing  on  tru 
tering  snow  by  the  track.    This  is  a^  unusuall) 

blizzard,  and  people  tell  storm  stories  in  the  int 
206 


THE   ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

of  snowball  fights,  and  questioning  the  worried  con- 
ductor about  the  progress  of  the  two  snow-ploughs 
in  front  which  are  endeavouring  to  clear  the  way. 

I  am  on  the  "  home  trail."  Soon  this  brilliant  air, 
this  boundless  country  will  be  out  of  touch  and  sight, 
will  have  given  place  to  the  misty  greys  of  tiny 
populous  England. 


207 


CHAPTER    IX 

EASTWARD    BOUND 

THE  train  pulls  away  from  Winnipeg,  the  nigger 
porter  assiduously  portions  me  my  pet  berth,  "  No. 
2  Lower,"  the  dining-car  conductor  bustles  about 
distilling  odours  of  bacon  and  coffee  every  time  he 
opens  the  door  of  his  car.  ...  I  am  on  the  east- 
ward train  and  my  face  is  set  towards  home. 

Let  no  one  think  he  can  come  to  the  young  North- 
West  and  leave  it  with  joy.  Lightly  enough  I  came 
three  months  ago,  lightly  enough  I  took  the  trail 
towards  the  sunset,  lightly  enough  I  trod  the  magic 
land  that  leaves  its  mark  for  ever  on  the  heart.  The 
process  is  so  unconscious.  I  never  knew  as  I  trod 
the  prairie  grasses  and  caught  the  perfume  of  the 
low  roses  brushing  by  my  skirt,  I  never  knew  as  I 
looked  towards  the  mountains  in  the  sunset  that 
these  once  tasted  leave  an  everlasting  hunger  for 
more;  there  was  no  way  of  knowing  that  when  I 
followed  the  lean  trail  it  would  never  cease  to 

beckon,  only  now  as  I  turn  eastward  do  I  learn  the 
208 


EASTWARD   BOUND 

thing  that  has  happened.  Another  song  to  haunt 
the  silences  till  death. 

There  is  the  song  of  remembered  childhood — we 
all  hear  it  at  times — by  "moonlight  or  by  candle- 
light ";  there  is  the  song  of  the  first  kiss  of  first 
love;  there  is  the  song  of  the  beloved  waxen  dead 
we  laid  to  earth  with  bitter  grief ;  there  is  the  song 
of  the  secret  hours  when  none  but  ourselves  know 
how  the  soul  lost  or  won,  how  good  or  how  bad  the 
record  was  made — every  one  of  us  has  that  song  to 
haunt  the  heart ;  but  not  all  of  us  has  added  to  the  list 
with  this  song  of  the  West  that  is  started  for  me,  and 
which  I  have  neither  power  to  still  nor  will  to  resent. 
It  is  a  song  of  labour,  hardship,  loneliness,  of  great 
rewards,  of  unfettered  life,  of  limitless  oppor- 
tunities. A  song  of  hope,  of  freedom;  a  song  of  a 
happy  land. 

I  suppose  it  is  the  savage  in  us  that  responds  to 
the  wild  waste  places,  the  savage  which  looks  with 
eyes  of  sympathy  on  the  face  of  Nature  when  we 
find  her  virgin,  naked,  unashamed.  I  don't  know — 
one  doesn't  analyze  these  emotions  if  one  is  wise. 
But  I  do  know  that  the  beaten  roads  and  easy  paths 
of  England  seem  tame  and  tiresome  to  feet  that 
have  followed  the  trail  through  bush  and  scrub,  by 

creek  and  slough,  under  a  boundless  sky  with  the 
o  209 


A  WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

sun  for  sign-post  and  the  warm,  wild  wind  for 
friend.  It  is  hopeless  to  urban  ears  to  talk  of  the 
exhilaration  that  clutches  at  the  heart  when  one 
finds  oneself  stripped  of  the  "  conveniences "  of 
life — the  intolerable  hideous  yoke  of  comforts  that 
civilization  binds  on  our  backs  from  birth  who  live 
in  settled  lands.  The  uplifting  of  the  heart  when 
it  finds  itself  free  and  face  to  face  with  primal  con- 
ditions is  not  to  be  told  in  words  to  such  as  have 
not  tasted.  But  it  waits  in  Canada  in  great  draughts 
for  those  who  have  the  courage  to  seek  it,  wine  for 
the  brave  heart.  There  is  no  call  in  her  for  those 
who  are  tainted  with  the  poisonous  love  of  cities ;  in 
the  name  of  mercy  let  such  stay  in  Europe.  Dream- 
ing hearts  that  love  the  mourn  of  a  deep-throated 
wind  in  trees,  that  feel  the  pulse  of  a  secret  never 
solved  in  the  touch  of  loam  and  leaf-mould,  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  philosophies  and  fears  in 
the  sowing  and  the  reaping,  who  keep  a  steadfast 
face  to  fate,  not  from  ignorance  but  knowledge,  who 
offer  a  beautiful  service  to  Nature — those  are  the 
souls  to  win  the  wild,  to  garner  happiness  in  every 
twist  of  the  seasons,  to  bide  the  rewards  of  labour 
in  unmurmuring  patience. 

/      As  I  look  regretfully  at  the  landscape  slipping 
from  me  with  every  throb  of  the   train,  hoarding 

210 


EASTWARD    BOUND 

jealous  memories  of  every  acre  as  it  passes,  I 
remember  a  great  deal  that  Mr.  Larcombe  in  Mani- 
toba said  about  the  pity  of  people  coming  out  and 
buying  land  cheap  for  speculative  purposes,  the 
unfairness  of  it  to  the  workers.  He  advocated  buy- 
ing land  with  a  view  to  settling  it,  and  was  ardently 
anxious  that  English  capitalists  should  settle  vast 
tracts  with  English  settlers.  I  hear  his  mellow  old 
voice  droning  out  a  scheme  as  we  drive  about  his 
prosperous  acres. 

"Why  will  not  an  English  capitalist  purchase 
several  thousand  acres  of  land  with  a  view  to  settling 
British  farmers  on  it.  The  land  could  be  divided 
into  farms  as  at  present,  namely,  160  acres,  and  let 
at  a  rental  of  ten  per  cent,  of  the  purchase  money, 
allowing  the  tenants  option  of  purchase  at  any  time 
within  ten  years  by  giving  the  original  purchaser 
fifty  per  cent,  on  the  purchase.  Say  the  capitalist 
buys  at  ten  dollars  an  acre  and  re-sells  at  fifteen, 
giving  the  tenant  option  of  purchase  at  any  time  in 
ten  years,  drawing  till  such  time  ten  per  cent,  inter- 
est on  the  original  outlay;  it  should  be  possible  to 
adjust  the  percentage  and  purchase  money  to  give 
the  settler  stock  and  farm  implements  as  well  as 
land.  There  seems  no  reason  why  20,000  settlers 
could  not  be  arranged  for  in  this  way  with  profit  to 

02  211 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

both  first  purchaser  and  the  man  who  settles;  the 
latter  will  avoid  the  handicap  of  distance  which  tells 
so  heavily  on  the  settlers  on  free  homesteads.  The 
best-placed  land  is  already  sold.  It  is  dearer  now- 
a-days  to  get  land  at  a  gift  than  to  buy  it  where 
there  are  opportunities." 

I  think  that  was  the  scheme  he  outlined,  it  was 
a  warm  sleepy  day  and  I  was  being  lulled  into 
slumber  by  the  dolorous  chant  of  his  voice,  when 
he  became  highly  excited  over  the  tariff  question  and 
I  had  to  wake  up  and  appear  to  know  what  he  was 
talking  about. 

"Why  don't  English  manufacturers  come  here 
and  build  plant  near  Winnipeg  for  making  farm 
implements  ?  "  he  asked  fiercely.  "  The  Americans 
are  fetching  raw  materials  from  the  Kootenays  at 
twenty  per  cent,  duty,  then  making  the  stuff  in 
America  and  bringing  it  over  here  at  another  duty 
of  thirty  per  cent.,  thus  making  a  duty  of  fifty  per 
cent,  on  the  farm  implements  bought  in  Canada. 
The  preferential  tariff  is  no  good,  it  is  only  a  two 
cent  preference.  All  English  goods  should  be 
allowed  in  free,  the  ocean  rate  is  so  small  that  that 
would  make  a  great  difference  to  our  trade.  As 
things  are  we  are  building  up  American  millionaires 
out  of  the  hard  earnings  of  our  Western  farmers. 
212 


EASTWARD    BOUND 

There  should  be  no  tariff  on  any  English  goods, 
Canada  should  be  as  free  to  England  as  England 
to  us.  Then  she  would  get  her  revenues  from  direct 
taxation,  which  she  could  well  afford,  seeing  she 
would  be  getting  her  goods  so  much  cheaper.  Prob- 
ably twenty  or  thirty  per  cent,  of  moneys  collected 
under  tariff  revenue  is  paid  to  excise  officers  whose 
duty  it  is  to  watch  Canada's  shores." 

He  looked  at  my  automatic  smile  of  acquiescence 
and  suddenly  accused  me  of  utter  tariffic  ignorance. 
I  admitted  it,  I  remember,  and  was  thereupon 
bitterly  accused  of  being  behind  the  times,  also  of 
being  a  perfidious  deceiver. 

"  Why,  I  saw  in  the  paper  that  you  were  speaking 
to  the  presswomen  of  Winnipeg  on  female  suffrage." 

I  hastened  to  explain  and  left  him  only  half 
enlightened,  I  fear;  he  did  not  tell  me  any  more 
schemes,  but  he  told  me  a  great  deal  about  farming 
and  was  infinitely  kind,  the  nice  old  man.  I  hope 
he  ended  by  forgiving  my  political  ignorance. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  had  said  a  few  words  to  the 
presswomen  of  Winnipeg  when  they  very  court- 
eously entertained  me  to  a  luncheon,  and  I  had 
spoken  on  the  suffrage  because  I  saw  it  was  a  topic 
that  both  interested  and  shocked.  I  only  asked 
them  to  reserve  judgment  on  the  question  till  they 
213 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

had  been  over  to  England  and  studied  the  working 
conditions  for  women  at  first  hand.  And  I  was 
wrongly  reported,  too,  I  remember.  One  paper  said 
I  had  said  that  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  had  never 
done  a  day's  work  in  her  life !  Mrs.  Humphry 
Ward !  who  has  given  us  the  History  of  David 
Grieve,  and  Robert  Elsmere,  and  William  Aske, 
and  Marcella  !  What  I  really  said  was  that  prob- 
ably she  had  never  had  to  work  day  in  and  day  out 
for  her  very  life.  My  farmer  friend  was  quite  right 
in  being  shocked  at  my  ignorance  of  politics.  I 
know  so  little  of  them  that  I  think  only  the  units  of 
the  community,  irrespective  of  rank  and  sex  and 
age,  who  can  pass  a  standard  examination  on  pre- 
sent politics  and  political  history  should  have  a  vote. 
Only  those.  We  might  select  from  among  us  in  that 
way  brains  fitted  to  choose  the  governing  brains. 

So  musing,  remembering,  watching  the  country 
slip  by,  we  clang  at  last  into  Ottawa,  the  capital  of 
Canada,  at  an  untoward  hour  on  a  frosty  morn, 
where  Meg  and  Gaston  greet  me  shivering  and 
smiling. 

One   thing  which   has   struck   me   very   forcibly 

about  the  people  of  the  country  is  their  "  insularity," 

their    narrowed    horizon.      Frequently    in    passing 

from  province  to  province  I  have  been  impelled  by 

214 


EASTWARD   BOUND 

admiration  to  say,  "What  a  beautiful  country  this 
is,"  meaning  always  Canada  as  compared  with  what 
I  know  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  And  always  my 
hearer  has  taken  me  to  mean,  not  Canada,  not  even 
his  own  province,  not  even  that,  but  just  his  own 
town  or  hamlet.  Time  after  time  I  was  met  by  this 
limited  outlook,  time  after  time  I  hit  up  against  this 
barrier  and  found  that  to  expect  imperial  thought  or 
argument  was  like  fighting  with  a  pudding. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  country?"  has  been 
a  question  asked  me  more  than  any  other,  and  it 
took  me  a  very  long  time  to  realize  that  I  must 
answer  not  for  the  Dominion,  but  for  the  few  square 
miles  around  me ;  with  the  attrition  of  other  minds 
and  the  facilities  for  travel  which  added  railways 
will  offer  that  narrow  view  will  doubtless  widen; 
and  anyway  it  argues  some  pride  of  locality,  some 
interest  in  comparisons  of  attribute  and  progress, 
however  small.  Prides  are  good  for  the  individual, 
for  the  municipality,  for  the  race,  they  carry  virtues 
of  strength  and  independence  in  their  train,  and  no 
one  will  deny  that  the  Canadian  is  proud,  even  to 
boastfulness,  of  his  land,  its  size,  its  progress,  its 
possibilities,  so  proud  that  he  errs  at  times  on  the 
side  of  believing  no  other  prides  in  the  world  should 
have  hearing  but  his  own.  There  are  the  faults  and 
215 


A   WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

virtues  of  a  young  people  to  be  noticed  on  every 
hand,  and  I — sated  with  the  civilization  of  London 
— understand  and  envy  the  fierce  youth  and  un- 
tamed ambition  which  beat  in  the  heart  of  this  land. 
All  its  future  is  before  it ;  if  it  has  not  a  background 
of  glorious  history  it  has  the  making  of  it  in  hand 
with  all  the  histories  of  the  world  to  guide  it  to 
glory. 

There  is  no  Established  Church  in  Canada. 
There  is  none  of  the  struggle  or  the  ennobling  of 
religious  dissent;  every  congregation,  Roman 
Catholic,  Church  of  England,  Presbyterian  and 
the  rest  supports  its  own  pastors.  And  it  suffers 
from  no  lack  of  them  or  of  churches.  In  fact,  I  am 
struck  with  what  appeals  to  me  as  a  plethora  of 
religious  edifices  on  every  hand.  Toronto  has  218 
churches !  In  some  parts  of  the  prairie,  notably 
in  Saskatchewan,  I  found  a  demand  for  young 
Church  of  England  men,  to  help  with  the  training 
of  the  catechists,  ordained  men  to  drive  from  point 
to  point  of  the  diocese  and  perform  the  duties  neces- 
sarily left  undone  by  the  men  in  training.  Arch- 
deacon Lloyd  of  Prince  Albert,  Saskatchewan,  is 
the  superintendent  of  catechists,  and  would,  I 
imagine,  answer  readily  all  inquiries  on  the  subject. 
I  know  the  haughty  cleric  in  the  Old  Country,  and 
216 


EASTWARD   BOUND 

am  envious  to  see  how  the  familiar  estate  will  look 
in  the  New,  stripped  of  the  prestige  which  its  posi- 
tion gives  it  in  England.  It  seems  to  me  that  what 
it  loses  in  snobbery  it  gains  in  vital  energy. 
Whether  the  aim  be  a  worthy  one  or  no  the  young 
men  of  the  Church  know  that  their  incomes  depend 
on  the  way  they  please  and  handle  their  congrega- 
tions. It  behoves  a  clergyman  to  work  hard  in 
Canada,  like  every  one  else;  he  can  never  slacken 
on  the  tenure  of  a  fat  living,  he  must  be  up  and 
doing  or  his  income  will  abate,  his  popularity  de- 
cline, and  finally  his  flock  fail  to  support  him.  I 
have  thought  a  great  deal  about  the  two  methods, 
the  Established  and  Disestablished,  and  I  must 
admit  that  our  Old  Country  way  appeals  to  me  as 
more  dignified  and  more  likely  to  aid  honesty  than 
th^  Canadian  way.  Not  energy,  perhaps,  but  inde- 
pendence, and  with  independence  commonly  goes 
honesty.  I  would  sooner  fight  the  haughtiest  pride 
in  my  Rector  than  feel  he  depended  on  his  manner 
to  me  and  mine  for  his  daily  bread.  This  is  rather 
in  the  way  of  rumination  than  statement.  I  have 
not  studied  either  condition  closely  enough  to 
venture  to  have  a  decided  opinion,  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  a  young  Irish  curate  in  Manitoba  one  day  : 

he  said  his  people  were  good  to  him,  his  labour 
217 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

interested  him,  he  loved  the  climate,  and  his  horse 
was  his  greatest  friend.  All  he  wanted  was  a  wife, 
and  he  was  coming  overseas  to  find  one  in  his  next 
holiday.  He  told  me  he  would  not  go  back  for  any- 
thing, not  for  all  the  bouts  of  homesickness  he  some- 
times had  to  fight.  This  with  a  twinkling  Celtic 
eye,  and  a  beautiful  brogue  that  would  lure  any 
wandering  sheep  back  to  the  fold.  I  found  after- 
wards that  he  was  a  very  popular  young  man,  and 
therefore  was  well  supported  by  his  flock. 

