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Title: The Letters of a Remittance Man to his Mother
Author: Jarvis, William Henry Pope (1876-1944)
Illustrator: Wickson, Alfred Morton (1882-1947)
Date of first publication: 1908
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: John Murray, 1908 (first edition)
Date first posted: 12 April 2010
Date last updated: 12 April 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #518

This ebook was produced by:
Iona Vaughan, Barbara Watson, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




                    THE LETTERS OF A REMITTANCE MAN
                             TO HIS MOTHER

       [Illustration: 'I NEVAH DRINK WITH STRANGAHS' See page 29]




                            THE LETTERS OF A
                             REMITTANCE MAN
                             TO HIS MOTHER

                           BY W. H. P. JARVIS

                            WITH FRONTISPIECE

                                 LONDON
                   JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
                                  1908




                                   TO
                         GEORGE EDWARD DRUMMOND

                     A LOYAL SON OF THE MOTHERLAND
         WHO HAS WON FRIENDS, HAPPINESS, AND SUCCESS IN CANADA
                               THIS BOOK
                       IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED




                                  THE
                        LETTERS OF A REMITTANCE
                           MAN TO HIS MOTHER




                                   I

   An Ultimatum  An Extraordinary Creature  A New Acquaintance 
                Looking Swagger  Business Postponed 


                                                   WINNIPEG,
                                                  _August 18, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

This is a beastly, horrid place, this Winnipeg. You will be astounded
when you shall have read my experiences since arriving here
yesterday--the uncouthness of it all. As you will readily conceive, I
took full precautions that I might put up at the best hotel, always
having in mind the need to maintain appearances, while it is well to
save one's feelings from being jarred by coming in contact with people
who lack a full appreciation of what is due to a gentleman. My
inquiries led me to drive directly to the Cecil Hotel upon my arrival,
having gathered that it was the best; besides, 'Cecil' has an English
ring about it. I secured a room, gave the clerk of the office an order
for my lunch, and then expressed my desire to have a bath.

'No time for a bath,' said the fellow: 'lunch is off at two.'

Having heard much about the peculiarities of these people, I mastered my
indignation and reasoned with the man. I said: 'But, my dear fellow,
surely you can prolong the luncheon a few minutes whilst I have a wash?
What! Eat luncheon coming off the train without first taking a bath.
Couldn't think of it! Why, no gentleman would dream of doing such a
thing. I insist upon it--I must be allowed time to wash.'

'No lunch served after two p.m.,' was his calm reply.

This made me angry, and I gave my ultimatum: 'Look here, my good fellow,
if you do not prolong the luncheon-hour till I shall have washed as a
gentleman should, I shall leave your hotel, sir--I shall leave your
hotel.' After asserting myself so strongly, I fully expected an ample
apology and compliance with my desires. Picture my surprise when the
fellow coolly leaned over the counter and touched the bell, ordered the
boy who appeared in answer to look after my luggage, and resumed his
conversation with some person whom he was entertaining. I was never so
astounded in all my life. Here was I, an Englishman, a son of a
gentleman in a country belonging to England, with money to pay for what
I needed, practically turned out of an hotel--for what? Simply because I
would not permit myself to become a beast. Had anyone told me such a
thing was possible I would not have believed it. I do not know what most
gentlemen would consider the proper course under such conditions, but I
exclaimed--_sotto voce_--'Extraordinary creature!' and marched out of
the place with becoming dignity.

On regaining the street, I called a cab and explained my position to the
driver, and soon had the satisfaction of sitting down to a nice chop
after a refreshing bath. Here another peculiar phase of the possible
obtaining in this land of incongruities came within my experience.

I had been watching for some time the bearing and general deportment of
the fellow who was waiting upon me, and noted that his physiognomy was
that of an educated man, when an incident happened which drew us into
conversation. As soon as he opened his mouth I knew that he was a man of
breeding, and there being no one about at the time, I ventured to ask
him a number of questions. From his replies I gathered that he was a
Carthusian, who had lost his patrimony in sheep-farming in Australia,
and had drifted to this country. His telling me his name was Jenkins, a
West England name, led me to ask if he was of the Jenkins of Wilks (you
must know the Jenkins of Wilks, one of the most distinguished families
of that county), and I received a reply in the affirmative. I had a few
more words with him at lunch to-day, when he showed great knowledge of
the country and its extraordinary inhabitants. The upshot of it all is
that I have made an appointment for this evening, at my rooms, with the
idea of gaining what knowledge I can from his experience.

