LETTER III. 45 



iron drags it from in front, a beast of yet larger 

 size propels it from behind. Like the Cyclops, 

 each beast has one vast red eye in his forehead ; 

 his hot breath reddens the surrounding gloom ; 

 the throbs of his great heart break the stillness 

 as he labours with his mighty load ; the Sisyphus 

 of the Canadian Pacific is enduring his ever-re- 

 curring toil ; frightening the red deer in his 

 couch, and leaving behind him no trace but one 

 long plume of smoke trailing down the night 

 wind. 



Ah, I think I had better stop. If I go on 

 thinking of that journey I shall begin to write 

 poetry, or commit some other atrocity against 

 which you will very rightly rebel. 



Au revoir. 

 Thine, 

 J. P. W. 