The  Presbyterian  and  other  sects  have  as  large 
f ollowings  as  the  Church  of  England ;  I  am,  indeed, 
not  sure  that  the  latter  does  not  come  rather  far 
down  in  the  statistical  table. 

If  the  Dominion  Government  does  not  support 
its  churches  it  does  most  liberally  and  wisely  aid  its 
hospitals.  If  a  choice  between  the  two  causes  had 
to  be  made  in  every  land  I  would  most  warmly  back 
the  choice  of  Canada.  Look  after  the  bodies,  help 
the  hospitals,  give  them  prestige  and  status :  let 
none  be  ashamed  to  use  them.  With  healthy,  happy 
bodies  the  people  is  liable  to  have  happy,  healthy 
souls.  I  can  see  a  maelstrom  of  argument  whirling 
round  that  statement — I  know  many  an  eminent 
divine  who  would  fight  it  tooth  and  nail;  but  I 
believe  it  is  true. 

218 


• 
Provn 

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Premier    I 

Our  Dinner  Table 

Page  219 

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and  th 

. 
North 

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ITl 

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EASTWARD   BOUND 

The  whole  of  Canada  is  terraced  with  Govern- 
ments; there  is  the  great  Dominion  Government, 
which  sits  at  Ottawa  and  controls  the  affairs  of  the 
nation  as  a  whole.  Under  it  are  the  Provincial 
Governments,  each  working  with  its  own  Premier, 
its  own  parliament,  its  own  social  system.  The 
Provincial  Governments  are  by  no  means  to  be 
lightly  considered  as  we  consider  the  word  pro- 
vincial over  in  England.  A  "  province  "  means  a 
country  as  large  as  France  or  Germany,  and  its 
Premier  has  great  powers.  The  provinces  are 
divided  up  into  municipalities  and  so  on,  and  rang- 
ing among  these  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  power 
are  strange  errant  forces  of  enormous  wealth  and 
influence,  governments  within  governments  reign- 
ing, controlling,  directing,  making  men,  making 
money;  great  companies  with  chartered  rights  and 
immense  land-holdings — the  Hudson  Bay  Company 
and  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  Company.  There 
are  other  railroads  coming  along,  the  Canadian 
Northern  has  been  running  some  time,  and  the 
Grand  Trunk  Pacific  nears  completion  among  others, 
but  in  the  West  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway 
towers  by  reason  of  its  priority,  and  no  other  fur 
company  can  touch  the  Hudson  Bay  for  that  same 
reason.  Considering  the  complexity  of  the 
219 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

machinery  it  seems  extraordinary  that  Canada 
governs  herself  as  peacefully  and  as  smoothly  as 
she  does.  I  am  travelling  near  General  Election 
time,  and  find  tales  of  "graft"  and  corruption  on 
every  hand,  tales  which  steady  men  smile  at,  and 
which  apparently  have  no  influence  on  the  confid- 
ence which  Canada  feels  in  her  existing  government, 
seeing  she  re-elects  it  wholeheartedly. 

I  am  impressed  by  the  wonderful  number  of 
Scotchmen  who  succeed  in  the  New  Land.  He  is 
welcomed  straight  off  as  a  likely  success  and  the 
Englishman  is  instantly  expected  to  be  a  failure. 
They  must  have  earned  these  reputations.  The 
Galicians  are  a  handsome  race  of  a  much  lower 
type  than  the  Scotch,  and  prove  very  adaptable 
settlers,  with  a  great  ambition  to  own  stock.  The 
Jews  are  only  found  in  cities,  they  are  commercial 
parasites  and  no  good  on  the  land.  There  is  hardly 
one  successful  Jew  farmer  in  Canada.  Seeing  that 
they  came  originally  of  a  pastoral  race  the  fact  is 
singular  and  interesting;  we  in  England — a  nation 
of  commerce — have  given  them  so  much  room  that 
our  country  has  become  a  sort  of  secondary  Pales- 
tine !  Some  derelict  Jews  totally  unsuited  to 
Canadian  conditions  arrived  at  one  of  the  centres 

for  immigrants  and  were  refused  admission  to  the 
220 


EASTWARD   BOUND 

country.  Application  was  made  to  the  Hirsch  Fund 
officials  to  deport  them,  and  it  was  promised  they 
should  be  sent  "home."  So  they  were.  To 
Liverpool. 

Many  of  the  tragedies  of  failure  in  emigration  \ 
revolve  round  the  ignorance  of  the  prospective 
settler  of  what  qualifications  are  necessary  to  make 
prosperity  in  Canada  likely.  The  woman  who 
applied  for  a  post  as  a  teacher  in  a  Methodist 
Ladies'  College  and  could  only  produce  a  certifi- 
cate for  dancing  in  support  of  her  application  was 
not  unusually  silly.  Another  "skilled  workman" 
who  wanted  to  settle  in  Canada  was  asked  what  his 
trade  was.  He  said  he  was  a  doll's-eye  maker.  It 
is  these  unintelligent  venturers  who  are  the  drug-  ^ 
bats  of  the  Empire.  I  like  that  word  drug-bats.  I 
was  walking  down  a  country  road  in  England  one 
day  when  I  saw  on  a  little  notice-board  by  the  road- 
side a  warning  about  the  "improper  use  of  drug- 
bats,"  and  became  deeply  exercised  in  mind  as  to 
what  this  strange  beast  was.  I  thought  of  Dracula, 
of  vampire  bats,  of  strange,  silent,  flitting  shapes 
that  might  haunt  the  brows  through  open  bedroom 
windows  at  night  and  inflict  deadly  opiate  bites  on 
slumbering  innocents.  They  were  all  wide  of  the 

truth.     I  learned  in  time  that  a  drug-bat  is  a  skid- 
221 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

pan,  in  other  words  a  primitive  brake  which  not  only 
reduces  speed,  but  also  cuts  up  a  well-made  road. 
I  suppose  the  word  was  originally  "  drag-back,"  but 
see  how  the  soft  blurred  Surrey  voices  have  made 
of  it  a  picturesque,  romantic,  wonderful  thing  !  But 
the  stern  significance  of  it  remains  unsoftened,  it  is 
still  a  skid-pan,  a  harmful  brake,  and  that  is  what 
every  hasty,  unsuitable  emigrant,  rich  or  poor,  noble 
or  humble,  is  on  the  progress  of  the  Empire. 


222 


CHAPTER    X 

THE    ART    OF    CANADA 

"  DOES  Art  make  for  decadence  ?  "  The  question 
calls  to  mind  many  a  warm,  wordy  warfare  in  Lon- 
don's debating  societies,  when  the  battle  invariably 
ended  with  a  struggle  in  definitions.  What  is  Art? 
What  is  decadence  ?  And  never  did  two  agree,  and 
never  have  I  heard  the  initial  question  definitely 
settled.  The  historian  would  always  rise  with  his 
mouldy  tales  of  Greece  and  Rome  and  the  artistic 
craftsman  would  for  ever  retort  with  his  question, 
"Would  you  stay  civilization  then,  for  civilization 
always  brings  the  cult  of  beauty  in  its  train  ?  " 

I  had  a  whiff  of  it  on  the  Rocky  Mountains  when 
a  sunburnt  Canadian  flung  at  me  that  he  was  "  Real 
glad  this  country  had  no  Art,  it  meant  the  beginning 
of  the  end  in  every  sane  man's  mind." 

But  his  flattered  grin  when  I  replied  that  in  that 
case  Canada  was  on  the  point  of  instant  dissolution, 
for  it  made  the  finest  enamel  of  any  I  had  ever  seen, 
Battersea  and  Limoges  not  excepted,  suggested  to 
me  that  his  view  was  based  on  jealousy  rather  than 

study.    I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  a  great  number 
223 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

of  the  crude  prides  in  crudity  that  I  collected  from 
Canadians  in  the  notes  of  my  sojourn  had  their  birth 
in  a  similar  emotion.  There  is  growing,  however,  a 
feeling  for  Art.  Painting  and  literature  are  yet  to 
come ;  the  kindest  critic  could  hardly  say  that  either 
has  yet  achieved  expression  at  a  master's  hand ;  but 
here  and  there  is  an  apostle  of  beauty.  In  a  land  of 
such  exceeding  natural  loveliness  it  would  be  strange 
if  this  were  not  so,  even  in  these  early  days  of  settle- 
ment and  struggle. 

The  enamel  I  had  known  and  admired  long  before 
I  traced  it  to  its  source.  Of  a  very  fine  surface  and 
brilliant  in  colour  I  had  chosen  stray  pieces. to  bring 
back  to  England,  during  my  first  visit,  always  deplor- 
ing, when  I  saw  my  samples,  the  difficulty  of  getting 
a  good  design.  On  a  hot  day  in  Montreal  I  found 
the  heart  of  the  industry,  and  Mr.  Hemming  took  me 
over  the  factory,  where  I  laid  bare  to  him  the  dis- 
turbance I  always  suffered  in  seeing  the  frequently 
ugly  and  sometimes  vulgar  designs  to  which  the 
beautiful  medium  was  set.  So  far  as  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  judge,  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  artists'  de- 
sire was  always  to  show  a  range  of  colour  in  their 
designs,  rather  than  doing  what  they  might  well  have 
done,  restricting  colour  and  form  to  the  very  sim- 
plest and  letting  the  exquisite  enamel  speak  for 
224 


THE   ART    OF   CANADA 

itself.  When  we  passed  from  this  carping  talk  to 
look  at  processes  I  was  free  to  admire  the  patience 
and  care  that  have  gone  to  make  Canadian  enamel 
what  it  is.  To  my  unlearned  mind  the  joy  and  pride 
the  manager  takes  in  his  pet  water-supply  in  the  tank 
for  cooling  dyes  was  a  trifle  obscure,  but  obviously 
the  dirty  water  had  some  grave  virtue,  counted  of 
great  moment  and  concern.  I  learned  with  interest 
that  the  staff  know  to  a  hair's-breadth  the  thickness 
of  the  ground  metal  and  the  amount  of  enamel  that 
the  raised  pattern  will  hold,  so  by  a  finely  poised 
balance  of  thicknesses  they  equalize  the  dangerous 
differences  of  time  that  silver  and  enamel  take  to 
cool.  They  spoke  with  scorn  of  the  English  method 
of  preventing  unequal  cooling  and  consequent  split- 
ting, which  is  to  enamel  both  sides  of  the  object  in 
hand.  It  is  a  good  way  for  amateurs,  they  told  me, 
easy  and  extravagant.  They  showed  me  also  with 
the  same  scorn  a  sample  of  "English  finish."  I 
recognized  at  once  the  class  of  ware  which  we  toler- 
ate over  here,  coarse  and  pimply  in  texture ;  putting 
beside  it  a  piece  of  the  Montreal  work,  I  was  again 
amazed  at  the  fineness  of  surface,  the  limpid  depth 
of  finely  polished  colour  in  the  latter. 

They  had  another  ware  at  this  factory  which  was 

interesting,  "  silver  deposit "  they  called  it,  a  clumsy 
p  225 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

name  for  a  beautiful  thing.  By  some  secret  process 
they  superimpose  sterling  silver  or  pure  gold  on  to 
glass  and  china,  welding  both  in  indissoluble  union. 
I  admired  the  ware  most  sincerely,  but  again  made  a 
protest  about  the  designs;  some  were  beautiful, 
simple,  suave,  but  a  number  had  an  unfortunate 
leaning  to  the  angularities  and  meaningless  vagaries 
of  "  L'Art  nouveau."  When  I  protested  abput  the 
ugly  shape  of  a  china  teapot  which  had  been  en- 
riched by  the  silver  deposit  I  found  English  manu- 
facturers in  disgrace.  They  will  not  send  out  what 
is  asked  for,  only  what  they  think  ought  to  be 
wanted ;  one  can  hardly  conceive  a  more  aggravating 
method  in  business.  I  made  a  mental  note  to  take 
any  opportunity  that  might  present  itself  on  my  re- 
turn to  the  old  country  to  tell  English  manufac- 
turers what  was  said  of  them  in  Montreal.  The  old 
method  of  slipping  a  framework  of  design  in  silver 
or  gold  on  to  glass  or  china  is  incomparably  bettered 
by  this  method  of  the  Hemming  factory;  in  the  old 
way  the  metal  was  a  refuge  for  dust  and  dirt,  besides 
being  liable  to  bending  and  loosening.  By  the  new 
process  glass  and  metal  are  one  with  obvious  advan- 
tages. I  left  the  factory  filled  with  a  vicarious  joy  in 
work ;  there  is  great  pleasure  in  seeing  men  working 

arduously  at  labours  which  they  love. 
226 


THE    ART   OF   CANADA 

I  was  fated  to  come  in  contact  on  the  same  day 
with  much  that  Canada  boasts  of  applied  art;  for  a 
note  waited  at  the  hotel  when  I  got  in  from  the 
enamel  factory  asking  me  to  come  and  see  some 
French-Canadian  fabrics.  I  was  ready  packed,  had 
an  hour  to  spare,  and  went.  How  the  air  smelt  of 
cedar !  When  I  was  little  we  used  to  have  cedar- 
wood  pencils  at  school,  and  I  remember  sitting  sniff- 
ing the  faint  perfume  (which  always  grew  more 
elusive  as  the  pencil  got  greasier)  while  my  unwill- 
ing mind  followed  the  intricacies  of  "x"  on  the 
blackboard.  I  have  forgotten  the  vagaries  of  "x," 
but  I  vividly  recall  the  sweet  smell  of  cedar,  and 
there  it  was  in  the  nostrils  then,  full-bodied  and 
fresh,  a  real  grown-up  cedar  smell  mixed  with  pines, 
and  sometimes  an  indescribable  heavy,  luscious  sen- 
suous smell  from  a  fruit  orchard  on  Mount  Royal. 
I  was  welcomed  with  tea  and  shown  the  French- 
Canadian  hand-woven  linen  curtains  made  of  home- 
spun flax  and  darned  with  good  patterns  in  coloured 
wools.  They  were  of  a  coarsish  texture,  with  a  fine 
silky  gloss  in  the  thread ;  hand-woven  blankets,  too, 
made  of  home-spun  wool,  light  and  warm  and  very 
pleasing.  No  crudeness  in  that  work.  There  spoke 
the  dignity  of  tradition,  the  legended  lore  of  an 
established  race,  and  the  staid  quality  of  long  exper- 

P2  227 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

ience.  I  was  warm  with  appreciation  when  suddenly 
a  ruddy-faced  man  of  Belial  foisted  the  old  quarrel 
of  England  v.  Canada  upon  me  once  more.  He  had 
a  horrific  yarn  to  tell  of  an  eminent  English  Colonial 
official  (named)  who  asked  what  the  capital  of 
Canada  was.  I  said  that  doubtless  he  would  learn 
in  due  course  when  Canada  had  settled  it  for  herself ; 
a  retort  that  infuriated  him  to  the  last  degree  as  he 
was  from  Ottawa,  and  there  were  people  from 
Toronto  present  as  well  as  the  Montrealers.  The 
fight  waxed  and  waned  and  waxed  again  till  I 
rushed  for  my  train  carrying  with  me  mixed  memo- 
ries. Whenever  I  remember  home-spun  fabrics  warm 
and  fleecy,  I  must  see  peering  over  them  a  red  face 
pregnant  with  quarrel.  Those  curtains  and  blankets, 
though  out  of  Canada,  are  hardly  of  it.  They  belong 
to  the  civilization  from  which  came  Grand  Pre, 
Evangeline  and  the  rest ;  they  are  not  evolved,  like 
the  enamel  is,  from  the  composite  people  which  calls 
itself  Canadian,  any  more  than  the  bead-work  woven 
and  the  supple  skins  of  caribou  tanned  by  the 
Indians  can  be  called  Canadian. 

