Sandford Fleming

Puget Sound—The Columbia—Portland—Oregon and San Juan Disputes—Arid Country—Mountain Summits—The Yellowstone—The Missouri—The Red River—Chicago—Standard Time Meeting—The British Association—Home.

The fog had become less dense on the early Monday morning we were leaving Victoria to cross to Puget Sound, to proceed thence to Portland, in Oregon. We had now entered on October. It was the first of the month. My object in taking this route was to pass over the Northern Pacific Railway. It seemed to me in every way desirable, that correct information should be obtained of the nature of the country through which that line passes, and I had already travelled over the Central Pacific line from San Francisco. The last spike had been driven when we were in the Valley of the Ille-celle-waet, and the opening ceremonies had been celebrated on an unusually large scale, three weeks back, before we had finished our journey across the Selkirk Range.

We had crossed from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We had passed over the four ranges of mountains by a hitherto partly unsurveyed route, and I had satisfied myself as to the possibility of establishing the railway on the line we had traversed. The journey we made was the first of its kind, and no limited portion of the distance had proved exceedingly trying. In a few years the railway connection will be completed, and what a field for travel will then be opened to those who desire to visit the boldest and most majestic of Nature’s scenes which the traveller will be able to visit with very little effort.

The Northern Pacific Railway extends from the western end of Lake Superior to Portland, in Oregon, where it will have a connection with a branch line to Puget’s Sound. To the east it is at present connected with St. Paul and Minneapolis, and is accordingly brought into relationship with the whole railway system of the continent. Its charter dates from 1864, so it has taken twenty years to complete the line. The enterprise has passed through many vicissitudes. No real progress in its construction was made until Messrs. Jay Cooke & Co., of Philadelphia, arranged in 1870–71 to float thirty million dollars of its bonds, by which means the line was constructed from Lake Superior to Bismarck, on the Missouri. The misfortunes of that firm in 1873, involved the railway in the common ruin. The line was thrown into bankruptcy. The company was re-organized, the bonds transferred into preferred stock, and the building of the railway commenced at the western end. The Missouri division followed. Several presidents endeavoured to carry the line to completion. Finally a first mortgage loan was negotiated. At this period the credit of the company was established, money was obtained, and the track was pushed on equally from east and west and the rails finally connected.

The steamer North Pacific crossed the San Juan de Fuca Straits to Admiralty Inlet and ascended Puget’s Sound. The day was wet and cloudy. Neither at Victoria nor the Straits were we able to obtain a glimpse of Mount Baker. I well remember the first view of the majestic outline of this mountain, reaching far above snow-line. I was then at sea at a point eighty or one hundred miles distant. Its appearance is as familiar to the British Columbian as the less elevated “Fujisan” to the Japanese. Nor could we see the striking Olympic Range, which in clear weather in so marked a way strikes the eye on the southern coast of Vancouver Island. The steamer called at one or two places before reaching Seattle, the principal port of Puget’s Sound, itself a place of considerable importance as the locality whence the product of the coal mines is shipped. Tacoma, however, was our destination, which we reached after dark. It has an excellent harbor, and is the terminus of the railway. It was so dark on our arrival that we proceeded to the nearest hotel, a few yards distant. In the evening, to obtain some exercise we indulged in the proverbial “sailor’s walk” up and down the platform in front of the building.

We rose early next morning, for the train left at seven. The rain had ceased, but the sky was dull, and there was no view of Mount Tacoma to the east of us.

The railway line ascends rapidly from the level of the Sound, and continues through a partially settled country, much of it prairie, with here and there groves of pine. The soil is generally of gravel except in the flats of the Kalama River. The appearance of the homesteads differs little from the backwoods settlements of Ontario. I saw no example of good husbandry, nor could I trace any signs of productiveness in the country through which we passed. We arrived at Kalama about noon, striking the Columbia for the third time. First, when we descended by the Kicking-Horse pass; again, when we came by the Ille-celle-waet. From the latter point the river has flowed some six hundred and fifty miles, four hundred of which are through the United States territory on a course southerly and thence westerly. It now makes a slight deflection to the north previous to discharging into the ocean at Astoria.