I did not do much yesterday afternoon and evening, except unpack my
luggage and loiter round until it was time to retire, as I was very
tired.

This morning, however, I felt very fit, and, deciding to see what I
could of the town (these people call it 'city,' if you please), I
dressed myself in my riding-breeches and shooting-jacket, and went for a
walk through the business section. I dressed myself in this fashion, as
I contemplated calling upon some of the land dealers with a view of
ascertaining particulars as to the price of agricultural land, horses,
etc., and I thought that if I dressed as I did, those whom I came in
contact with would see that I knew country life in England, and could
judge of a horse, etc., and that I was not likely to prove a fool in
such matters; besides, I flatter myself I look rather swagger. You know
you always did say, dear Mother, that I had a good figure. I did not
make any calls before lunch-time, as I had much to attract my
attention, and this engagement coming about, I postponed it until I
should have had a talk with Jenkins.

This town with its ways is so funny, and the people all talk with a
horrid American accent. Their trams they call 'street cars,' their shops
are 'stores', and so on, _ad lib_.

Now, my dear Mother, I must close. My next letter, I trust, will be more
interesting, but I can hardly as yet collect my wits. With lots of love
to the Pater and the rest,

                                      Believe me,
                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   II

    Jenkins Invaluable  He Makes a Loan  Characteristic Humour 
                  An Accounting  Jenkins Overjoyed 


                                                  WINNIPEG,
                                                 _September 2, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I can quite understand the Canadian Government putting a tax on farming
machinery, but I do think they might allow one's marmalade to come in
duty free. Having purchased a farm in a locality somewhat remote from
any of the larger towns, though in a very good game country, there being
ample prairie chickens and ducks in the vicinity to give one a pleasant
hour or so of sport to break the monotony of a day of toil, I set about
laying in a store of food. As you can easily believe, marmalade and jam
entered largely into my commissariat, and it was when making such
necessary purchases I became aware of the unreasonableness in the tariff
of which I complain.

I have found Jenkins an invaluable acquisition; in fact, I should be
lost without him--he knows everybody, he knows everything. As I told you
in my last letter, it was my intention to improve my acquaintance with
this man, brought about by such extraordinary circumstances, thinking he
might be of use to me, and my hopes have been more than realized. Not
only did he tell me where I could buy a farm in close proximity to good
shooting and fishing, at no very great figure, but he has also told me
where I could buy a hunter for the small price of $500--only 100! An
extraordinarily low price for a good animal in this land of high prices,
is it not? I have always so built my hopes on having a hunter, should I
ever become a colonist, and now to think they may be realized.
Possessing a hunter of one's own will make it possible for one to fancy
himself a squire at home, and so utterly apart from these commonplace
Canadians. The best of it all is that Jenkins is to come on to the farm
with me (The Oaks I call it, in honour of The Oaks, the name of the dear
old place at home), and also a pal of his, Buckingham.

Buckingham I met the first evening I went out with Jenkins; in fact,
Jenkins has a host of friends, all, however, like himself, stony-broke.
Buckingham, however, is his closest chum, and I have become so attached
to these two that I have entered into an agreement with them, whereby
they are to come out and work for me on the farm, I, in the meantime,
becoming their banker to the extent of a few hundred dollars, they
agreeing to pay it back in labour. I think this is a very wise
agreement, because it is so much nicer associating with those one is
conscious are one's own social equals, than to have to put up with the
uncouthness of these 'horrid' Canadians. I shall always think of
Canadians as being 'horrid'--it expresses one's feelings so nicely.

In my last I promised something by way of a description of this place
and its people.

Winnipeg was originally a Hudson's Bay Company post, which was called
Fort Garry. It took its present name some time in the year 1874, and
since then has grown wonderfully. The streets are broad, as are the
pavements ('sidewalks' they call them), but the buildings are much
scattered. I believe the real reason for this is that real estate
interests have caused the town to spread, though I did ask one man as to
the reason of the disintegrated appearance the town presented, and he
told me that the original settlement had been made by a cyclone (such as
I believe they frequently have in the Western States) coming over the
border, picking up a neighbouring town, and transporting it through the
air, till it finally dropped it at the present site. Of course, this is
an attempt at humour, such as is characteristic of these people. I fail
to see the humour--but they say here that an Englishman has no sense of
humour--though I must admit the story conveys a very good picture of
what the place is really like.