A  chapter  on  Art  would  be  sadly  shorn  of  truth 

did  I  omit  to  mention  a  certain  apostle  of  interior 

decoration,  and  her  work.    At  distant  points  of  the 

long  travel  from  Quebec  to  Victoria  I  found  hotels 

228 


THE   ART  OF   CANADA 

which  received  me  with  subdued,  consistent  colour 
schemes,  with  broad  effects  of  decoration,  and  unex- 
pected knowledge  in  choice  furniture,  of  brasses,  of 
pictures.  The  first  I  saw  was  at  Quebec ;  high  over 
the  brilliant  St.  Lawrence  hung  the  spires  of  the 
Chateau  Frontenac,  and  in  it  were  vistas  of  green 
tapestries  and  carpets  made  beautiful  with  fine  old 
Dutch  brass.  Spoilt  by  Europe  and  still  unused  to 
the  rawness  of  a  young  country,  I  remember  taking 
the  pleasant  place  rather  for  granted,  and  giving  it 
only  the  tribute  of  an  approving  glance;  by  the 
time  I  reached  Montreal,  however,  I  ha'd  learned 
other,  and  was  thankful  when  I  found  the  Place 
Viger  also  individual  and  restful  in  colour  and  de- 
sign. Later,  as  I  neared  Winnipeg,  I  had  arrived  at 
the  stage  of  hoping  that  the  Alexandra  Hotel  might 
evidence  this  unusual  taste;  when  I  went  into  it, 
travel-stained  and  unutterably  weary,  it  was  good 
to  be  welcomed  again  by  the  comfort  of  chosen 
colours  and  fabrics.  It  is  not  easy  to  describe  the 
gratitude  with  which  I  sat  to  write  in  the  gold  and 
brown  drawing-room,  rested  in  every  nerve  by  the 
courage  and  the  calm  of  its  scheme  of  decoration.  I 
began  to  suspect  some  master  eye  in  the  employ  of 
the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway,  seeing  it  was  always 

Canadian  Pacific  Railway  hotels  which  were  so  nice, 
229 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

and  to  bow  in  my  mind  to  the  discretion  of  the 
Director  in  choosing  him.  Such  was  the  character  of 
the  arrangement  of  these  hotels  that  they  have  be- 
come starred  in  my  memory  of  travel  as  very  points 
of  rest,  as  oases  in  that  desert  of  interminable  motion 
and  dust.  I  remember  them  all; — the  hunting 
frescoes  in  the  lounge  at  Banff,  the  quaint  Egyptian 
effects  in  the  dining-hall  at  Vancouver,  the  fine  con- 
ventional posters  that  line  the  corridors  in  the 
Empress  at  Victoria,  and  the  daring  ceiling  in  the 
dining-room  there  which  hangs  overhead  heavy  with 
carved  mahogany  and  panels  of  green.  By  the  time 
1  reached  Banff  I  had  learned  that  the  artist  who 
designed  for  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  was 
Mrs.  Hayter  Reid,  wife  of  the  Director  of  Hotels ! 
I  had  learned  to  understand  the  love  of  colour 
that  must  impel  this  woman,  her  keen  sense  of 
proportion,  an  attribute  vital  to  success  in  art  and 
impossible  to  instil  where  lacking.  It  was  that 
sense  which  made  Josiah  Wedgwood  the  greatest 
master  in  English  ceramics  apart  from  his  patient 
industry  in  chemical  research  and  the  discovery 
of  the  jasper  ware  that  sealed  his  fame.  I  had 
grown  to  know  in  my  own  mind  that  the  things 
which  were  not  perfect,  here  and  there,  were  due 
to  some  extraneous  reason  and  were  not  her  work  at 
230 


THE  ART   OF   CANADA 

all.  Thus  sure  could  one  grow  of  the  sense  of 
beauty  and  of  fitness  that  permeated  her  work.  At 
Vancouver  we  met.  A  woman  handsome  beyond  the 
ordinary,  vivid,  picturesque,  built  mentally  and 
physically  on  large  lines,  with  an  impulsive  vitality 
in  word,  in  glance  and  gesture.  I  found  her  a 
genuine  Bohemian  in  the  finest  sense  of  the  word; 
frank,  sincere  and  original.  In  ten  minutes  from 
meeting  I  was  in  the  thick  of  her  work,  watching  her 
select  papers  and  match  paint  among  a  troop  of 
workmen  who  were  to  make  a  new  smoking-room 
and  were  waiting  her  orders.  She  spoke  in  a  flux 
of  energy,  scattering  objections  where  they  gathered ; 
rousing  them  where  a  false  peace  reigned.  A  thou- 
sand problems  found  a  thousand  solutions  instantly 
at  her  hands.  She  was  like  a  dominant  seventh, 
always  herself  on  the  pitch  of  ecstasy,  always  leav- 
ing her  resolution  of  tonic  calm  behind.  After  an 
hour  of  tempestuous  labour,  "  Come,"  she  said,  "  I 
only  have  a  few  hours  here,  let  us  hunt  for  curios." 
And  willy-nilly  out  I  went,  hatless,  breathless  with 
that  whirlwind  of  a  woman  into  the  sunny  Vancouver 
streets,  plunging  into  stores  and  odd  corners  where 
Indian  goods  and  Japanese  goods  and  French- 
Canadian  home-spuns  were  chosen  and  rejected  in 
bewildering  array.  I  must  always  remember  that 
231 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

splendid  creature,  with  the  generous  warmth  radiat- 
ing from  her  smiling  eyes,  framed,  as  I  saw  her  then, 
in  the  wide  streets  of  the  lovely  Pacific  city,  the 
mountains  and  the  sea  for  background. 

In  connection  with  art  and  artists  I  am  constrained 
to  remember  certain  other  sensitive  and  cultured 
souls  which  it  was  my  fortune  to  meet  in  Canada, 
salt  of  the  intellectual  world,  pioneers  of  thought, 
invaluable  influences  for  the  coming  generation. 
There  are  others,  but  I  can  only  write  of  those  I 
met;  one  ardent  collector  and  connoisseur  whom  I 
missed  meeting,  much  to  my  regret,  was  Sir  William 
Van  Horn.  Chief  among  the  unforgettable  was  Dr. 
Herridge,  the  famous  Presbyterian  preacher,  author 
of  The  Orbit  of  Life  and  Coign  of  Vantage.  Before 
we  met  I  heard  a  woman  say  of  him,  "He  prefers  a 
good  phrase  to  a  good  dinner,"  a  description  which 
rang  in  my  ears  for  many  a  day,  for  the  tone  of  indul- 
gent scorn  in  which  it  was  said  roused  in  me  a  totally 
different  series  of  emotions  to  those  intended  by  the 
speaker.  I  felt  a  sincere  admiration  for  such  a  liter- 
ary taste  as  was  evidenced  by  such  a  criticism,  and  a 
burning  compassion  for  the  critic.  When  we  met 
eventually  I  found  a  tall,  austere  man,  swarthy,  sar- 
donic, with  eyes  of  a  stormy  brilliance  and  a  manner 

which  suggested  restlessness  held  rigidly  to  calm.    I 
232 


THE   ART  OF   CANADA 

strayed  into  his  church,  learning  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  the  limpid  simplicity  of  a  Presbyterian  ser- 
vice, and  discovered  his  sermons  to  be  of  an  unusual 
order — brilliant,  epigrammatic  and  as  far  removed 
from  the  ordinary  chatter  of  the  pulpit  as  an  essay 
by  G.  B.  Shaw  from  a  Child's  Guide  to  ^Knowledge. 
He  jolted  one  from  the  rut  of  intellectual  indolence 
by  gibing  at  "indignant  spasms  of  respectability" 
and  deriding  the  "slothful  half-truths  of  conven- 
tion "  till  the  startled  brain,  stung  to  attention  from 
the  average  somnolence  of  sermon-time,  was  braced 
to  receive  the  full  shock  of  oratory. 

A  keen  sense  of  humour  dominates  his  method; 
in  private  life  it  breaks  out  into  secular  wit.  I  re- 
member one  bitter  night  sitting  in  the  Rink  with  a 
large  gathering  to  hear  a  choral  concert.  It  was  so 
cold  that  the  music  became  tiresome,  and  at  last  I 
said  testily — 

"It's  pathetic  to  hear  scores  of  obvious  spinsters 
singing  over  and  over  again,  '  Unto  us  a  son  is 
given/  " 

His  harsh  mouth  twisted  into  a  smile. 

"  Madam,"  he  paraphrased,  "  that  is  the  triumph 
of  hope  over  inexperience." 

I  asked  him  once  why  he  did  not  come  to  London 
and  gather  about  him,  as  he  inevitably  would,  an 
233 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

appreciative  congregation  of  cultured  Bohemians. 
The  rebuke  was  simple  :  "  Madam,  I  have  a  congre- 
gation here,  why  should  I  leave  it  ? "  A  strange 
man;  for  all  the  tempestuous  unrest  of  his  eyes  a 
student,  a  scholar,  patient ! 

Talking  of  unusual  personalities  reminds  me  of 
Miss  Cora  Hind ;  there  is  a  woman  !  Small,  slight, 
quick  of  movement  and  speech,  with  pince-nez  and 
workmanlike  clothes.  She  is  commercial  editor  of 
the  biggest  daily  paper  in  the  Western  Dominion, 
the  Winnipeg  Free  Press;  many  a  hard  tale  she  can 
tell  of  drives  in  the  autumn  weather  from  farm  to 
farm  when  she  has  been  out  estimating  the  year's 
crop  on  behalf  of  her  paper.  Hard-headed  and 
practical,  and  something  of  a  sociological  dreamer, 
she  would  rank  with  the  best  women  thinkers  over 
here,  and  in  her  own  city  is  regarded  with  marvel 
not  unmixed  with  fear.  From  Winnipeg  to  Calgary 
I  found  her  recognized  as  an  authority  on  stock 
breeding,  a  reputation  that  called  for  unstinted 
praise  from  every  man  who  spoke  of  her,  and  made 
some  women,  to  my  infinite  amusement,  sniff. 
Yes,  that  is  the  word,  Sniff.  I  found  in  her  the 
side  least  widely  known.  We  met  in  Winnipeg, 
where  I  was  kept  for  a  couple  of  days  in  my  room 
at  the  hotel  glued  to  the  telephone  waiting  for 
234 


. 
while 

,'•  flame  i 

ing  a  train  of 

scurry  ba< 

when  this  little  we 

Mount  Robson 
and  g, 

knOW  Page  235 

throughout.  V 
in  br< 


THE   ART   OF   CANADA 

official  orders;  a  programme  of  inaction  which 
developed  a  devastating  condition  of  home-sickness ; 
I  would  sit  at  my  table  trying  to  write,  my  mind 
straying  to  the  bracken  and  heather  of  England 
while  I  watched  the  sun  beat  hot  on  the  flat  prairie 
city,  and  fashion  a  ring  of  orange  flame  to  wed  her 
withal  at  sunset ;  I  would  scurry  down  to  meals  leav- 
ing a  train  of  messages  as  to  my  whereabouts,  and 
scurry  back  to  wait  for  the  bell  that  would  not  ring 
when  this  little  woman  heard  of  the  sister  journalist 
within  her  gates  and  carried  me  off  to  her  flat,  genial 
and  gentle  as  a  mother  with  a  sick  child.  Goodness 
knows  why,  but  she  did  the  nicest  thing  in  the  world. 
She  let  me  lay  tea  !  Possibly  it  was  the  hint  of  home 
life  .  .  .  how  kind  she  was !  And  from  that 
moment  my  stay  in  Winnipeg  was  busy  and  happy 
throughout.  We  talked  together,  and  I  found  in  her, 
remote  though  she  is  from  the  movement,  a  student 
of  eugenics.  "There  is  much  more  interest  taken 
in  breeding  hogs  in  Western  Canada  than  there  is 
in  breeding  children,"  she  said,  deploring  the  vice  of 
ignorance  which  masks  itself  as  modesty  and  leaves 
the  stain  of  its  incompetence  on  generation  after 
generation.  I  asked  her  how  she  came  to  have 
adopted  this  bachelor  way  of  life,  to  have  acquired 
the  freedom  of  thought  and  simplicity  of  out- 
235 


A  WOMAN   IN  CANADA 

look  which  made  her  indeed  so  charming,  but  was 
so  removed  from  the  Canadian  ideal  of  what  is  best 
in  woman.  "  I  come  of  a  protesting  stock,"  she  said, 
and  I  learned  she  had  pioneer  and  Huguenot  blood 
in  her  veins.  She  busied  herself  with  introductions 
for  the  rest  of  my  journey,  so  that  I  should  not  be 
lonely  any  more.  One  of  her  descriptions  lingers  in 
my  memory — "  You'll  find  him  white  all  through  and 
straight  as  a  string  !  " 

I  suppose  I  lay  myself  open  to  controversy  when 
I  say  I  count  Miss  Hind  an  artist.  She  would  not 
say  so  of  herself.  But  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  the  man  or  woman  who  takes  a  delight  in  work 
and  bends  all  the  intelligence  to  doing  it  well,  who 
stints  nothing  of  time  or  labour  to  obtain  the  best 
results,  is  an  artist  whatever  form  the  work  takes. 
The  statement  opens  a  wide  field  for  debate.  I  don't 
know  how  far  it  would  work  out. 

Canada  makes  singers.  As  the  harsh,  bracing  air 
of  the  Yorkshire  wolds  seems  to  string  its  children's 
throats  to  singing  pitch,  so  does  the  brilliant  climate 
over  there.  One  woman  with  a  voice  of  velvet  and 
silver  is  "  Maria  Ricardi "  (Miss  Lily  Gibbs  at  home). 

I  heard  her  voice  first  in  a  romantic  setting — it  was 
during  my  first  visit  to  Canada  during  a  journey  from 
Ottawa  to  Toronto.  We  were  flying  through  a  dark- 
236 


THE   ART   OF   CANADA 

ness  that  might  be  felt,  a  heavy  murk  hung  like  a 
blanket  over  the  world,  we  travelled  in  the  discom- 
fort of  close  stuffy  heat,  and  many  of  us  went  to  the 
platform  at  the  end  of  the  car  gasping  for  breath. 
In  the  narrow  space  we  talked  with  the  easy  fellow- 
ship of  travellers,  watching  the  darkness  when  it  was 
stabbed  with  a  jagged  sword  of  light,  listening  to  the 
roar  of  the  thunder  above  the  rattle  of  the  train  and 
welcoming  the  blessed  rain  when,  at  last,  it  teemed 
upon  us.  We  jostled  together  undismayed  by  the 
wet,  and  watched  the  scene ;  now  a  flash  would  show 
the  glitter  of  water  below  our  wheels,  we  were  cross- 
ing a  bridge — now  we  would  have  a  second's  glimpse 
of  rolling  pastures  as  we  passed  a  lonely  homestead 
— now  a  bracken-clad  ravine;  and  now  we  would 
have  an  instantaneous  vision  of  tapering  pines 
against  the  sky.  It  felt  like  being  inside  a  great 
camera  with  some  Titanic  hand  pressing  the  button 
here  and  there  to  impress  snap-shot  pictures  upon 
the  sensitive  films  of  memory.  We  were  an  hour 
and  three-quarters  late  (more  than  anything  else 
except  the  Experimental  Farms  I  found  the  lateness 
of  the  trains  drove  home  to  my  consciousness  the 
gigantic  size  of  Canada).  We  were  not  dallying 
with  time;  the  big  black  engine,  so  unlike  the  cosy 
little  round  ones  of  England,  "had  a  hustle  on," 
237 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

and  we  were  all  wearying  for  the  lights  of  Toronto. 
I  leaned  out  as  far  as  I  dared  and  looked  into  the 
night — in  such  wild  hours  the  pulses  stir  and  the 
brain  reels  with  grim  thoughts;  it  did  not  strike 
strangely  when  a  voice  broke  into  the  darkness  with 
the  mad  song  from  Lucia  di  Lammermoor.  It  was 
born  of  the  storm — a  dream-voice,  a  goblin-voice — 
I  resented  being  told  by  my  fellow-travellers  in  awe- 
stricken  tones  that  Maria  Ricardi  was  travelling  with 
us,  and  that  "  It  must  hurt  her  throat,  sure,  to  sing 
in  the  wind  and  rain." 