At Kalama we waited for the steamer which ascends the river to Portland, that portion of the railway being yet incomplete. We also took dinner at the one hotel, near the station. The fare was bad, the charges exorbitant. It seemed to me that there was much uncalled for delay in moving on board a small quantity of lumber. Incidentally, it may be remarked that there is a tone of thought, a course of action with the people on the Pacific slope by no means in accord with eastern energy. There is no appearance of the bustle and rush you see nearer the Atlantic. The steamer is propelled by a stern wheel. She is of some size and is a regular river boat, with tiers of state-rooms above the main deck. The river is about half a mile wide and is navigable for sea-going vessels to Portland, and for some distance above that city for vessels of less draught. Our trip is limited only to the thirty miles between Kalama and Portland. We passed places with ambitious names but of little promise. The cities of St. Helen and Columbia, so called, neither of which is half so large as the new town of Brandon. Each may be described as the site of a saw-mill, with dwelling houses for the owner and workmen.

We ascended the Columbia until we reached a branch, the Williamette, which we followed to Portland. We were now thirty miles south of Kalama.

The River Columbia is the boundary between the State of Oregon and Washington Territory. Portland, on the Williamette, is in Oregon. It is a commercial centre of such territory on the Pacific slope as San Francisco has not made tributary. The construction of the Northern Pacific has exercised great influence on its growth, for in twelve years it has increased in population from 11,000 to 35,000. This city, like Montreal, is some distance from the coast, being one hundred and twenty-five miles from the ocean. But, unlike Montreal, it is not easily approachable by a very large class of ocean going vessels. The wharves, however, present some animation from the ships moored there. On this occasion there were one iron steamer and six sailing vessels. The railway accommodation for the transfer of freight is on an extensive scale, and its promise of a prosperous future seems well assured.

We went to the hotel, which we were told both at Victoria and on our way up the river, was the best. If such be the case, Portland must be one of the worst provided cities, in this respect, in the United States. Our rooms were small. One had no window to admit light. Not one of them had a fire-place to assist in ventilation, which was especially needed, for the passages were filled with a nauseating stench proceeding from the filthy offices immediately below. The beds were without clean linen; the towels seemed scarcely washed, certainly they had not been ironed nor been passed through the mangle. The supply of water was insufficient, and when more was asked for it was refused. To crown all, we were hurried off from the hotel at half-past five without breakfast, to cross the river to wait until seven when the train started.

The night previous we secured tickets for Chicago and paid for a Pullman drawing-room, but there was no Pullman on the train on starting, nor a restaurant car where we could get breakfast. From Portland the railway runs easterly two hundred and twenty-eight miles, to Ainsworth. Our first view of the Columbia is striking. It is the locality where it flows through the Cascade Mountains. The line runs along the base of bold, rocky bluffs, twisting and curving a few feet above the water line. The fog and smoky atmosphere conceal the mountains, but I should judge, when visible, that the view is picturesque.

For eighty miles from Portland the flora indicates a somewhat moist climate, but on passing east of the Cascade Range everything is as dry as at Kamloops. We are informed that no rain has fallen for four months. We see bunch grass on the hills. The rocks are balsaltic, and the indications suggest that the geology of the Thompson extends to this locality. One of the most characteristic features of the landscape are the basaltic columns which stand out prominently on both sides of the river.

Before twelve we reach the Dalles at the eighty-seventh mile. I have kindly recollections of this place, for we broke our fast here. It was dinner hour for the passengers, and what was served was very good. Our hostess was an Ontario woman from Kingston, and the landlord one of those genial, imperturbable geniuses whom our neighbours so often produce, who have been everywhere and learned much. In his wanderings he had been in Canada, whence he had carried away his wife. He had so much to tell us of the Dominion that we looked upon him as a countryman. Dalles, in Indian phraseology, we learn from him, means “swift water,” or rapids.