There is an odious familiarity in the manners of all whom I meet, and
whenever I ask a question, a smile of amused tolerance appears upon the
faces of those whom I question, which is so annoying. In fact, one is
not treated as respectfully as he would be were he one of themselves,
not to mention an English gentleman.

Why, do you know, I once asked a bar-tender (they do not employ barmaids
in this country, and call the men 'bar-tenders') to put some soda in my
whisky, and he said: 'All right, old chappie.' Did you ever hear of such
impertinence? Jenkins says this was in keeping with the manners
generally obtaining among these people. And only to think, we must
recognize them as British!

Now that I am about to leave for The Oaks and say good-bye to the haunts
of man, I think it would be right if I were to give an account of the
1,000--or, to put it in this wretched money, the $5,000--the Governor
had put to my credit in the bank here.

The account is as follows:

200 acres of land                                 $3,000.00

  1. Hunter (Nero)                                   500.00
  2. Guns and ammunition                             400.00
  3. Rifles                                          300.00
  4. Marmalade, jam, biscuits, potted meats, etc.    200.00
  5. Amount advanced Jenkins and B.                  200.00
                                                   --------
                                                  $4,600.00

You notice that this would leave me $400.00 if I had not spent some
$200.00 in personal expenses since arriving here. I have, therefore,
$200.00 with which to begin farming, an amount which I consider ample,
as I am informed that oxen will do instead of horses for farm-work, and
are cheaper to purchase and cost less to keep. We are to buy our farming
equipment at the nearest town as we require it, and I believe oxen are
easily obtainable in all towns. I may say the farm I have purchased is
described as having house and stable and of good soil. I bought it on
the recommendation of Jenkins, who personally knew the agent who had it
on sale. Jenkins was so overjoyed at my having obtained this great
bargain that he got in a wretched state of intoxication immediately upon
my purchase. This is a failing of his, of which I trust I may be able to
cure him.

I must close now, with heaps of love to all,

                                       I remain,
                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  III

  A Setting Out  Obstreperous Oxen  A Retreat  New Ways and Means 
     No Damage Done  Game in Plenty  Local Economy  Fair Play 


                                                     THE OAKS,
                                                 WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                _September 15, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I am thoroughly convinced that oxen are the most detestable creatures on
earth. As I intimated before, I decided to purchase oxen in lieu of
working horses as a method of offsetting my extravagance in purchasing a
hunter.

When I landed at Winton, the nearest town to the railway to The Oaks, I
put my intention into acts, and purchased Moody and Sankey, two sleek,
well-fed, guileless-appearing bovines, four years old. I immediately
took quite a fancy to the animals, the more so as all with whom I spoke
assured me that oxen were preferable to horses for a beginner, because
they require less attention, and are less particular about what they eat
than are horses. I am still persuaded that this argument is sound when
it applies to oxen which are trained, or broken, as the expression is
here. To make a long story short, I had these wretched oxen which I had
bought, brought round to the hotel where we were staying the morning we
were to leave town. (It is the custom in this country to call the
veriest settlement a 'town,' and I find myself doing even as the
Romans.) The loafers from the hotels gathered on the street to see us
set out, all with idiotic grins upon their faces. To Jenkins, from the
fact of saying he had driven oxen in the colonies, I gave the team in
charge, and he untied them from the post, and, with our belongings
safely packed in the waggon, the guns and rifles easily attainable
should we meet any wild animals, we moved ahead. I mounted Nero and took
the lead, and with my eyes roaming over the boundless prairies, I began
dreaming of the Indians and bison which once possessed these plains,
when I was brought down to the present by hearing Jenkins exclaim: 'Get
up, you horrid Canadian ox, or I shall hit you.' I turned Nero's head,
and saw that the team had come to a stop, and that Jenkins was hitting
Moody with the whip. The crowd, or some of them, were walking towards
the waggon when I rode Nero back. Moody first put his head in the air,
then down to the ground, and then started to back, while Sankey decided
to go ahead, and got his leg over the trace. Buckingham caught Moody by
the horns and gave him a pull. 'Better build a fire under him,' shouted
one of the crowd. 'Get into the scrimmage,' called a man to me. (This
fellow, I believe, is an Englishman, who has been 'civilized,' or imbued
with the customs and language of the country.) 'Twist his tail,' came
from another, and on this advice Jenkins acted. I was now off my horse
and beside Jenkins, to see if I could do anything. I picked up a stick
and hit the obstreperous Moody over the flank, when he immediately
sprang forward, and Sankey with him, and away they went down the road,
dragging Jenkins by the reins, who, as they turned off the road to the
right shouted: 'Gee! gee!--no, I beg your pardon: haw!--you ugly
brutes.' But they tore off across the prairie, and the crowd roared with
laughter as our goods were scattered along the route, while we did our
best to keep up. Across the path lay a wire fence, and they went into
this at full speed, breaking through; but a wheel catching in a post,
their mad career was stopped, and Moody was thrown on his back, kicking
wildly. When we arrived, I could not help laughing at the sight, and
Jenkins remarked: 'Look at the beastly antics the blooming animal is
kicking up.'[1]