I  heard  that  beautiful  voice  last  amid  the  perfume 
of  the  flowers,  the  glitter  of  jewels  and  lights  in  a 
London  concert  hall.  Instantly  it  ravished  me  from 
civilization  into  darkness,  I  felt  the  sting  of  rain  upon 
my  face  and  saw  again  the  lightning-born  pictures 
of  that  night. 

Another  Canadian  musician  is  Guy  Maingy,  an 
artist  of  great  genius  and  extraordinary  ill-luck. 

So  many  other  interesting  and  amusing  people 
I  met :  Miss  Hughes,  the  Provincial  Librarian  of 
Alberta,  a  quaint,  demure,  silent  little  person  with  a 
really  remarkable  power  of  observation  and  expres- 
sion ;  Mrs.  Bennett  of  Regina,  with  the  beautiful  eyes 
and  motherly  way,  who  succeeded  so  nicely  in  look- 
ing unconcerned  when  I  smoked  a  cigarette  one  day 
238 


THE   ART   OF   CANADA 

after  a  particularly  hard  wrestle  with  pen  and  ink. 
I  shall  always  remember  that  courteous  calm,  it 
utterly  deceived  me,  and  I  smoked  in  comfort. 
Months  afterwards  in  a  London  theatre  I  met  Mr. 
Hook  of  the  Regina  "  daily  "  (I  forget  its  name),  and 
he  told  me  I  had  considerably  damaged  an  otherwise 
fair  reputation  by  smoking.  .Which  was  very  sad 
and  horrible  for  me,  but  very  nice  for  the  gossips.  I 
always  believe  gossip-mongers  keep  a  warm  place  in 
their  hearts  for  people  who  shock  them.  They  must. 
Things  would  be  so  dull  for  them  without  shocks. 

I  remember,  too,  how  well  I  remember,  a  lovely 
face,  a  low  voice,  a  cultured,  beautiful  mind  with 
which  I  communed  for  an  hour  at  Victoria — Mrs. 
Fitz  Gibbon — the  most  fragrant  personality  I  met  in 
my  travels.  She  gave  the  idea  of  one  who  walked 
unaware  of  earth  with  face  to  the  stars. 

An  amusing  person  was  the  prairie  follower.  I 
arrived  at  a  little  wooden  prairie  city  one  night  and 
proceeded  as  usual  the  first  thing  next  morning  to 
the  Board  of  Trade  official  with  my  introductions, 
and  a  request  to  see  something  of  the  country  round 
about.  I  was  received  among  two  or  three  settlers 
and  farmers  as  usual,  and  found  every  resource  of 
officialdom  again  as  usual  laid  with  quick  kindliness 
at  my  feet.  I  remember  saying  I  wanted  to  drive 
239 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

out  to  a  homestead  and  talk  to  a  new  settler's  wife,  if 
there  were  such  to  be  found  within  driving  distance. 
Such  was  to  be  found,  I  learned,  and  arrangements 
would  be  made  to  take  me  there.  "  Was  I  staying  at 

the  X ?"  mentioning  the  only  hotel.     I  was. 

Exit,  to  wander  round  the  wooden  sidewalks,  to  buy 
some  stamps,  to  linger  a  little  outside  a  rifle  store 
and  listen  to  the  strange  crop-figures  offered  by  a 
local  farmer  to  some  one  he  wanted  to  impress; 
Canadians  are  never  correct  in  numbers.  Their 
replies  are  always  tinged  with  a  little  of  their  hope — 
and  then  back  to  the  hotel  to  write.  At  the  door  a 
rig  and  a  young-old  man.  He  asked  me  if  I  did 
not  wish  to  see  So-and-So's  farm.  I  said  "  Yes,"  and 
without  more  ado  mounted  into  the  little  seat  beside 
him  between  the  spidery  wheels,  telling  myself  that 
this  Board  of  Trade  official  excelled  all  I  had  ever 
met  for  quickness  in  attending  to  the  wants  of  a 
wandering  journalist.  We  drove  on  and  on,  over 
miles  of  prairie,  bumping  and  joggling  across  the 
rich  black  loam,  crushing  the  sweet  pink  roses,  sur- 
prising gophers  and  once  a  stray  coyote — I  tried  to 
talk  of  crops  but  could  only  hear  of  murders.  My 
driver  had  evidently  made  a  study  of  all  murders 
in  all  lands,  and  by  degrees  I  noticed  that  the  ones 

he  liked  best  were  the  ones  that  were  never  found 
240 


THE  ART   OF   CANADA 

out.  I  reflected  upon  tales  I  had  heard  of  prairie 
madness,  tales  of  how  the  loneliness  wears  upon 
some  settlers'  brain  and  drives  them  crazy.  I  won- 
dered if  this  young-old  man  with  the  blue  eyes  and 
odd-sized  pupils  were  going  mad.  Presently  he 
asked  where  we  were  making  for.  I  said  "  So-and- 
So's  farm."  He  replied,  "  Oh !  no  we're  not,  I'm 
taking  you  for  a  drive.  Where  shall  we  go?"  I 
suggested  that  the  farm  would  please  me  best,  but 
he  grew  argumentative.  "  I'm  not  here  for  work, 
you  know,"  he  drawled  presently,  "  I'm  here  for  my 
health." 

I  asked  if  he  was  ill,  and  he  said  he  suffered  from 
brain-storms !  Also  he  said  he  had  noticed  me  on 

the  train  the  day  before,  followed  me  to  the  X , 

and  again  to  the  Board  of  Trade  in  the  morning. 
Had  heard  my  business  and  got  the  rig  to  drive 
me  out. 

A  most  enterprising  stranger — he  must  have  had 
plenty  of  time  to  spare  to  alight  at  a  little  wayside 
prairie  city  for  the  whim  of  driving  a  stray  female 
round  for  an  hour  or  two ! 

He  was  quite  amusing,  quite  courteous.  I  have 
never  seen  or  heard  of  him  since ;  I  haven't  the  least 
idea  if  he  were  really  mad  or  only  funny.  If  he  did 

it  all  for  sport  to  see  what  I  would  do  or  say  he 
Q  241 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

certainly  deserves  to  go  in  the  chapter  on  artists,  for 
he  laid  no  stress  on  his  alleged  brain-trouble,  he 
was  most  clever,  most  artistic.  If  he  were  really 
mad  why  then  he  still  more  deserves  his  place  in 
this  chapter,  seeing  that  genius  and  madness  .  .  . 
you  all  know  the  rest. 

I  remember  once  watching  a  famous  English  de- 
signer of  costumes  for  the  stage,  Tom  Heslewood, 
worrying  out  the  heraldry  of  the  gowns  for  the  battle 
scene  in  Richard  III.  It  was  very  interesting.  Here 
was  this  scholar,  this  artist,  this  man  bred  of  genera- 
tions of  gentlepeople  with  a  mind  cultured,  fastidi- 
ous, creative,  spending  his  gifts  and  time  lavishly 
on  the  seeming  trifle  of  designing  correct  heraldic 
costumes  for  a  scene  in  a  play  !  I  watched  his  sensi- 
tive fingers  sketching  as  he  babbled  of  the  murrey 
and  blue,  of  the  House  of  York,  with  boar,  and  the 
green  and  white  of  the  House  of  Tudor,  with  grey- 
hound, and  the  dragon  dreadful  of  Cadwallader 
emitting  flames.  I  asked  him  why  he  should  bother 
so  much.  Very  few  people  can  follow  the  intricacies 
of  heraldic  device  now-a-days  when  it  has  lost 
general  significance,  and  has  grown  with  successive 
generations  to  such  involved  proportions.  He  said 
that  I  had  asked  an  unintelligent  question,  that  if 

the  audience  were  made  up  entirely  of  heraldic 
242 


THE   ART   OF   CANADA 

experts  he  could  afford  to  be  careless,  they  would 
know  better  and  suffer  no  harm;  but  seeing  that  it 
would  inevitably  be  composed  of  people  who  knew 
no  more  of  heraldry  than  myself,  he  must  spare  no 
pains  that  they  should  learn  nothing  inaccurate 
from  his  work.  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  men- 
tioned that  conversation,  it  has  no  bearing  on  the 
thought  that  was  rambling  in  my  mind;  it  is  recorded, 
I  think,  because  Tom  Heslewood's  sentiment  is  one 
which  might  with  advantage  animate  us  all.  Any- 
way it  was  a  digression.  .What  I  was  intending  to 
say  when  I  started  out  was  that  with  the  momentum 
of  the  history  of  hundreds  of  years  behind  us  it 
would  be  strange  indeed  if  we  had  not  some  Arts. 
In  the  slow  mills  of  time  Canada  will  grind  out 
her  own  civilization,  her  own  expressions  of  her  own 
history.  One  can't  hurry  these  things. 
As  Bliss  Carman  has  it — 


Ah  !   the  patience  of  earth  !    Look  down  at  the  dark  pointed  firs ; 
They  are  carved  out  of  blackness ;  one  pattern  recurs  and  recurs. 
They  crowd  all  the  gullies  and  hillsides,  the  gashes  and  spurs, 
As  silent  as  death.     What  an  image  !    How  Nature  avers 
The  goodness  of  calm  with  that  taciturn  beauty  of  hers  ! 
As  silent  as  sleep.     Yet  the  life  in  them  climbs  and  stirs; 
They  too  have  received  the  great  law,  know  that  haste  but  defers 
The  perfection  of  time,  the  initiate  gospeller  firs  ! 
So  year  after  year,  slow  ring  upon  ring  they  have  grown, 
Putting  infinite  long-loving  care  into  leafage  and  cone. — Etc.,  etc. 

Q2  243 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

Those  lines  express  beautifully  the  wisdom,  the 
necessity  of  patience.  Bliss  Carman  is  a  delightful 
singer,  I  hope  he  is  a  Canadian — a  lovely  trifle  is  his 

Thought  is  a  garden  wide  and  old 

For  airy  creatures  to  explore, 
Where  grow  the  great  fantastic  flowers 

With  truth  for  honey  at  the  core. 
There,  like  a  wild  marauding  bee, 

Made  desperate  by  hungry  fears 
From  gorgeous  "If"  to  dusk  "Perhaps" 

I  blunder  down  the  dusk  of  years. 

Though  I  am  determined,  in  spite  of  Sir  Gilbert 
Parker,  to  deny  any  great  literature  to  Canada  "as 
it  leaves  me  at  present,"  I  admit  her  poet,  Robert 
Service,  his  place  among  the  minors.  And  that 
meek-sounding  place  is  hard  to  win.  Giants  there 
are  not  yet.  They  will  come. 

Robert  Service  has  a  certain  facility  of  rhyme  and 
expression;  he  is  what  might  be  called  faded  Kip- 
lingesque — at  moments  he  stirs.  I  was  asked  to  talk 
of  Canadian  poetry  at  the  London  Poets'  Club  when 
I  returned  last  autumn,  and  instead  of  speaking  I 
asked  the  President  to  call  on  one  of  the  "  Exposi- 
tors "  to  read  out  the  Rhyme  of  the  Remittance  Man. 
It  was  greeted  with  favour,  the  swirl  of  the  line  suits 
the  subject,  the  sonorous  voice  and  fine  elocution  of 
the  reader  wrung  every  scrap  of  beauty  that  was  to 
be  wrung  from  the  words.  Here  is  part  of  the  poem  : 
244 


THE   ART  OF  CANADA 

a  certain  ignorance  of  copyright  law  forbids  my 
giving  the  whole  of  it — 

There's  a  four-pronged  buck  a-swinging  in  the  shadow  of  my  cabin, 

And  it  roamed  the  velvet  valley  till  to-day ; 
But  I  tracked  it  by  the  river,  and  I  trailed  it  in  the  cover, 

And  I  killed  it  on  the  mountain  miles  away. 
Now  I've  had  my  lazy  supper,  and  the  level  sun  is  gleaming 

On  the  water  where  the  silver  salmon  play ; 
And  I  light  my  little  corn-cob,  and  I  linger  softly  dreaming, 

In  the  twilight,  of  a  land  that's  far  away. 

Far  away,  so  faint  and  far,  is  flaming  London,  fevered  Paris, 

That  I  fancy  I  have  gained  another  star; 
Far  away  the  din  and  hurry,  far  away  the  sin  and  worry, 

Far  away — God  knows  they  cannot  be  too  far. 
Gilded  galley-slaves  of  Mammon — how  my  purse-proud  brothers 
taunt  me  ! 

I  might  have  been  as  well-to-do  as  they 

Had  I  clutched  like  them  my  chances,  learned  their  wisdom, 
crushed  my  fancies, 

Starved  my  soul  and  gone  to  business  every  day. 

While  the  trout  leaps  in  the  river,  and  the  blue  grouse  thrills 
the  cover, 

And  the  frozen  snow  betrays  the  panther's  track, 
And  the  robin  greets  the  dayspring  with  the  rapture  of  a  lover, 

I  am  happy,  and  I  '11  nevermore  go  back. 
For  I  know  I  'd  just  be  longing  for  the  little  old  log  cabin, 

With  the  morning-glory  clinging  to  the  door, 
Till  I  loathed  the  city  places,  cursed  the  care  on  all  the  faces, 

Turned  my  back  on  lazar  London  evermore. 

I  confess  I  like  Bliss  Carman  better.     A  quaint 
fantastic  imagery  hangs  about  his  work;   he  sings 
with  a  wry  smile,  a  smiling  frown.     But  men  of 
action  prefer  Robert  Service. 
245 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

Perhaps  if  I  admit  a  bias  in  the  matter  of  painting 
I  may  be  forgiven  for  keeping  silence  about  the  work 
of  Canadian  painters.  I  know  they  exist — I  have 
seen  some  of  their  pictures.  It  was  my  privilege — or 
misfortune — at  one  time  to  be  an  "  art  critic,"  and  in 
that  capacity  it  was  my  duty  to  see  every  picture 
show  in  London,  a  fate  which  left  me  stranded  on 
the  shores  of  prejudice  so  high  and  dry  that  "criti- 
cism "  had  to  go.  I  found  that  I  would  go  any  dis- 
tance to  see  a  caricature  by  Max  Beerbohm,  an  epic 
in  proportion  by  James  Pryde,  a  cool  study  in  still 
life  by  Nicholson,  a  portrait  by  A.  E.  John  or  Zulo- 
aga  or  Howard  Somerville,  an  etching  by  Whistler ; 
Sargent's  odd  mingling  of  carelessness  and  courage 
— those  unmerciful  portraits  with  sloppy  hands 
pink  tipped.  One  will  not  see  those,  I  think,  much 
longer;  Sargent  is  painting  now  to  please  himself, 
not  to  fill  the  family  portrait  galleries  of  Great 
Britain.  He  has  given  up  accepting  commissions. 
Such  work  he  is  doing ! — light  problems  faced  with 
a  courage  never  attained  by  any  of  the  French 
luminists  or  vibrationists.  .  .  . 

I  found  I  would  go  any  distance  for  those,  and 
almost  any  distance  to  avoid  the  rest ! 

So,  confessing  a  warped  judgment,  I  mention  no 
Canadian  painters. 