We continue the ascent of the southern bank of the Columbia. The valley is generally from two to three miles wide, in the centre of which the stream flows in its placid course. The banks are hilly and appear broken frequently by trap and balsaltic rock. For miles not a tree is to be seen. The light, dry sand is drifted with the wind, like snow in winter, and sand is often formed during storms into mounds and banks, which are more troublesome to the company than snow itself. We were told that the trains were often seriously delayed by it. From the car windows we could see the “dunes” which have accumulated in many places. An occasional house is visible, with the sand half concealing the windows; sometimes cast up to the very eaves. Persevering efforts have been made to arrest its progress by planting trees, and to prevent the saplings from being blown away the roots have been covered with paving stones. At other places the surface is shingled with boards to hold down the sand, so that it will not be blown on the railway track. The landscape has a dreary and forlorn look, which even the river fails fully to relieve.

About one hundred and fifty miles from Portland the high river banks have disappeared. We run through a flat, level, barren country covered with sage brush, and we are probably less than three hundred feet above tide water.

Umatilla, one hundred and ninety miles from Portland, is the ghost of a once flourishing centre, which existed when gold digging in the Blue Mountains was actively followed. To-day it is a picture of desolation, with deserted streets, with dilapidated wooden buildings surrounded by a desert of sage brush. There is one marked memorial of its prosperity: a graveyard, where many a poor miner lies in his last home. The fence which encloses it is maintained, and what makes it more remarkable, it is the only fence to be seen for many a mile.

At Wallula Junction we have supper. There is at this place a branch to Walla-Walla, thirty-one miles distant. On the side track there is an excursion train full of “Oregon pioneers” travelling towards St. Paul. They left Portland seventeen hours before us and had been detained by an obstruction. As a regular train we take precedence and arrived at Snake River about seven, a little way above its junction with the Columbia at Ainsworth. Snake River is one of the chief tributaries of the Columbia; it takes its rise five hundred miles to the south-east. It is as yet unbridged, and we cross to the opposite shore by a ferry; passengers, mails and baggage being transferred to the train, attached to which, for the first time, we find the Pullman.

We have followed the valley of the River Columbia from Kalama to this point, generally on an easterly course, south of the 46th parallel, ascending its great current flowing westerly. It runs in a southerly course directly from 49° lat. to this place; and now we leave this magnificent river to see it no more on our journey.

The railway has followed the south or Oregon bank of the Columbia from Portland. As a Canadian I could not but feel a deep interest in looking across on the opposite bank to Washington Territory. I reverted to the settlement by treaty of the Oregon question in 1846. Great Britain most justly claimed the whole territory north of the 42° parallel. The claims of the United States as set forth by them were only limited by Alaska. At that date the fact is undoubted that there was not a single citizen of the United States established north of the Columbia River. The country was occupied only by the Hudson’s Bay Company. The Columbia was the thoroughfare of that Company to the Boat Encampment, already alluded to, at the extreme north of the Selkirk Range. This river would have made a good natural boundary line, and in itself would have been a compromise most favourable to the United States. It would have given them Astoria and all the discoveries of Lewis and Clark, but the treaty of 1846 was simply a capitulation even more inglorious than the Ashburton Treaty of four years earlier date, and will so live in history. Six degrees of latitude by three degrees of longitude of British Territory were deliberately abandoned by the Imperial diplomatists, and what is more remarkable the settlement was so ill-defined as, some years afterwards, to cause the San Juan difficulty, which raised great trouble and much ill-feeling.