[Footnote 1: The custom in Western Canada is to harness oxen in the same
manner as horses.]

The men came out from town and immediately suggested that we untangle
the oxen, which they finally did for us, and we found that the animals
were not injured further than being badly cut by the barbed wire. We all
went back to town, and collected our goods and chattels on the way, and
two days later left again for this place.

While in town I visited several of the shops again, and in one of them
I saw some appliances made of two straps connected together by a chain,
which I learned were hobbles, used for fastening the feet of horses
together that they might not run away. I asked the shopkeeper if they
could be applied to oxen, and was assured they could. As I had been
warned about a steep bit of a hill which lay on the way to this place,
and that I should not let the oxen run down it, I conceived that if I
should hobble them at the top of the hill there should be no danger of
them going too fast.

When we again set out and when we came to the hill about which I had
been forewarned, I stopped Moody and Sankey on the brow and put the
hobbles on them. They were at first very reluctant to move, and it was
only after considerable urging that I induced them to budge. Finally I
got them going by the liberal use of the whip, and away they started. I
immediately saw that I had made a mistake in hobbling them, as it made
them break into a kind of a canter which they could not maintain, and
the first thing I knew was that they had fallen down and the waggon was
pushed down on top of them. Fortunately, just then a man accustomed to
oxen came along, and very kindly helped us to extricate poor Moody and
Sankey, and I was delighted to find that neither was injured.

Our new friend saw us safely off for this place, at which we safely
arrived at last.

From a conversation I had with a very nice chap, whom I met in town
during my stay there, I gather that my oxen have had but very little
training, and that the names 'Moody' and 'Sankey' had been given them as
satire on account of the reputation oxen have of inspiring profanity.
This may convey a good idea of our experiences with these horrid
creatures. Jenkins assures me he has never known any such, and his
experience had not embraced Canadian oxen. As he expressed it: 'My dear
Brown, I have never had to do with horrid Canadian oxen. The oxen I have
had to drive are those the poets sing about, the gentle, mild-eyed
creatures one heard of in one's nursery days.'

We are now fairly well settled at The Oaks, and though the house is
nothing more than a 'shack' (the Western name for a small shanty built
of rough boards), we are quite happy.

The game in the vicinity, though small, is abundant, there being no end
of prairie chicken (a species of grouse), while the ducks in the autumn
are very abundant; and I have a large lake, or slough, upon my farm, in
which, I am told, they congregate in the autumn.

The prairie, as you know, is a vast level plain almost totally devoid of
trees. It is covered with grass and wild-flowers, many of which latter
are pretty, but have no perfume.

The sunsets here are really glorious, and now that the harvesting season
is here the sky is lit up at night by countless fires caused by the
farmers burning their straw. Some of my neighbours whom I have seen tell
me that I should plough my land this fall (autumn), so as to be ready
for 'seeding' in the spring; but others, again, say I can plough it in
the spring and then plant my corn.