246 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    FLY   IN    THE    OINTMENT 

WONDERING  I  have  passed  from  Province  to  Pro- 
vince. Wondering  at  the  homes  to  be  made,  at  the 
husbands  to  be  found,  and  at  the  scarcity  of  women 
all  over  the  West.  fThat  sounds  bald,  "husbands 
to  be  found,"  unattractively  phrased.  I  will  not 
retract  it,  nor  re-phrase,  nor  modify.  Whatever 
may  be  urged  to  the  contrary  by  the  enforced 
bachelor  women  of  my  own  land,  I  know  that  in 
their  secret  hearts  most  of  them  think  of  marriage 
as  the  ultimate  goal.  An  honourable  wish,  by  no 
means  to  be  hidden  with  shame.  Every  healthy 
normal  woman  has  it.  If  we  are  in  England,  as  I 
believe  we  are,  evolving  a  race  of  practical  neuters 
we  are  making  for  evil,  not  for  good.  They  are  the 
"  oddities  "  of  Kipling's  "  Mother-hive."  Our  little 
Island  on  the  edge  of  Europe  is  overcrowded  with 
people,  chiefly  women,  and  a  vast  Continent  in  * 
North  America  is  at  its  wits'  ends  for  inhabitants, 
especially  women.  Now,  why  does  not  plus  go  over 
to  minus  and  level  things  up  a  little,  in  order  to 
make  both  countries  more  comfortable  ? 
247. 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

First  one  sees  in  England  a  surplus  of  women 
working  hard,  working  savagely  day  by  day  for 
bread  and  bacon,  working  at  a  ridiculous  wage  with 
no  hope  of  ultimate  independence,  no  hope  of 
marriage  or  motherhood,  no  hope  of  anything  but 
the  moment's  pence  for  the  moment's  meal.  One 
sees,  too,  the  middle  and  upper  class  women  suffer- 
ing in  the  press  of  humans  more  acutely  (because 
more  intelligently)  than  these,  their  factory  sisters. 

Then  over  here  we  see  a  vast  majestic  country, 
rich  In  wine  and  oil,  in  bread  and  bacon,  yielding 
abundantly  under  cultivation,  giving  to  all  who 
labour  with  a  spendthrift  hand.  We  see  the  thou- 
sands of  acres  of  prairie  lying  desolate  for  want  of 
people;  the  black  loam,  virgin  to  the  plough, 
covered  with  lilies  and  roses  and  golden-rod  instead 
of  the  fruits  of  the  earth — for  want  of  labour.  We 
see  the  farm  homesteads  and  farmers'  wives  suffer- 
ing from  lack  of  servants  to  cook  and  mind  the 
house,  the  farmers  themselves  frequently  leading 
wretched  lives  for  lack  of  women  to  wed.  It  all 
sounds  so  simple  of  remedy.  Wondering  and 
watching  I  have  passed  through  Canada,  telling 
myself  that  Englishwomen  have  never  realized  the 
room  in  Canada.  There  is  a  wonderful  lot  of  room 

— room  to  live  in,  to  be  lost  in,  to  make  money  in; 
248 


THE   FLY    IN   THE   OINTMENT 

room  to  learn  the  wild  ways  of  the  world  in,  room 
to  cast  the  fetters  of  civilization,  and  room  to  work 
— most  splendid  of  all,  room  to  work  ! 

There  is  room  for  so  many  women  in  the  West  that 
the  heart  aches  to  see  them  cramped  and  struggling 
there  in  England;  it  is  paralyzing  to  travel  through 
both  countries  and  note  the  crying  need  in  one  for 
the  surplus  of  the  other,  one  is  impelled  to  ask  if 
it  is  ignorance  or  cowardice  that  keeps  them  away. 

And  at  last  I  found  what  I  felt  all  along  must 
exist;  a  hardship  to  be  faced  which  makes  women 
justly  shrink  from  the  country.  First  from  one  prairie 
wife,  and  then  from  another  I  heard  a  cry  about  the 
hardships  of  birth  on  the  homesteads.  Myself  a 
trained  maternity  nurse  as  well  as  a  mother,  I  know 
what  lack  of  skilled  attention  must  mean  at  the 
hour  of  travail.  And  wherever  I  went  I  asked  how 
the  outlying  districts  were  supplied  with  midwives. 
I  heard  many  stories  of  courage,  stories  of  disaster. 
One  I  can  never  forget,  the  story  of  a  woman  whose 
first  two  years  on  a  lonely  farm  were  childless  and 
whose  reason  began  to  totter  under  the  stress  of 
loneliness  until  she  found  she  was  to  have  a  baby. 
The  prospect  of  such  an  interest  changed  her  life, 
she  was  engrossed  with  hope;  it  was  not  possible 

to  obtain  a  nurse  and  difficult  to  get  a  doctor  to  the 
249 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

distant  homestead,  so  she  and  her  husband  made 
arrangements  for  her  to  go  to  the  nearest  hospital 
forty  miles  away.  She  drove  over  the  rough  road, 
the  baby  was  born  prematurely  and  died.  I  picture 
her  return,  to  loneliness.  I  talked  with  many 
doctors  and  nurses,  one  midwife  told  me  of  a  case 
where  the  lonely  young  couple  found  themselves 
suddenly  ushered  into  parenthood,  the  nearest 
doctor  was  twenty  miles  away,  and  they  had  not 
been  able  to  get  a  nurse  for  love  nor  money.  They 
were  entirely  ignorant  of  obstetric  work — the  baby 
was  blue  and  they  were  frightened.  Thereupon, 
with  the  placenta  unborn,  it  was  put  in  a  hot  bath ; 
visions  of  inverted  uterus  rise,  and  appal  the 
initiated.  Countless  unrecorded  cases  as  terrible  must 
occur.  On  Fender  Island,  British  Columbia,  there 
are  eighty  children  of  school  age,  so  the  population 
must  be  fairly  large.  The  island  has  no  nurse  or 
doctor.  The  Jubilee  Hospital  in  Victoria  has  no 
maternity  wing;  at  Duncan,  on  Victoria  Island,  a 
district  of  forty  miles  is  fed  by  two  doctors.  The 
doctor  at  Davidson  in  Saskatchewan  has  a  circuit  of 
sixty  miles;  there  are  no  nurses  at  Yellowgrass  and 
Wood  Mountain;  the  city  hospital  at  Regina  has 
only  three  private  rooms  for  maternity  cases,  in  the 

Catholic    Hospital    where    the    Reverend    Sister 
250 


• 

Within  H 

con- 
sider herself  more  or  1-  ae  one  \\ 
found  to  help.    Eu 
at  any  div 

must  spend  hideous  h •..••. 
day   of    trial    with 

The  Pacific  Province 

as  tht 

Page  251 

rules 

perce; 

expect  that  under  s, 

I  was  fi 
;ehearted 


THE   FLY   IN   THE   OINTMENT 

Superior  Mary  Duffin  and  her  devoted  band  of  grey 
nuns  work  day  and  night,  there  are  only  four  private 
rooms,  and  even  they  cannot  be  spared  in  the  Fall 
when  typhoid  is  about.  These  are  a  few  facts  and 
represent  little  of  the  case.  Within  driving  distance 
of  a  city  a  woman  near  her  confinement  may  con- 
sider herself  more  or  less  safe.  Some  one  will  be 
found  to  help.  But  the  wives  on  ranches  and  farms 
at  any  distance,  and  there  are  hundreds  of  them, 
must  spend  hideous  hours  looking  forward  to  the 
day  of  trial  with  every  prospect  of  scrambling 
through  alone,  at  the  risk  of  the  baby's  life  as  well 
as  their  own,  or  else  relying  on  the  attentions  of 
some  half-breed  whose  knowledge  of  the  elementary 
rules  of  cleanliness  will  be  less  than  nothing.  The 
percentage  of  lacerations  is  enormous — one  would 
expect  that  under  such  conditions.  Any  obstetrician 
reading  this  will  realize  what  I  mean  when  I  say 
that  such  neglect  leads  to  the  train  of  evils  which 
necessitates  the  building  of  gynaecological  wings  on 
hospitals.  I  was  filled  with  concern  to  learn  of  the 
hardships  Canadian  mothers  are  called  upon  to 
endure,  I  felt  I  could  not  ask  too  many  questions  to 
find  out  the  reason.  Doctors,  of  course,  are  neces- 
sary; wholeheartedly  I  repeat  necessary  at  confine- 
ments, but  every  doctor  and  every  mother  knows 
251 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

that  the  nursing  which  follows  after  his  duties  are 
over  have  a  tremendous  part  to  play  in  recovery. 
A  woman  should  not  have  to  drag  out  a  day  or  two's 
rest  by  herself  after  the  doctor  has  left  and  then 
get  up  and  begin  her  house  duties,  as  many  of  them 
do,  of  those  I  mean  who  are  lucky  enough  to  get  a 
doctor  at  all.  The  maternity  nurses  I  found  had  in 
nearly  every  case  gone  through  the  full  three  or  five 
years'  training  and  were  disposed  to  sniff  at  maternity 
work.  I  can  thoroughly  understand  their  point  of 
view.  Maternity  work  is  unexciting  and  very 
laborious,  it  is  day  and  night  work  and  very  ex- 
acting. Fully  trained  nurses  prefer  fever  or  acci- 
dent work,  and  when  they  undertake  maternity  cases 
charge  exorbitant  fees.  The  general  hospitals  are 
in  nearly  every  instance  averse  to  maternity  wards. 
They  say,  and  quite  justly,  that  maternity  work 
should  have  a  separate  building  and  staff. 

The  prairies  suffer  greatly  in  this  need  of  their 
mothers,  but  British  Columbia  even  worse,  as  it  is 
so  isolated  in  settlement  and  so  much  more  difficult 
of  travel. 

I  found  the  nurses  were  not  in  every  case  certain 
of  obtaining  their  fees,  and  there  was  again  a  diffi- 
culty I  could  understand  in  the  way  of  meeting 
this  pressing  need  of  maternity  assistance;  under 
252 


THE   FLY   IN   THE   OINTMENT 

stress  of  fear  and  love  any  one  can  pardon  a  man 
for  promising  any  fee  to  have  his  wife  tended,  and 
understand  too  that  with  fear  allayed  and  a  new 
expense  safely  launched  on  a  slender  purse,  that 
however  willing  he  might  delay  payment  and  per- 
haps need  a  nurse  again  before  the  first  obligation 
was  discharged.  A  common  fee  is  twenty  to  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  week,  and  forty  or  fifty  dollars  make 
a  hole,  for  there  are  many  expenses  to  think  of 
besides;  the  doctor,  laundry,  travelling  and  all  the 
rest.  The  nurse's  point  of  view  has  my  sympathy 
too.  She  does  not  want  to  work  hard  for  a  problem- 
atical forty  dollars  when  there  are  plenty  of  certain 
ones  to  be  had.  With  all  these  facts  before  me  I 
realized  one  certain  thing,  that  the  need  of  efficient 
nurses  cried  aloud.  That  it  spun  from  mouth  to 
mouth  never  questioned,  that  no  great  band  of  facts 
was  necessary  to  back  up  a  plea  for  attention  from 
the  Government  because  all  in  authority  know  the 
need  is  there.  It  struck  me  that  the  only  way  to  get  at 
these  lone  farms  was  through  some  subsidized  band 
of  itinerant  midwives,  a  sort  of  mobile  corps  unat- 
tached to  any  given  town  or  building,  but  working 
coherently  under  the  direction  of  the  Government. 
Women  who  have  thoroughly  trained  at  Queen 
Charlotte's  Hospital  or  the  Rotunda  of  Dublin  are 
253 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

capable  of  undertaking  cases  unattended  by  a 
doctor,  if  need  be;  they  have  not  been  through  the 
devastating  General  Training  which,  in  a  very  large 
percentage  of  cases  in  Great  Britain,  leaves  a  woman 
a  gastric  invalid  with  varicose  veins,  or  if  it  leaves 
her  healthy  nearly  always  makes  her  too  superior 
for  maternity  work.  I  hope  that  does  not  sound  ill- 
natured.  It  is  a  fact..  And  one  cannot  in  reason 
blame  nurses  for  feeling  so  when  they  have  given 
arduous  years  to  a  complete  training,  and  have 
emerged  fitted  to  deal  with  the  intensely  interesting 
inch-by-inch  work  of  fevers  and  the  exciting  work 
of  surgery.  Here  and  there  in  unfortunate  instances 
they  may  get  a  taste  of  everything  in  maternity  work, 
but  fortunately  that  is  comparatively  rare.  More- 
over, as  I  have  already  said,  the  fully  trained  nurse 
wants  fully  trained  fees,  and  many  of  the  settlers' 
wives  could  not  possibly  afford  them  if  they  could 
find  an  unengaged  nurse  who  was  willing  to  come. 
The  fully  trained  nurse  also  has  been  through  her 
purgatory  of  drudgery  in  the  hospitals,  she  has 
washed  and  cooked  and  scrubbed  and  polished,  and 
is  now  a  nurse,  not  a  superior  ward-maid.  There- 
fore she  would  be  useless  practically  in  the  little 
prairie  shacks  where  she  would  have  to  do  all  the 
domestic  work  as  well  as  the  nursing. 
254 


THE   FLY   IN  THE   OINTMENT 

Looked  at  from  every  point  of  view  it  seemed  to 
me  that  the  women  wanted  out  West  were  the 
qualified  midwives  trained  by  such  reputable 
hospitals  as  I  have  named.  They  would  accept  a 
reasonable  fee  of  ten  dollars  a  week.  At  Edmonton 
I  saw  the  Honourable  Mr.  Oliver,  Minister  of  the 
Interior,  and  put  my  idea  before  him.  He  listened 
with  perfect  courtesy,  and  considered  without  haste 
what  I  said ;  he  admitted  the  need  of  such  a  scheme, 
but  declared  finally  that  he  thought  it  a  Provincial 
rather  than  a  Dominion  matter.  He  said  it  was  the 
business  of  the  Dominion  Government  to  bring 
settlers  into  the  country,  but  the  business  of  the 
Provincial  Governments  to  look  after  them  when 
they  had  once  settled. 

So  I  then  went  to  see  the  Honourable  Dr.  Ruther- 
ford, Premier  of  Alberta.  He  also  listened  very 
patiently  and  asked  me  to  put  the  scheme  in  writing 
so  that  he  might  submit  it  in  session.  He  agreed 
with  me  that  if  one  Province  took  up  the  idea  the 
others  would  probably  fall  quickly  into  line.  So  I 
wrote  a  long  letter  asking  if  it  would  not  be  possible 
to  establish  a  body  of  nurses  under  Government 
auspices  at  every  small  town  or  hamlet  through  the 
country,  from  whence  they  could  radiate  to  the  sur- 
rounding districts.  Such  nurses  could  be  guaranteed 
255 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

a  minimum  fee  for  every  case  where  the  homesteader 
was  unable  to  pay,  and  would  take  ordinary  fees  in 
the  ordinary  way  where  possible.  The  homesteader 
would  be  under  obligation  to  repay  to  the  Govern- 
ment as  soon  as  possible,  and  the  nurse  would  not 
be  working  for  nothing.  The  nurses  in  return  for 
such  protection  would  be  pledged  to  take  each  case 
in  turn  as  it  applied  to  the  office  without  picking  and 
choosing.  The  settlers'  wives,  then,  would  only 
need  to  write  in  to  the  nearest  branch  stating  cir- 
cumstances and  asking  for  a  trained  midwife  at 
such  a  date  for  such  a  period.  I  also  suggested 
that  no  nurse  should  go  to  a  case  for  less  than  twelve 
days,  a  useful  safeguard  for  the  health  of  many 
mothers.  Further,  I  asked  if  it  were  not  possible 
that  such  a  body  of  maternity  specialists  be  attached 
to  the  existing  order  of  Victorian  Nurses,  acting  as 
an  endowed  Government  body,  but  incorporated 
with  the  present  order. 

I  mentioned  that  in  the  old  country  many  more 
women  are  trained  for  maternity  work  than  there  is 
work  for;  and  that  it  should  be  possible  to  select" 
from  among  them  women  who  can  bake  bread,  sew, 
cook  and  run  a  house,  women  who  knowing  the  con- 
ditions in  the  West  would  be  willing  to  come  for  the 
sake  of  guaranteed  employment,  and  who  after 

256 


THE   FLY   IN    THE   OINTMENT 

settling  the  patient  would  turn  to  and  mind   the 
house. 

