LETTER I. 9 



Montreal, they say, is an island, but I did not 

 notice this as we drew in to harbour. A mass 

 of spires and lofty buildings seemed to rise from 

 the water, while behind them lay the low hill 

 which bears the proud title of Mount Royal. 



It is a pretty town from the water ; most 

 towns so seen are ; but when you land at the 

 wharf it is just as if you had travelled only from 

 one dock at Liverpool to another. The same 

 smell of tar and ropes ; the same nautical shouting 

 and confusion ; the same blending of Yankee and 

 Britisher, only here there is a third element, 

 more noisy than either the French. 



You notice, dear, I have gone by the grim old 

 citadel of Quebec without a word. I did so on 

 purpose. One of our many invitations from 

 Canadian friends on board is one to stay at 

 Quebec on our way home and see the town and 

 town life in winter. This we mean to do, so that 

 you will hear all about Quebec in due season. 



Of course all Canada should be seen in winter 

 at least the towns, and especially Montreal, 

 when its glorious ice-palace gleams outside with 

 frosty diamonds, and inside glows with human 

 life and colour ; when sleigh-bells make music in 

 the air, and you feel you are in the very home of 

 dear old Father Christmas, in the land of free 

 frolic and winter revelry. 