At six next morning we arrive at Spokane Falls, a well built town with a population of fifteen hundred. The soil is light and gravelly, with groves of pine. We reach Rathdrum, thirty miles distant, described in the guide book as an agricultural centre in the best portion of the valley. The train remains here twenty minutes. We learn that no rain has fallen since early in May, and that the crops are almost a failure. All the soil we have looked upon for three hundred miles is sandy and gravelly, and without rain good crops can scarcely be looked for.

At nine we reach Sand Point, four hundred and forty-five miles from Portland. From Ainsworth we have been running in a north-easterly direction and we are now fifty miles south of the Boundary Line. The mouth of the Kicking-Horse River is two hundred miles from us, nearly due north. I looked on Sand Point with some interest, for if we had been driven at the Ille-celle-waet to abandon our journey through the Eagle Pass, it was at this spot we would have reached the Northern Pacific Railway on our descent by the Columbia past Fort Colville.

We have passed the northern part of Idaho and are entering Montana. At Heron, thirty-eight miles from Sand Point, a few drops fall from the cloudy sky, we are told the only rain since spring! We are following Clark’s Fork Valley towards the Rocky Mountains. We come upon open prairie with good soil and bunch grass pasture, with patches of good sized forest trees. The valley varies in width from one to five miles, and is not wanting in natural beauty. It resembles somewhat Bow River, above Calgary; but at Bow River the mountains are higher and bolder in outline than on the Northern Pacific, and at this spot the heights are wooded to the summit and are unmarked by bold, rocky, lofty peaks.

We have rain during the afternoon. If it be acceptable to the arid soil it is equally welcome to the traveller as an accessory to comfort. Hitherto the dust has followed us like a cloud, but the rain dispels it. It is getting dark. My intention had been to stay up to observe, as best I could, the mountain “divide,” but as it was hopeless to look for moonlight I turned in before twelve.

I slept an hour when I again rose. It was still dark and drizzly, but the glare from the engines working their full power up the ascent was reflected by the hanging clouds, and near objects were dimly visible. I was desirous of seeing what I could of the country, for we were approaching the divide of the water flow of the continent; the one turning to the Pacific, the other to the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. As morning advanced the sky became clear and the features of the country visible. A tunnel two-thirds of a mile long, the Mullan tunnel, is in progress through the summit. At present the rails are connected over the mountain by a surface line, four miles in length, with steep grades. The train was drawn up by two engines and we crept up at a slow pace. On reaching the highest point we came to a stand to admit of an examination of the couplings and of the whole machinery of the locomotive and train.

We had now to face the serious work of descent. The heaviest grade is confined to a mile. The inclination, evidently great, was shown by the angle formed by the hanging articles in the Pullman, with the vertical lines of its panels. I extemporized a plummet and line with the silk cord of my glasses, and according to my calculation the gradients we passed over for some distance exceeded two hundred and sixty feet to the mile; in one spot they reached nearly three hundred feet: 5.7 feet to the hundred feet.

We left the temporary line and followed the permanent track, the gradient of which I was told is one hundred and sixteen feet to the mile. In our passage over the summit no mountains were visible. The hills through which we passed were but a few hundred feet higher than the track. We crossed the “divide” by a narrow depression, as far as we can judge, of no great depth. The exact length of the completed Mullan tunnel will be 3,850 feet, its height 5,547 feet above sea level.

We have reached Helena. We are now in the valley of the Missouri. The second summit, between the Missouri and the Yellowstone Rivers, is about one hundred and forty miles distant from the main summit. Before reaching it I take the opportunity to get some sleep.

Seventy miles from Helena we come to Gallatin. At this spot the Missouri may be said to commence. It is fed by three important tributaries, the Jefferson, the Madison and the Gallatin, all rising within the periphery of a semi-circle of mountains visible to the south and east of us.