So  having  heard  nothing  from  Alberta  I  ap- 
proached the  Premier  of  British  Columbia,  who 
put  the  matter  in  council  at  once,  and  at  least 
did  me  the  honour  to  reply.  Here  is  the  letter  I 
received — 

Provincial  Secretary's  Office, 
Victoria, 

\$th  October,  1908. 

"MRS.  GEORGE  CRAN, 

"c/o  Supt.  of  Immigration, 

"  Department  of  the  Interior,  Ottawa. 
"  MADAM, 

"  I  beg  leave  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of 
your  communication  of  the  gth  instant,  in  which  you 
outline  the  suggestions  offered  in  your  conversation 
of  recent  date  regarding  the  bringing  of  nurses  to 
this  Province  for  extra-hospital  work.  The  matter 
was  laid  before  the  Executive  Council  at  its  last 
meeting,  and  I  am  instructed  to  say  that  after  very 
careful  consideration  the  Provincial  Government 
feel  that  they  are  not  in  a  position  to  accept  sug- 
gestions. The  matter  was  thoroughly  discussed, 
and  the  consensus  of  opinion  was  that  this  being  a 
matter  of  immigration  is  one  which  lies  entirely 
R  257 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

within  the  province  of  the  Dominion  Government  at 
Ottawa. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  Madam, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"H.  E.  YOUNG  . 
"  (Provincial  Secretary)." 

This  was  a  game  of  battledore  and  shuttlecock, 
the  need  of  the  women  being  the  shuttlecock  be- 
tween the  greater  and  lesser  governments.  I  hoped 
that  Saskatchewan  might  prove  more  kindly  about 
things,  but  the  Premier  was  away  for  the  General 
Election  when  I  reached  Regina,  and  the  public 
health  official  makes  tuberculosis  his  hobby.  He 
assured  me  in  the  airiest  way  that  the  women  were 
amply  provided  for,  yet  he  lives  in  the  province 
where  maternity  nurses  are  scarcest  and  where  one 
doctor,  aforementioned,  has  a  circuit  of  sixty  miles 
whereon  to  lavish  his  attentions.  At  Winnipeg 
I  was  advised  to  get  the  municipalities  to  sub- 
sidize the  nurses,  but  my  experience  of  governing 
bodies  inclined  me  to  regard  that  project  with  pro- 
phetic disappointment,  and  I  went  on  to  Ottawa, 
where  is  the  head-quarters  of  the  Victorian  Order  of 
Nurses,  determining  to  lay  the  matter  before  the 
committee  and  ask  for  consideration  at  its  hands. 
258 


THE   FLY   IN   THE   OINTMENT 

The  Victorian  nurses  visit  the  sick  and  work,  there- 
fore, on  short  circuits ;  they,  as  they  exist  at  present, 
are  in  no  way  able  to  meet  the  need  I  poignantly 
felt  to  be  an  urgent  one  for  the  widely  scattered 
mothers  of  Canada.  I  saw  the  committee  and  de- 
tailed my  scheme  once  more,  and  knew  directly  I 
spoke  to  the  matron  that  I  had  met  prejudice.  The 
pity  of  the  whole  position  is  this,  that  while  the  fully 
trained  nurse  is  more  than  a  trifle  scornful  of 
maternity  work,  she  is  violently  antipathetic  to  the 
"half-baked"  sister,  the  midwife  who  has  taken 
only  the  short  maternity  training  and  is  not  qualified 
for  all  branches  of  nursing.  I  have  noticed  that 
prejudice  over  and  over  again,  and  always  with 
resentment.  They  might  scorn  the  maternity  nurses 
to  the  crack  of  doom  and  welcome  if  they  were 
willing  to  do  the  work  themselves,  but  they  are  not. 
They  oppose  the  idea  of  giving  maternity  nurses  a 
definite  status,  and  themselves  leave  the  work  un- 
done. Meanwhile,  the  mothers  suffer.  Any  scheme 
for  alleviating  the  distress,  which  none  denied,  was 
unwelcome  to  the  Victorian  Order  of  Nurses.  Their 
work  is  great,  it  is  well  done,  their  nurses  have 
worked  hard  to  get  their  diplomas  and  are  worthy 
of  honour.  But  they  met  the  maternity  problem 
with  prejudice.  If  an  argument  is  advanced  that  the 

R2  259 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

accidents  and  sicknesses  of  adults  are  more  import- 
ant than  bringing  to  birth  of  the  next  generation,  I 
wholly  disagree.  It  is  the  race  that  is  involved  in 
maternity  work,  not  the  individual.  A  pregnant 
woman  is  a  national  asset,  a  national  glory,  a  national 
responsibility.  It  is  the  next  generation  to  which 
we  owe  allegiance,  should  show  mercy  and  con- 
sideration, to  which  we  should  bend  our  energies 
and  skill. 

Interfering  people  are  intolerable.  They  seldom 
compass  anything.  They  are  always  a  nuisance. 
Frankly  I  believe  I  was  an  interfering  person  in  the 
matter  of  the  neglected  Western  wives.  Canada  is 
not  my  country,  nor  was  it  any  of  my  business  to 
right  its  wrongs.  I  met  my  deserts.  Yet  the  blood 
chills  to  think  of  the  lonely  mother-women,  of  the 
effect  on  their  babes  of  the  unnecessary  harshness 
of  the  birth  hour  and  the  nervous  expenditure  in 
the  anticipation  of  it.  As  Mr.  Woods  of  the  Calgary 
Herald  said  in  speaking  of  the  subject,  "  It  grips 
one  beyond  reason." 

Her  Excellency  Lady  Grey  was  good  enough  to 
interest  herself  in  the  idea  I  mooted  before  the 
Victorian  Order  of  Nurses;  she  mentioned  the 
Cottage  Hospitals  sparsely  dotted  about  the  prairies 
and  British  Columbia,  but  realized  their  inefficiency 
260 


THE   FLY   IN   THE   OINTMENT 

in  this  one  particular  when  I  told  her  how  women 
will  come  in  eighty  and  a  hundred  miles  for  attention 
to  them  and  yet  many  hundreds  go  unattended. 
Women  within  possible  reach  of  a  doctor,  nurse  or 
hospital  may  be  counted  provided  for,  but  the 
women  I  grieve  about  are  those  who  can  only  be 
reached  by  such  an  itinerant  body  as  I  have 
sketched.  There  are  many  farmers'  wives  with 
children  who  cannot  go  to  hospital  for  their  con- 
finements as  their  man  is  out  at  work  all  day  and 
they  are  unable  to  leave  the  house  and  children. 
To  such  women  a  maternity  nurse  representing  a 
fortnight's  rest  would  be  an  inestimable  boon. 

I  am  telling  English  women  straightforwardly 
what  to  expect  at  present  if  they  go  out  and  marry 
on  a  lonely  farm  in  the  North-West.  Also  I  can  tell 
them  that  every  woman  who  goes  out  to  stay  makes 
it  easier  for  her  sisters,  for  the  evil  will  remedy 
itself  with  population.  To  British  women  trained  at 
Queen  Charlotte's  and  the  Rotunda  I  would  say 
there  is  plenty  of  work  to  be  had  if  they  will  take 
the  good  and  the  bad  and  set  about  things  carefully. 
It  would  not  be  a  bad  plan  to  advertise  in  one  of 
two  prairie  papers  before  going  out  so  as  to  secure 
one  or  two  cases  to  go  on  with  and  not  trust  every- 
thing to  chance.  Better  still,  to  find  the  names  of 
261 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

one  or  two  doctors  in  outlying  districts  and  write 
direct  to  them.  I  hope  it  has  been  perfectly  clear 
through  all  this  talk  of  midwives  that  I  never  sug- 
gest them  as  a  substitute  for  doctors,  only  as  allies, 
and  in  cases  where  a  doctor  is  unprocurable  by 
reason  of  the  patient's  poverty  or  distance  I  main- 
tain that  their  trained  services  would  be  infinitely 
better  for  all  concerned  than  those  of  some  terrified 
ignorant  neighbour  or  dirty  half-breed.  I  beg  no 
one  to  misapprehend  me  on  this  point. 

If  such  British  women  are  prepared  to  go  out  and 
put  up  with  the  inconveniences  of  primitive  home- 
steads, to  be  housekeeper  as  well  as  nurse,  and  to 
accept  moderate  fees — say  ten  dollars  a  week — they 
will  find  work  in  plenty.  I  would  recommend  them 
to  insist  on  payment  before  leaving,  and  if  cash  is 
scarce  to  take  payment  in  kind — say  wheat  or  live 
stock.  It  sounds  harsh,  but  it  is  only  fair  to  the 
nurse  who  may  suffer  if  she  has  a  kind  heart  and  is 
not  armed  with  stern  advice.  In  the  majority  of 
cases  her  fee  would  be  gladly  and  punctually  paid. 
A  lady  whose  advice  on  the  subject  would  be  of 
great  value  to  any  one  who  has  courage  to  face  life 
under  such  conditions  is  Miss  Benyon  of  the  Winni- 
peg Free  Press.  She  appreciates  to  the  full  the 
dearth  of  women  in  the  North-West  and  has  many 
262 


THE   FLY   IN  THE   OINTMENT 

practical  hints  to  offer.  There  is  this  to  be  said,  that 
every  maternity  nurse  who  has  practised  in  Canada 
and  marries  there  will  be  fully  aware  of  what  she  is 
undertaking,  and  will  probably  take  good  care  to 
live  within  reach  of  assistance.  My  sympathies  are 
very  much  with  the  English  girls  who  have  gone 
out,  reared  in  that  pernicious  ignorance  of  physio- 
logical facts  which  is  counted  among  the  many  over 
here  for  innocence,  and  has  learnt  at  bitter  cost  of 
unnameable  suffering  the  penalties  Nature  exacts 
for  ignorance — the  unforgiveable  sin  of  ignorance. 
The  care  of  the  lonely  mothers,  then,  as  far  as  I 
can  see,  devolves  on  the  individual  courage  and  skill 
of  their  British  sisters.  Had  my  suggestion  found 
favour  with  any  governing  body  it  would  have  been 
a  comparatively  easy  matter  to  select  the  suitable 
women  to  go  out.  Any  one  who  knew  the  North- 
West  could  have  obtained  permission  to  lecture  at 
the  best  Maternity  Hospitals  over  here  on  conditions 
for  nurses  out  there,  and  having  told  in  sober  truth 
the  whole  story  the  volunteers  alone  would  have 
been  considered,  thus  eliminating  all  but  those  with 
the  desire  for  pioneer  work.  From  those  again  the 
matron  would  have  been  asked  to  remove  the  names 
of  those  below  a  desired  standard  in  health  or 
efficiency.  They  would  need  to  be  strong,  reliable, 
263 


A   WOMAN    IN    CANADA 

clever  nurses,  but  if  there  were  a  guarantee  of  steady 
employment  it  would  be  a  small  matter  to  get  all 
the  picked  women  needed — steady  work  is  a  great 
attraction  to  an  English  nurse. 

I  do  not  think  government  aid  would  be  neces- 
sary indefinitely.  After  a  while  some  of  the  nurses 
would  make  money  and  start  maternity  homes  here 
and  there;  which  in  their  turn  would  make  good 
training  centres  for  the  next  generation  of  nurses, 
and  so  the  situation  would  gradually  work  out  of 
itself.  So  it  will  still.  Things  always  do,  but 
meanwhile  the  women  suffer  and  the  children  suffer, 
two  sorts  of  suffering  that  are  exceeding  bad  for  a 
young  race.  Canada,  so  fatherly  in  its  govern- 
ment, so  sane  and  sensible,  so  wise  and  patient 
in  most  of  its  measures,  is  here  in  this  particular 
extraordinarily  callous  and  short-sighted.  All  over 
the  country  one  finds  schools,  well  built,  well 
managed,  the  scholastic  system  in  Canada  is  really 
a  remarkable  one.  Yet  it  neglects  its  children 
at  the  fountain  head  of  being  and  hopes  for  a 
contented  healthy  people.  I  would  reverse  the 
system,  I  would  look  after  them  physically  first  in 
every  possible  way,  and  then  set  to  afterwards  with 
schools  and  book-learning. 

Here  I  am,  then,  at  the  end  of  all,  seeming  to  say 
264 


THE   FLY   IN  THE   OINTMENT 

to  women,  "  Don't  go !  there  are  flies  in  the  oint- 
ment." But  I  do  not  say  anything  of  the  sort.  To 
the  right  women  there  is  only  one  word,  "  Go." 

But  the  women  Canada  wants  are  rare  in  English 
communities.  There  is  the  real  trouble. 

The  English  woman  is  used  to  large  crowds,  to  a 
busy  communal  life.  In  Canada  she  would  have  to 
bring  courage  for  loneliness,  she  would  needs  find 
companionship  in  her  husband  and  children,  in  her 
cattle,  in  the  housework,  in  the  very  beauty  of  the 
wild  itself.  The  English  women  are  used  to 
specialized  labour ;  they  are  artists,  or  stenographers, 
book-keepers,  nurses,  journalists,  dairy-women, 
doctors  or  what  not.  The  Canadian  woman  will 
drive  a  team  of  horses  when  her  man  is  too  busy  to 
work  the  hayrake  or  binder,  she  will  be  baker,  house- 
maid, cook,  mother,  seamstress,  nurse  to  her  neigh- 
bour five  miles  off  when  she  is  ill,  she  will  run  the 
dairy,  sell  the  butter  and  eggs,  and  keep  the  farm 
accounts  all  in  her  own  person.  The  English  woman 
rises  at  7.30  to  9  a.m.;  the  Canadian  woman  in  the 
West  at  5  a.m.,  sometimes  earlier,  rarely  later. 

The  woman  who  makes  good  in  Canada  is 
energetic  and  brave. 

The  average  English  woman  is  lazy,  fond  of  ease, 
and  she  lacks  courage  to  face  new  conditions.  Now 
265 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

how  to  do  any  good  with  such  a  need  and  such  a 
supply  ? 

In  all  these  large  questions  one  has  to  speak  in 
masses.  The  mass  of  English  bachelor  women  is,  I 
am  persuaded,  unfitted  by  our  complete  civilization 
to  face  the  toils  of  settlement  in  a  new  country.  But 
the  exception,  the  fearless,  enthusiastic,  clean-bred 
exception,  must  exist  in  her  thousands.  And  to 
her  a  direct  statement  of  fact  is  the  strongest  appeal. 
The  woman  who  has  faced  an  unvarnished  history 
of  conditions  in  the  country  and  is  still  anxious  to 
emigrate  is  the  woman  Canada  wants. 

Let  no  woman  come  from  England  to  the 
Canadian  cities;  they  are  over-full  already,  there  is 
no  work  for  them  there,  and  at  best  Canadian  city 
life  is  but  a  parody  of  English  city  life.  At  the 
risk  of  offending  I  will  tell  the  truth.  But  if  any 
woman  cares  for  work  let  her  come  to  the  prairies  of 
British  Columbia  and  labour  with  her  hands  like  the 
rest.  It  is  a  great  call  for  women.  There  must  be 
some  who  have  the  courage  and  the  health  to  leave 
the  ready-made  comforts  of  the  old  country,  and 
come  into  this  wild  beautiful  West,  giving  their 
best  of  mind  and  body  for  the  race  and  for  the 


\    Empire. 


