CALIFORNIA TO QUEBEC 189 



tion are responsible. If each city owned its own land, it 

 would be no one's interest to destroy its beauty and healthi- 

 ness with smoke and impure water; and if every parish, dis- 

 trict, or county owned its own land, factories would only be 

 permitted away from centres of population, and would be so 

 regulated as to prevent all injury or even inconvenience to 

 those who worked in them. 



I had been kindly invited by Mr. lies, the manager of the 

 Windsor Hotel, to stay there a day or two as his guest. He 

 was a great admirer of Herbert Spencer, who had visited 

 him when in America, and through him I obtained a fine 

 photograph of our great philosopher, the very best I have 

 seen, both for likeness and expression. The next morning 

 he took me for a drive round the city, and up to the top of 

 Mount Royal, whence there is a magnificent view of the sloping 

 plain below, on which the city stands, with its abundance of 

 churches and of trees, which give it a characteristic aspect. It 

 is curious to see all public notices in French and English even 

 in this comparatively English part of Canada. Mr. lies is a 

 literary man as well as a hotel manager. He lent me an 

 article of his on " Mathematics and Evolution," in which he 

 made use of the theory of permutations and combinations to 

 illustrate Spencer's principle of "multiplication of effects," 

 applied especially to sociology — an ingenious and well-written 

 paper. He is also a student of Emerson and Darwin, and he 

 entertained Butler, the author of "Erewhon," a few years 

 before, and gave me a copy of the inimitably humorous 

 rhapsody on Montreal, which I have quoted in chapter xxviii. 



In the evening at 9.30 I went on board the steamer 

 Vancouver for Liverpool, and we reached Quebec at 3.30 the 

 next afternoon. As the ship stayed here the night to coal, I 

 determined to sl©ep on shore and see this celebrated city. 

 Taking my bag in my hand, I walked to the town. On my 

 way I saw a gardener at work — an Irishman — and inquired 

 for a quiet place for a night's lodging. He directed me to a 

 small private hotel — the other hotels, he said, were too noisy 

 and too dear. Securing a room and leaving my bag, I walked 

 to Dyffryn Terrace, where is the monument to Wolfe and 