We passed through the fertile plain of Bozzeman, where we obtained a fine view of the Rocky Mountains, south of us. Their lofty peaks, tipped with snow, are probably eighty miles distant. It could not have been very far from this neighbourhood that the sons of De la Verendrye first looked upon the mountain heights as they ascended a branch of the Missouri. At Bozzeman we prepared for another ascent and pass over a temporary track until the Bozzeman tunnel is completed. It will be 4,500 feet long and 5,572 feet above tide level. There is a marked contrast in the character of the heights at Bozzeman to those of Mullan. The latter are wooded, whereas the former are bare, with only a few small bushes. The Bozzeman tunnel, although only through a spur of the Rocky Mountain chain, is a few yards more elevated than the Mullan tunnel through the main divide. At Livingstone we are in the Yellowstone Valley, eight hundred and eighty miles from Portland. We followed the Yellowstone for three hundred and forty miles. Yellowstone park is sixty miles to the south, and a railway leads to it from this point. We can see the mountains of the National park in the distance, grand, lofty and striking, recalling some portion of the Selkirk range. I saw nothing on the Northern Pacific Railway except this distant view, to equal the mountains on our Canadian line.

We cross the Yellowstone River, about one hundred and fifty feet wide, and which takes its rise in Yellowstone Lake, one hundred miles south of us.

At Livingstone we enter a prairie country which we follow in our journey eastward for twenty degrees of longitude. As we pass over the two water sheds, between five and six thousand feet above the sea, we form the impression that there is abundance of moisture at this elevation. We are now, however in comparatively low ground, and the district generally is evidently dry, if not to some extent rainless. Possibly the mountains intercept the vapour-bearing clouds, or drive them into the higher regions. The maps show that there are spurs of the Rocky Mountains continuing to the north and south of the Yellowstone Valley for a long distance east of the main range, but all of them are too distant from our point of vision or too low to appear above the horizon.

The railway follows the general direction of the river, sometimes along its banks, and at no place at any great distance from it. The soil on the bottom lands is loam or clay with a gravelly sub-soil. The grass is dry and thin, but preparations for irrigation on a considerable scale have been undertaken west of Billings’ station, one hundred and fifteen miles east of Livingstone. By this means the lowlands adjacent to the river will be brought under cultivation. Beyond the immediate valley itself, in which irrigation is practicable the ground must remain much as it now is. East of Billings we meet the same arid country, with scanty herbage and a few scattered trees of small size along the river’s edge.

We are now in the territory which for so many years was the scene of frequent Indian wars. Fort Custer is to the south of us, and to the east Fort Keogh. At Custer station an officer entered the train on his way to Fort Keogh. Like most officers of the United States army, he was agreeable and full of conversation. He had had fifteen years’ experience of the country, and consequently had many anecdotes to tell of the wars. He showed us a rusty revolver which, a few days previously, he had picked up from the field where Custer’s whole command was destroyed in the last successful effort of the Red man on a large scale. We can recollect the extraordinary excitement the news caused on this continent. I must frankly say that, making all allowance for Custer’s known gallantry, my sympathies have always been with the men who rode after him, rather than with their leader. Custer himself, it is true, paid the penalty of his rashness. The record is simple. He, with his command, some six hundred sabres, rode up the valley of the Rosebud. Not one returned to tell the tale of their extermination. The criticism of the day was not favorable to Custer’s generalship. He had turned into an attack what was intended as a reconnaisance. His critics accuse him of endeavoring to attract public attention by some bold dashing movement, the one justification of which would have been its success. Every reader of the Indian wars knows that the strategy of the Red man is that of surprise and ambuscade, and that failure in observing caution in an advance, incurs the danger of defeat and loss. The snare into which Custer fell is one of the most remarkable in its results that not a man escaped. Its parallel in misfortune, however, was not long after witnessed at Isandula, when not one man of the two hundred in the ranks of the Imperial second 24th regiment survived the Zulu attack on the unfortified camp.

