556 Our North Land. 



and indolent habitants ; but there are no evidences of agricultural 

 prosperity. 



Thus for a whole day our new comer journeys through a land of 

 scarcity, and as the setting sun forces him to turn his eyes from the 

 hopeless scene, he falls back, with a sigh, and asks himself, " Can 

 this be Canada ? " The morning of the second day finds him far 

 beyond the Capital of the Dominion, approaching another stretch of 

 sterile country, through which he must journey for a thousand miles. 

 He looks out upon the scene because he can do nothing else. Hope 

 is now sinking into despair. In the distance are great forest ridges, 

 but the country is uninhabited, and gloomy and rough, and stony, 

 and there is no inspiration to be derived from it. There are noble 

 rivers crossed or traversed for moments, and now and then the 

 broad blue waters of the lake breaks upon the view ; but these scenes 

 are rendered desolate by the half-barren rocks which everywhere 

 constitute the surface of the country. 



In the midst of his disappointment he may turn to a companion 

 and vent the feelings which the cold barren scenery has inspired ; 

 and it may be he is told that the " land of plenty " lies six hundred 

 miles further ahead. His reply would probably be, " By the time I 

 reach it, I will require only enough of it for my bones." Thus the 

 days and nights are worried out, and the immigrant is worn out, 

 until without heart or hope or disposition except to die, he reaches 

 Winnipeg, and is told that he is on the border of the most wonder- 

 ful country under the sun. His courage may revive, but he will 

 never forget the voyage nor forgive the journey, and when he writes 

 back to his friends in Ireland, or Scotland, or England, or Germany, 

 he may tell them of the great fertility of the soil of the North- West, 

 and the boundlessness of the prairie country, but if he ventures to 

 recommend them to follow his example he will warn them to pre- 

 pare to endure the torments of an evil world during the journey. 



But let us follow the immigrant from Liverpool, or Queenstown, 

 to the great North- West via the Hudson's Bay route. He has all 

 the worry and toil and discouragement of embarkation attending 

 the other route. He is carried out upon the billows of the same 

 Atlantic, and is tossed and driven, and rolled and pitched about upon 