266 


CHAPTER    XII 

AU    REVOIR 

THE  impertinence  of  trying  to  describe  Canada 
in  a  book,  in  twenty  books,  in  a  lifetime  of  words ! 
Her  people  resent  it,  they  can  always  put  up  with 
paeans  of  praise,  but  any  attempt  to  find  fault  annoys 
them  exceedingly;  and  I  agree  thus  much,  that  any 
adverse  criticism  on  any  subject  should  be  given  out 
of  a  sincere  heart  and  intimate  knowledge  of  con- 
ditions. In  her  book  Town  and  Trail  Mrs.  Balmer 
Watt  says — 

I  suppose  that  a  new  country,  like  a  new 
baby,  must  patiently  submit  to  a  great  deal  of 
discussion  as  to  its  various  characteristics,  what 
the  influence  of  its  parentage  upon  it  is,  and 
how  far  it  shows  evidence  of  striking  out  on  an 
original  course.  It  is  the  price  that  it  has  to  pay 
for  the  very  fact  that  it  is  new.  In  its  earliest 
years  it  does  not  mind,  being  for  the  most  part 
blissfully  unconscious  of  the  attention  that  is 
given  it.  But  when,  with  development,  it  begins 
to  look  forward  to  the  time  when  it  will  put  away 
267 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

childish  things  and  take  its  place  in  the  affairs  of 
the  world,  many  of  the  observations  that  come 
in  its  direction  are  hardly  calculated  to  put  it 
in  a  good  humour  with  the  kindly  disposed 
people  who  are  responsible  for  them.  It  finds 
itself  criticized  and  advised  by  those  who  know 
the  youthful  personage  they  seek  to  guide  so 
slightly  that  their  interference  can  only  serve 
to  irritate. 

This  is  the  stage  at  which  Canada  has  now 
arrived.  For  a  long  while  the  people  of  the 
Old  Land  gave  little  thought  to  us.  To  many 
of  her  statesmen  we  were  a  burden  that  Britain 
should  get  rid  of  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
One  prime  minister  spoke  of  us  as  a  millstone 
about  the  British  ratepayer's  neck. 

All  that,  of  course,  has  now  changed.  Hardly 
a  week  passes  by  but  we  hear  of  some  distin- 
guished Britisher  coming  out  to  the  Dominion 
for  the  purpose  of  sizing  up  conditions  here. 
What  they  have  to  say  when  they  return  home 
we  read  with  interest,  but  in  very  few  cases  do 
we  find  that  their  observations  are  of  much  value 
to  any  one  concerned. 

It  would  be  a  matter  of  great  surprise  if  they 
were.     How  can  a  man  who  rushes  from  ocean 
268 


But  the  man  who  rushes  out  and  ba<. 

^,  for  all  the  truth  in  this  gneva:. 
looker-on  who  sees  most  of  v 
has  no   prejudices,   n<> 

biassed  writer  is  always  worse  than  useless.     I  ; 
heard  it  said  that 

ignorant  aboiu         ......  „      ,  .    . 

Pines  in  High  Water,  Kamloops  Lake, 

The  i<          British  Columbia 
Cana 

Page  269 


lians  to  ( 
niorr  is  calling 
anadian: 

•thing  of  tl 

why 
: 


AU   REVOIR 

to  ocean  and  back  again  in  five  or  six  weeks 
form  a  proper  judgment  of  the  people  he  has 
come  out  to  study? 

But  the  man  who  rushes  out  and  back  has  his 
merits,  for  all  the  truth  in  this  grievance.  He  is  the 
looker-on  who  sees  most  of  the  game.  That  is  if  he 
has  no  prejudices,  no  affections  involved.  The 
biassed  writer  is  always  worse  than  useless.  I  have 
heard  it  said  that  one  writes  best  of  what  one  is 
ignorant  about,  that  knowledge  cripples  and  thwarts 
words.  The  man  is  generally  chosen  to  rush  over 
Canada  because  he  is  a  journalist.  AnH  a  journalist 
is  an  expert  in  recording.  Moreover,  he  is  fresh 
from  the  country  for  which  he  is  going  to  write,  he 
is  able  to  tell  of  Canada  for  those  who  have  not  seen 
it,  not  from  the  point  of  view  of  those  who  already 
live  there.  After  all  England  is  not  asking 
Canadians  to  come  and  live  in  her  land,  and  the  big 
Dominion  is  calling  for  settlers  all  the  time.  Poten- 
tial Canadians  are  not  unreasonable  in  asking  to 
know  something  of  the  country  before  they  go  to  it. 
So  far,  then,  from  resenting  talk  of  herself,  why 
does  not  Canada  encourage  more  talk  in  both  lands 
of  both  her  and  us?  I  have  referred  constantly  to 
the  quarrels  in  which  I  was  involved  on  that  pet 

269 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

grievance  of  the  Canadian — the  inferiority  of  the 
English  settler  to  every  other;  the  superiority  of 
Canada  to  England;  the  coldness  of  England  to 
her  great  colony.  From  first  to  last  that  was  rammed 
into  my  tingling  ears.  At  Saskatoon  a  melancholy- 
faced  fellow-countryman  said  to  me — 
"  The  Englishman  is  crucified  in  Canada." 
In  justice  to  Saskatoon  I  must  admit  that  I  could 
not  help  feeling  that  that  particular  man  would  be 
crucified  anywhere,  he  was  so  melancholy.  At  Mont- 
real a  hospitable  native  invited  me  to  a  royal  feast. 
I  was  entertained  with  sumptuous  courtesy  from 
every  material  standpoint,  but  my  host  and  fellow- 
guests  did  not  scruple  to  gibe  at  the  folly  of  my 
fellow-Britons  till  I  dissolved  in  tears  and  made  an 
ass  of  myself.  But  this  thing  struck  me  everywhere, 
that  rarely  indeed  did  a  Canadian  revile  England 
and  the  English  who  had  been  over  and  seen  the 
old  country  and  its  people  at  first  hand.  So  I  have 
a  petition  to  offer  to  every  Canadian  who  reads  this 
book,  and  that  is  to  see  Great  Britain  before  con- 
demning it — and  till  then  keep  silence.  I  promise 
one  thing,  and  that  is  that  no  one  will  suffer  the 
humiliation  of  hearing  his  own  country  derided  while 
he  is  a  guest  in  ours.  English  people  are  immensely 
interested  in  Canada,  they  will  ask  endless  ques- 
270 


AU   REVOIR 

tions,  they  will  listen  eternally  to  talk  of  it,  but  I  am 
safe  in  saying  they  will  not  deride  unprovoked.  It  is 
a  pity  there  is  no  great  Press  organ  passing  between 
the  two  countries.  If  some  well-illustrated  magazine 
passed  to  and  fro  written  by  English  and  Canadian 
writers  equally,  I  believe  a  bond  of  great  strength 
would  be  established.  A  great  deal  of  the  literature 
read  in  the  Colony  is  from  the  United  States — a 
very  great  deal  of  it;  an  Anglo-Canadian  illus- 
trated paper  would  familiarize  readers  on  both  sides 
with  the  aspects  of  either  country.  On  one  side  we 
have  the  great  advertising  output  of  the  Emigration 
Bureau  and  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway,  so  that 
from  the  commercial  aspect  we  in  Great  Britain  are 
not  unaware  of  parts  of  Canada;  but  we  do  not 
advertise  our  country  over  the  other  side,  and  the 
untravelled  Canadian  has  the  haziest  notion  only  of 
the  land  he  is  loth  to  admit  more  powerful  than  his 
own.  He  cannot  picture  the  bustle  of  our  London 
streets,  the  thronging  masses  of  people  in  those  vast 
arteries  of  commerce.  He  cannot  picture  the  changes 
that  come  into  them  with  every  onward  impulse  of 
invention — how  we  ourselves  have  to  grow  used  to 
constant  change  and  progress,  and  learn  our  London 
yearly ;  nothing  in  the  aspect  of  the  City  seems  con- 
stant but  its  ineffable  greys  of  mist  and  stone.  Daily 
271 


A   WOMAN   IN    CANADA 

the  aspect  of  our  London  is  changing;  daily  old 
buildings  and  houses  are  being  levelled  to  the 
ground;  daily  fresh  hoardings  are  pulled  down 
disclosing  stately  piles  and  widened  spaces. 

The  noises  and  the  smells  of  the  street  are  differ- 
ent. As  a  child  I  remember  coming  to  London  and 
being  struck  mightily  with  the  noise  of  the  traffic.  It 
was  an  insistent  roar  of  clattering  hoofs  and  rolling 
wheels.  Later,  coming  back  to  it,  I  found  a  differ- 
ence. It  was  nearly  all  the  patter  of  hoofs  and 
jingling  of  bells.  Rubber  tyres  had  come  into 
fashion,  and  the  comparative  noiselessness  of  loco- 
motion which  they  ensured  made  it,  if  not  necessary, 
at  least  expedient  to  put  bells  on  the  horses'  heads. 
The  thrill  of  the  bicycle  bell  was  constantly  heard, 
for  cyclists  were  much  more  general  then  than  now, 
and  these  airy  little  water  spiders  of  the  traffic 
dodged  and  darted  in  a  truly  alarming  fashion 
among  the  buses  and  lighter  vehicles.  Now-a- 
days  the  roar  is  pitched  on  a  higher  note.  It  is 
more  nerve-racking  if  less  continuous.  The  noise 
of  London  is  now  a  steady  series  of  the  diminu- 
endos and  crescendos  of  fast-moving  engines,  throb- 
bing with  the  warning  hoot  of  horns.  It  may  be 
prejudice,  but  I  believe  that  the  ear  accepted  more 
kindly  the  old  song  of  hoof  and  bell  than  this  present- 
272 


AU    REVOIR 

day  clatter  of  machinery  at  express  speed.  Then 
the  smell  of  the  city  has  changed.  One's  nostrils 
are  assailed  on  every  hand  with  the  odour  of  petrol, 
instead  of  the  former  kindly  suggestion  of  a  well- 
ventilated  stable. 

So,  with  our  environment  changing  daily,  yearly, 
I  believe  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  make  the 
Mother  Country  a  visualized  fact  in  the  Canadian 
eye,  instead  of  a  dim,  meaningless  blur.  The  only 
comment  on  the  appearance  of  Great  Britain  I  heard 
was  in  Winnipeg,  where  a  man  of  some  imagination 
said  to  me  one  day,  "  Your  country  must  be  like  a 
garden  everywhere;  it  has  hedges  along  the  roads 
and  thatched  ricks,  hasn't  it?"  (The  Canadian 
never  thatches  his  ricks,  the  climate  makes  it  un- 
necessary.) If  there  could  sometimes  glow  in  the 
Canadian  eye  a  picture  of  an  English  village  in 
Shakespeare's  country,  with  the  thatched  roofs  all 
stained  with  moss  till  they  have  acquired  a  wonder- 
ful nameless  colour  of  age,  with  the  cottage  gardens 
full  of  hollyhocks  and  roses,  with  an  old  sixteenth- 
century  inn  rich  in  yawning  fire-places,  beams  black 
with  age,  oak  staircases  and  walls  a  yard  thick,  some 
such  picture  mellowed  with  all  the  appurtenances  of 
age  and  history,  it  would  go  far  to  engender  pride  in 
the  Motherland,  far  to  kill  disdain  of  her  acreage. 
s  273 


A   WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

I  read  one  day  lately  in  the  Daily  Chronicle  a 
vivid  picture  of  Euston  Station,  England,  at  mid- 
night, by  Mr.  S.  R.  Littlewood,  painted  in  simple 
words  with  a  clean  touch.  I  wished,  as  I  read,  that 
that  article,  illustrated  with  photographs  of  the 
actual  scene,  could  be  reproduced  in  the  best 
Canadian  papers.  Here  is  the  article — 

THE    "GOOD-BYE"   TRAIN 

A   FAMILIAR    MIDNIGHT    SCENE   AT   EUSTON 

In  these  summer  days,  when  London  is 
preening  itself  before  her  myriad  guests  from 
oversea,  flaunting  forth  the  matchless  wealth 
and  glory  of  the  greatest  Empire-city  that  ever 
was,  there  are  just  one  or  two  little  scenes  in 
contrast  that  it  is  worth  while  to  remember. 
One  means  not  so  much  the  old,  old  contrast  of 
rich  and  poor — of  the  grey  millions  on  the  sun- 
set side  of  Aldgate  pump  and  the  bright,  many- 
coloured  life  of  the  West  End,  overflowing,  as 
M.  Guitry  described  it  the  other  day,  with  a 
"splendour  of  joy." 

After  all,  since  Dickens's  time,  London  has 
never  been  allowed  to  forget  her  poor.  It  is. 
moreover,  right,  natural,  and  in  some  ways  a 
274 


AU    REVOIR 

new  thing,  that  she  should  have  these  moments 
of  exultation  over  her  own  beauty;  and,  to  be 
sure,  with  the  season  in  its  pride,  there  seems 
more  point  than  ever  in  the  poet's  trope — 

To  East,  the  root— to  Westward  points  the  flower, 
Fair  bloom  of  London,  changing  hour  by  hour ! 

No  !  The  contrast  one  would  emphasize  lies 
simply  between  welcome  and  farewell. 

It  so  happens  that  just  in  these  last  few 
weeks,  while  distinguished  strangers  from  all 
quarters  of  the  earth  have  been  revelling  in  the 
greeting  that  only  London's  opulence  can  give, 
certain  as  yet  undistinguished  folk  have  been 
bidding  London  good-bye.  These  are  not 
strangers.  They  are  bred  and  born  Londoners, 
most  of  them.  But  they  are  going  on  a  far 
journey — thousands  of  miles  by  land  and  sea 
— for  the  simple  reason  that  London,  with  all 
its  greatness,  cannot  find  room  for  them. 

Let  us  take  the  trouble  to  see  them  off,  and 
perhaps  we  shall  learn  something  of  the  joys 
and  sorrows  that  lurk  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
Cockney  panorama.  We  shall  have  to  make  our 
way  to  Euston  Station  just  about  the  time  when 
the  theatres  are  pouring  out  their  cheery  throngs 
275 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

of  playgoers,  and  the  West  End  restaurants 
are  filling  up  for  that  fatal  repast  which  has  to 
be  devoured  between  half-past  eleven  and  the 
last  bus.  Through  those  gloomy  portals  we  ask 
our  way  to  the  midnight  boat-train  to  Liver- 
pool. There,  sure  enough,  it  is,  at  a  remote 
platform,  already  crowded  with  a  strangely 
mingled  gathering  of  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren. This  crowd  represents — need  one  say  it  ? 
— just  London's  weekly  batch  of  Canadian 
emigrants,  bidding  their  friends  farewell. 
Nearly  all  are  bound  for  the  far  west  of  the 
Dominion,  starting  for  the  fortnight's  journey — 
third-class  and  steerage — that  will  give  them 
their  chance  of  wresting  a  living  from  the  virgin 
prairie  of  Alberta,  or  British  Columbia  or  Sas- 
katchewan. 

They  are  of  all  classes — save  only  the  rich. 
Here  are  rough  labourers  in  corduroys  and  knee- 
straps,  white-faced  clerks,  waiters,  mechanics, 
maids-of-all-work,  factory-girls,  even  middle- 
aged  professional  men  down  on  their  luck,  leav- 
ing behind  an  anxious  wife  and  wondering  chil- 
dren, and  setting  out  to  essay  any  new  hope  that 
a  new  world  may  afford.  In  the  crude,  cold 
light  of  the  arc  lamps  there  is  indeed  being 

276 


I 


AU    REVOIR 

enacted   upon    that   platform    a    drama    more 
poignant  than  any  stage  could  well  supply. 

The  most  pathetic  feature  of  it  all  is,  per- 
haps, the  desperate,  brave  effort  at  gaiety. 
While  there  is  still  five  minutes  to  spare — 
though  here  and  there  one  may  see  a  wife,  a 
mother,  a  daughter  sobbing  quietly  at  the  car- 
riage door — the  prevailing  note  is  a  mad  parody 
of  high  spirits.  Opposite  one  compartment  a 
bevy  of  boys  and  girls  are  dancing  a  cake-walk, 
singing  a  rag-time  tune  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  with  tears  streaming  down  their  cheeks. 
A  little  farther  down  a  ring  of  pals  are  treating 
a  comrade  to  "  For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow," 
with  three  times  three.  One  wholly  happy 
episode  is  to  be  noted.  It  is  a  family  send-off 
to  "  Grannie,"  a  cheery  old  lady  of  nigh  seventy. 
She  has  been  sent  for  over  half  the  world  by 
a  stalwart  son  who  has  built  a  home  for  himself 
at  last — probably  with  his  own  hands — and 
knows  of  no  better  housekeeper  for  it  than  his 
old  mother.  Everywhere  one  hears  cheery, 
defiant  promises  to  come  back — within  a  year 
maybe,  or  eighteen  months — consciously  false 
promises,  alas !  that  the  recording  angel,  let  us 

hope,  blots  duly  from  his  book. 
277 


A    WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

Soon,  and  all  too  inevitably,  comes  the  end — 
a  whistle,  a  whirlwind  of  shouts  and  hoarse 
cheers,  a  wild  rush  to  the  carriage  doors,  where 
all  thought  of  dignity  is  thrown  aside,  and 
bearded  men  scramble  to  kiss  one  another,  and 
husbands  and  wives  cling  together  on  the  foot- 
board in  a  last  passionate  embrace.  Slowly  the 
train  grinds  its  way  out,  tearing  asunder  as  it 
goes  heaven  knows  how  many  hearts,  how  many 
bonds  of  flesh  and  blood ! 