During the night we left the Yellowstone at Glendive. We have passed over the Mauvaise Terre which I had wished to see; but it was not possible, as it was dark when we came through it. Our restaurant car no longer accompanies us. The fact is brought to our mind by a bad and expensive breakfast at Richardson, in Dacota. Between Glendive and Bismarck the soil is good; the grass, however, is brown, but of better growth than to the West. At Sims, coal mining has been commenced with some success.

This place is scarcely a year old, but it contains a number of brick buildings. The site of the town is on an eminence, and altogether it looks more promising than any spot we have seen since we left Portland. We are now in the hundred and second meridian of longitude.

Improvement advances as we proceed easterly; the towns are more numerous and better built, and are marked by more bustle. The land is of a higher character and better cultivated, and we see a superior class of station buildings. We reached Mandane on the Missouri. Bismarck is on the eastern bank, opposite. These two places are the creation of a few years, and the progress they have made is marvellous. They are connected by a high level iron bridge. The three centre spans are each four hundred feet, on stone piers. The height from the bottom of the deepest foundation to the top chord is one hundred and seventy feet, the height of the truss is fifty feet. It is approached by timber trestling at one part sixty feet in height. It is a bold piece of engineering, and the cost is named at one million dollars. The bridge was finished in May of last year.

The land near Bismarck is very good. Already the country is well settled; but night came on and cut off further observation. We passed over an important but scarcely perceptible water-shed, about one hundred and fifty miles east of Bismarck. The elevation above the general level cannot be distinguished, and we have prairie around us on all sides. Near the small station of Sanbon we leave the basin of the Gulf of Mexico, and without visible signs of change pass to that of the Hudson’s Bay. From the Rocky Mountains to this point the drainage has been by the Missouri. The rainfall passes now to the Red River and Lake Winnipeg to the north. We are in the upper part of the Red River Plain, an extension of that district in Canada so unequalled for fertility.

At eleven at night we reach Fargo, where the line crosses the Red River. Fargo, like Winnipeg, is the wonderful creation of a few years. The Station is illuminated by electric lights, and even at the late hour the place has the appearance of an important commercial centre. Moorhead is on the eastern bank of the river, opposite Fargo. Glyndon, ten miles further east, is 1,626 from Portland and 274 miles from St. Paul. It is a place of importance, in so far that a connection is made with the railway from St. Paul for Winnipeg, but is not otherwise remarkable. I was sorry to separate from my old friend and fellow traveller, Dr. Grant, who left the train for Winnipeg. We had been together for six weeks through the adventures which I have recorded. At midnight we shook hands; Dr. Grant to go northward, and myself and my son to find ourselves at St. Paul on the next forenoon.

At St. Paul we are on known ground. Twenty-four hours brings us to Chicago and another twenty-four hours to Toronto. There are many Canadian interests in St. Paul, and this picturesque city on the banks of the Mississippi has been often visited and described. We are now thoroughly within all the influences of busy life, and the meagerest of newspaper readers turns to the journals of the day to learn what has happened and is to be looked for.

I am gratified to learn that the next meeting of the British Association will be held in Canada, and I read that in a couple of days there is to be a gathering in Chicago of railway managers from the United States and Canada in special convention to determine what steps are to be taken to establish the standards for the regulation of time.

Twenty years ago, personally, I had felt that in connection with the railways of Canada in the future, extending over several degrees of longitude, difficulties would arise in the computation of time. To my mind it was evident that, in place of the rude mode followed, some more scientific system was called for. When I became Engineer of the Intercolonial Railway from Nova Scotia to Quebec, and of the Canadian Pacific Railway from Ontario to the far West, my views were confirmed, and, as I devoted time and study to the problem, I became more than ever impressed with the importance of the question, not only to Canada or to this continent, but to the world generally.

Reasoning on the subject À priori from the admitted necessity of a change of system, it struck me forcibly that it could only be effected on principles which would meet every objection and generally commend themselves as well founded. Moreover, the subject appeared to me of unusual interest, and as such I thought it my duty specially to bring it under the notice of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. I formed the opinion that this Association, having been established for promoting the general welfare, was the body above all others to which any proposition having so universal an application should be submitted. I was in London in 1878, and addressed the permanent officers of the Association on the subject, expressing my wish to bring it forward. I complied with all the regulations, and gave notice of my intention to introduce its consideration before the forty-eighth meeting to be held in Dublin the following August. I prepared a paper and submitted an outline of it. I was informed by letter from the Secretary that it would be brought before Section A, “Mathematics and Physical Science.” I arrived in Dublin the first day of the meeting, the 14th August, and lost no time in addressing the Secretary, personally, and informing him that I was prepared to read my paper when called upon. He answered that I should receive a reply in due course. Not receiving any communication for three days, I saw the Secretary and was then informed by him that the Committee had decided that my paper should be read on the 21st. It turned out that on that day there would be no meeting. The last meeting was on the 20th. My paper was put down at the end of the list: it was the twelfth. I attended the Section until the meeting closed, but no opportunity was given me to introduce it. There was still another day, so I approached the Secretary and endeavoured to make some arrangement for its being read in the morning. I was curtly told that Section A would not meet again, as all the papers but mine had been disposed of, and he took upon himself to add that the reading of my paper was of little consequence. I deemed it my duty, without delay, to bring the circumstance under the notice of the President of the Association, but my letter did not receive the slightest attention. What could I do?

The letter of the Secretary received in London distinctly informed me that my paper would be considered, and consequently I had travelled to Dublin and waited from day to day until the last meeting, but all to no purpose. I was unknown. I was from the other side of the Atlantic, and in those days there was no High Commissioner to obtain common justice for the Canadian. I had simply experienced one of those acts of official insolence or indifference so mischievous in their influence and so offensive in their character, which I fear, in years gone by, too many from the Outer Empire experienced. I assume that the secretary represented the Committee, and that the Committee had the right to form their own opinion as to the importance of the subjects proposed to be brought before the Association, and reject such as to them seemed unworthy of attention. But they were not justified in saying one thing in London and acting as they did in Dublin. I will take upon myself to remind the officers of the British Association that since that date the subject I proposed to bring before the Dublin meeting has not been considered beneath the notice of many scientific societies on both sides of the Atlantic, that it has been earnestly discussed at International Congresses in Venice and Rome, and it has led to the House of Representatives and the Senate of the United States passing a joint resolution requesting the President to invite the attention of all civilized nations to the question.

It struck me as a singular coincidence that among the first things that I read in the Chicago newspapers was the notice of the important meeting of Railway ManagersJ to take definite action on the subject of regulating time, so unpleasantly disposed of in Dublin by the British Association, and that the Association itself was coming to Canada to learn that the managers of one hundred thousand miles of railway, travelled over by fifty millions of people on this continent, had taken the first important step in the scheme of Cosmopolitan Time Reckoning, which, as an Association, it officially and offensively refused to entertain; and, further, to learn that on the 1st October, after their visit to Canada, an International Conference will be held in Washington, on the invitation of the President of the United States, to take another step in its establishment, and to recommend to the world such further action regarding it as may be deemed expedient.

I venture to say that members of the British Association visiting the Dominion next summer will be received with cordiality and hospitality, and some may recross the ocean with new ideas of the busy world outside of England. Possibly their visit to Canada and the warm reception which, I am sure, they will receive, will engender new feelings; less insular, perhaps, and more kindly, more sympathetic, towards their fellow subjects whose homes are to be found in the territory of the Empire which lies beyond the four seas.

From Chicago I followed the usual route to Ottawa. I paid my respects to His Excellency Lord Lorne and Her Royal Highness, so soon to leave Canada. Lord Lorne was in a few days to proceed to Quebec to meet Lord Lansdowne. I went on my way to Halifax, where I arrived on Saturday, 13th October, exactly seventeen weeks since I left for England, on the 17th of June.