Then,  when  the  last  gleam  of  the  tail-lights 
has  vanished,  and  the  deadening,  blank  reaction 
of  it  all  has  come,  and  the  platform  is  deserted 
save  for  little  clumps  round  anguish-stricken 
women  in  complete  collapse,  one  is  tempted  to 
wonder  what  really  will  be  the  fate  of  that  train- 
load  of  humanity,  bidden  on  its  way  with  such 
yearnings  of  heart.  The  women,  doubtless,  are 
going  to  a  marriage-market  where  they  will  be 
pretty  sure  to  find  themselves  at  a  premium. 
As  for  the  men,  they  know  grimly  enough,  some 
of  them,  what  they  are  facing.  They  have  been 
lured  by  no  glamorous  dream  of  the  gold-fields, 
no  Bret  Harte  romance,  no  whip-crack  of  an 
Earl's  Court  cow-puncher.  For  these  home- 
steaders of  the  ultimate  wheat-lands,  where  the 
278 


AU   REVOIR 

man  without  capital  or  experience  has  still,  at 
any  rate,  some  hope,  the  main  ordeal  will  be 
just  the  long,  inglorious  one  of  loneliness  and 
monotony.  .  .  . 

Perhaps  it  is  well,  when  one  remembers  all 
this,  that  amongst  that  little  band  at  Euston 
not  many  were  callow  youths.  Most  were 
mature  men,  who  had  made  the  decision  of 
their  lives,  and  whom  iron  circumstance  had 
already  tried  and  tested,  and  forced  to  an  under- 
standing of  themselves  and  of  their  real  hopes. 

It  is  a  trite  saying  that  the  Cockney  makes  a 
bad  colonist,  because  he  cannot  stand  the  lone- 
liness of  the  outlying  homestead,  and  drifts  to 
the  towns  or  back  to  England  again.  Doubtless 
this  is  true  in  part.  One  felt  somehow  that  that 
"jolly  good  fellow"  of  the  Euston  train  would 
probably  be  returning  before  many  months 
were  over  across  the  unharvested  sea.  But 
there  are  Cockneys,  born  generally  of  country- 
bred  parents,  who  never  will  be  in  tune  with 
brick  and  pavement,  flat  and  "  tube  " — in  whom 
the  land-hunger  still  survives,  eating  inward 
because  unsatisfied,  like  a  canker  at  the  heart. 
Men  like  these,  who  have  no  appetite  for  the 
"  spoof  "  ideals  that  bring  fortune  in  town,  and 
279 


A  WOMAN   IN   CANADA 

who  find  that  London  has  but  rarely  a  fair 
reward  for  plain  honesty  and  strong  arm — men 
like  these  are  seeking,  not  their  fortune  in  those 
Western  fields,  but  life  itself. 

Not  least  for  the  mere  onlooker,  this  little 
scene  of  heart-break  amidst  the  flaunting  de- 
lights of  the  London  season  helps  to  show  how 
wrong  is  the  notion  that,  because  London  has 
become  an  Imperial  city,  it  has  ceased  to  be 
above  everything  the  home  of  its  own  citizens. 
After  all,  to  those  midnight  exiles,  London 
meant  no  fashionable  pageant  of  park  and 
square  and  theatre,  but  some  little  house  in 
some  little  row  in  some  little  suburb,  that  held 
within  it  what  was  more  to  them  than  all  the 
world  beside. 

I  may  seem  to  be  harping  on  trifles,  but  I  believe 
the  printed  word  dwells  in  men's  minds,  I  believe 
the  Press  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  directing 
thought,  and  I  believe  that  if  the  Old  Country  were 
written  of  in  the  Canadian  papers  in  an  intimate, 
descriptive  and  affectionate  way  that  the  people 
would  be  drawn  insensibly  to  think  of  her  not  as  a 
frigid  disdainful  autocrat  over  the  seas,  but  as  a 
beautiful  dear  old  land  pursuing  a  blundering, 
280 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

who  find  that  London  has  but  rarely  a  fair 
reward  for  vrsty  and  strong  arm — men 

like  these  are  seeking,  not  their  fortune  in  those 
Wr*t*n3  folds,  but  life  itself. 

Not  Mfctt  for  the  mere  onlooker,  this  little 
scenr  of  fcs-xrt -break  amidst  the  flaunting  de- 
lights of  the  Lomion  season  helps  to  show  how 
wrong  is  the  notion  that,  because  London  has 
become  an  Imperial  city,  it  has  ceased  to  be 
above  everything  the  home  of  its  own  citizens. 
After  aH,  to  those  midnight  exiles,  London 

meant   no   fashionable   pageant   of   park   and 

The  Lone  Song 
square  and  theatre,  But  some  little  house  m 

some,  little  row  in  some  little  suburb,  that  held 

Page  280 

within  it  what  was  more  to  them  than  all  the 
world  beside. 

1  may  seem  to  be  harping  on  trifles,  but  I  believe 

the  printed  word  dwells  in  men's  minds,  I  believe 

the   Press  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with   directing 

thought,  and  I  believe  that  if  the  Old  Country  were 

written  of  in  the  Canadian  papers  in  an  intimate, 

descriptive  and   affectionate   way   that  the   people 

would  be  drawn  insensibly  to  think  of  her  not  as  a 

frigid  disdainful  autocrat  over  the  seas,  but  as  a 

••ful    dear   old    land    pursuing    a    blundering, 

280 


AU   REVOIR 

honest,  generous  policy  with  the  kindest  will  in  the 
world.  They  would  grow  to  feel  her  warm  obstinate 
heart  beating  steadily  for  them  through  good  report 
and  ill,  and  learn  to  lean  in  trouble  and  kick  in 
prosperity  harder  than  ever,  surer  and  surer  of  the 
Motherland. 


Here  is  the  end  of  the  book.  The  an  revoir  end, 
because  in  bones  and  blood  and  longing  heart  I 
know  that  somehow,  somewhere,  I  shall  again  tread 
and  write  of  that  lovely  land.  What  do  I  remember 
of  Canada  now  that  Quebec  has  faded  away — Que- 
bec with  her  ramparts  and  plains,  her  history,  her 
mighty  river — I  remember  the  foaming  rapids  of 
Lachine;  the  enamels;  the  rolling  wheat  of  the 
prairies;  the  fruit  orchards  of  British  Columbia 
and  Niagara;  the  mines  of  silver,  lead,  copper, 
gold;  the  thrill  of  the  whirling  spoon  in  salmon 
waters;  the  cry  of  a  stricken  quarry  in  the  bush; 
the  scarlet  bunch-berries  on  the  mountains;  the 
snow  and  the  sun  and  the  dominant  brilliant  sky. 
I  remember  these  and  so  much  more  of  loveliness 
...  I  remember,  too,  a  people  given  over  to  work 
and  hope,  a  people  kind  and  prejudiced  and 
courageous,  a  great  Government  which  gives  its 
281 


A   WOMAN    IN   CANADA 

children  schools,  experimental  farms,  free  home- 
steads, a  Government  which  subsidizes  the  hospitals 
so  that  charity  in  sickness  does  not  exist,  and  the 
best  medical  attention  may  be  had  of  all,  a  Govern- 
ment which  works  sanely  on  commercial  lines  for 
the  good  of  the  greatest  number,  and  for  all  its  sense 
neglects  its  women  and  babes  at  the  hour  of  birth, 
leaving  them  untended  on  the  outlying  homesteads, 
a  Government  which  makes  at  the  same  time  a  great 
hue  and  cry  about  race  suicide.  I  remember  these 
things. 

Every  August  as  harvest  comes  I  must  suffer  the 
restless  desire  to  stand  on  the  prairie  and  hear  again 
the  rustle  of  miles  of  wheat — I  shall  long  to  board  a 
train  and  lean  from  the  end  car  to  smell  the  pine 
and  cedar,  to  see  the  silver  rails  slip  from  our  wheels, 
the  wooden  houses,  the  great  barns,  to  feel  the  space, 
to  lave  in  silence. 

If  any  woman,  reading  this,  wants  to  go  to  a 
beautiful  country  and  carve  out  her  own  fortune 
from  its  deep  loam,  I  shall  be  happy  to  tell  all  I 
can  that  may  help  her  to  Canada,  and  if  that  is  little 
I  can  at  least  put  her  in  the  way  of  getting  informa- 
tion from  the  best  sources. 

There  is  money  to  be  made  there,  at  farming  and 
horticulture;  at  domestic  service  which  entails  in 
282 


AU   REVOIR 

Canada  no  loss  of  caste;  at  maternity  nursing;  and 
there  are  happy  homes  ahead  for  many,  especially 
for  women  who  do  not  settle  too  far  from  civilization 
for  safety  and  comfort. 

If  I  had  to  earn  my  living  I  would  go  to  Canada. 


283 


JOHN  MILNE:  Publisher 


The  Awakening  of 
Turkey 

A  History  of  the  Turkish  Revolution 

BY 

E.  F.   KNIGHT 

Author  of"  Where  Three  Empires  Meet"  etc. 

Demy  8vo,  cloth.     With  Autographed  Portraits  of  Enver  Bey,  Aassim 
Bey,  Ahmed  Riza  Bey,  Niazi  Bey  and  others. 

SECOND  EDITION.     Price  10s.  6d.  net.    WITH  PORTRAITS. 

This  book  describes  the  growth  of  the  Young  Turk 
The  .  .  .  movement  from  its  origin,  and  gives  a  history  of  the 
Awakening  recent  revolution. 

of  Turkey.  The  author  has  travelled  extensively  in  Turkey. 
Thirty  years  ago  he  wandered  on  foot  over  some  of  the 
wildest  parts  of  Albania  and  Macedonia  ;  he  accompanied  the  Turkish 
armies  in  the  campaign  of  1897  ;  and  last  year  spent  several  months  in 
Constantinople  and  Salonica,  watching  the  progress  of  the  revolutionary 
movement  up  to  the  day  of  the  opening  of  the  Turkish  Parliament  in 
December. 

Mr.  Knight  has  many  friends  among  the  Young  Turks  and  among 
the  leading  revolutionaries,  and  he  has  availed  himself  of  exceptional 
opportunities  for  acquiring  at  first  hand,  from  the  actors  themselves, 
information  concerning  the  working  of  the  Secret  Society  and  the 
organisation  of  the  revolt.  The  volume  conveys  a  good  deal  of  valu- 
able political  information  that  will  be  quite  new  not  only  to  English 
readers,  but  possibly  to  the  English  Government. 

The  Observer  says :  "As  up  to  date  as  the  news  in  one's  morning  newspaper,  as 
romantic  as  a  novel.  .  .  .  All  Europe  is  astonished  at  the  revelations." 

The  Pall  Mall  Gazette  says  :  "  As  a  book  of  reference  this  volume  ought  to  form 
part  of  the  library  of  every  student  of  the  History  of  the  Near  East." 

The  Morning  Post  says  :  "  It  reads  more  like  the  records  of  a  secret  society,  the 
fictitious  proceedings  of  which  would  have  delighted  the  imagination  of  a  Balzac  or 
a  Poe." 

The  Standard  says:  "Merely  as  a  tale  of  stirring  adventure,  apart  from  the 
political  issues  involved,  the  book  should  have  an  irresistible  attraction  for  most 


JOHN  MILNE:  Publisher 


The  Quest  of  the 
Antique 

Being  some  Personal  Experiences  in  the 
Finding  of  Old  Furniture 

BY 

ROBERT  and  ELIZABETH    SHACKLETON 

Illustrated  with  44  Photographs,  and  a  Frontispiece  in  Colour. 
Demy  8vo,  425  pp.,  10s.  6d.  net. 

This  is  not  a  book  to  appeal  only  to  lovers  of  Old 
The  Quest .  Furniture,  but  it  is  a  work  to  stir  and  hold  the  interest 
of  the  .  .  of  those  who  have  never  fallen  under  the  spell  of  the 
Antique.  .  charming  and  stately  Furniture  of  the  Past. 

The  two  who  wrote  this  unusual  book  inherited  a 
kettle,  bought  a  pair  of  candlesticks,  and  were  given  a  Shaker  chair ; 
with  this  beginning  they  entered  upon  the  enthusiastic  pursuit  of  the 
walnut,  the  brass  and  the  china  of  the  Olden  Time. 

The  story  of  what  they  found  and  their  experiences  in  the  finding,  of 
the  quaint  old  houses  which,  as  circumstances  permitted,  they  made 
their  home,  is  all  told  with  rare  charm.  In  addition,  the  book  is  rich 
in  reliable  information  concerning  Antique  Furniture  of  every  kind  and 
in  helpful  hints  for  others,  both  as  regards  buying  and  taste. 

T.P.'s  Weekly  says :  "  A  charming  volume,  charmingly  produced." 
The  Lady  says  :  "  A  volume  that  will  delight  amateur  collectors." 


JOHN  MILNE:  Publisher 


The  Heart  of  the  Wild 

Wild  Life  Studies  from  Near  and  Far 

BY 

S.  L.   BENSUSAN 

Authorof"  A  Countryside  Chronicle"  "  Wild  Life  Stories"  "  Morocco"  etc. 

Illustrated  with  actual  Wild  Life  Photographs. 

Crown  8vo,  cloth.     Price  6s. 


THE  LITERARY  WORLD  says: 

"Among  the  many  writers  who  in  these  days  tell  us 
The  Heart  stories  about  wild  animals,  whether  as  natural  creatures 
of  the  Wild  or  as  creatures  able  to  talk  English,  Mr.  S.  L.  Bensusan 

deserves  to  have  a  conspicuous  place.  'The  Heart  of 
the  Wild '  (John  Milne,  6s. )  is  a  book  to  please  old  and  young  alike ; 
and  in  it  there  is  much  that  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  work  of  other 
authors  with  tastes  similar  to  those  of  Mr.  Bensusan,  whose  ability  to 
observe  with  closeness  and  to  record  with  vividness  is  remarkable.  We 
have  read  every  page  in  this  volume,  and  feel  quite  willing  to  read  the 
best  of  the  stories  again.  It  is  not  often  that  we  can  pay  an  author 
a  compliment  of  this  kind.  Perhaps  the  most  vivid  piece  of  work  in 
this  collection  is  the  account  of  how  the  fighting  bull  mastered  his 
tormentors  in  one  of  the  bull  rings  of  Spain  ;  but  where  so  much  is 
excellent  it  is  a  little  unfair  to  show  any  favouritism.  Mr.  Bensusan 
turns  easily  from  a  giraffe  to  a  water-rat,  and  delights  us  as  much  by 
the  life-story  of  the  one  as  by  that  of  the  other.  Before  we  close  this 
brief  notice  of  what  is  an  ideal  gift-book  we  must  write  a  few  words 
about  the  photographs,  most  of  which  are  astonishing  successes.  Those 
of  the  water-rat  and  the  young  cuckoo  cannot  possibly  be  beaten,  who- 
ever the  photographer,  whatever  the  camera.  In  outward  appearance 
the  book  is  decidedly  handsome." 


RICHARD  CLAY  &  SONS,  LIMITED, 

BREAD   STREET  HILL,    E.C.,    AND 
BUNGAV,   SUFFOLK. 


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