As I am having a man train Moody and Sankey, and as I lack the
implements necessary, I have decided to forego these operations until
the spring. As I find myself short of money, and as I feel I shall need
some for my expenses this winter, and it will be necessary to purchase
machinery in the spring, I think I must call upon you for a hundred
pounds or so, to see me through. Please see the Governor on this point.
When you have explained matters to him, I have no doubt he will send the
needful.

Many of the settlers here 'swap' work and machinery -- that is, one man
works so many days with his neighbours, and then his neighbour works so
many days with him, and a like trade is made with their machinery. In
this way they manage very nicely; but of course, being an Englishman, I
cannot become so intimate with my neighbours, but must have a complete
set for myself.

By way of getting in training, we three are now digging a well, or
rather deepening one which has gone dry. It is already quite deep. One
of us works in it for ten minutes at a time, and then the other hoists
him out by the windlass. By this method we have deepened it as much as a
foot in a day. A visitor one day told me that we were using most of the
time 'hauling' each other out of the hole; but I believe in fair play,
and turn about is fair play.

With kind wishes and hoping you will use your good offices with the
Governor, I remain,

                                        Ever your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   IV

       An Invitation  A Peculiar Beast  Advice Impotent 
  Dignity Sustained  Education  The Law of Custom  Burlesque 


                                                      THE OAKS,
                                                   WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                  _October 20, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I have your letter enclosing 20, for which I thank you. I can not quite
understand the Governor's idea of not sending me any more money with
which to buy machinery until the spring; but perhaps it is because he
may consider I would be unable to use it as it should be used, or he has
been reading some of the absurd accounts that I hear are being published
at home about the remittance man here. How absurd all this talk! Why
should not a man get a remittance if he has anyone who takes a pleasure
in giving it to him (as I know you have pleasure, dear Mother, in giving
me this 20 out of your pin-money)? And it was so very, very opportune.
The very day it arrived, Carlisle, a wealthy chap who has a large
establishment about twenty miles from here, called on me, and asked me
to attend a meet which was to take place at his farm within a few days.

The quarry was to be coyotes, a species of jackal. I was only too
delighted to accept, and it was attending this meet that delayed my
acknowledging your kindness, which you will believe I value the more
when I say that were it not for your money I would have been unable to
accept Carlisle's invitation, for one must have money upon such
occasions. Though the local shopkeepers readily give me any supplies I
desire, I would have been at a loss to know where to seek ready cash on
such short notice.

And now I must tell you of the meet. We were booked to be at Carlisle's
on the evening before, and by six o'clock a host of fellows had arrived,
all ravenously hungry after riding through the invigorating atmosphere
of an autumnal afternoon. Carlisle is a bachelor, and his whole
establishment is looked after by men, and so our dinner was rather of a
rough-and-ready character. It was good, however, and of a substantial
nature, such as an active life on the plains demands. Added to this,
there was an abundance of wine, so it may be said that we 'dined.'

On the following morning we gathered in the yard and looked over the
horses. Among the many was a piebald animal, such as I have often seen
in pictures, but never before in the flesh. I asked one of Carlisle's
fellows concerning the animal, and he said it was of Mexican stock, a
pinto. 'He's mean,' said the fellow. Carlisle and his friends kept
looking over the animals, and finally their attention was attracted by
the pinto. When this occurred I drew among the group, as I desired to
know more about this animal. 'He's a peculiar-looking beast.'

'Yes,' answered he. 'He's peculiar in his looks, and his ways and means
are more so. He's as mean a brute as I ever met.'

'What am I to understand by "mean"?'

'Mean--ugly, bad-tempered, vicious. It's a Western phrase.'

'Do you mean to say he will bolt with one?'

'Not bolt; he'll throw you off.'

The horse was small, with sleepy, languid eyes, and stood with drooping
head and reins thrown on the ground before him, in the manner in which
these horses are trained to stand. He looked anything but vicious, and
as I considered myself a pretty good horseman in England, I did not
relish being chaffed, as I thought, by Carlisle. As I said before, we
had 'dined' the night before, and I thought the wine still affected
Carlisle enough to make him forget what was due to a guest.

'But, my dear chap, you don't mean to say that this horse can throw a
man taught to ride by a riding master in England? It's ridiculous! I'll
ride him.'

'No, you'd better not--he'll throw you,' said Carlisle.

The assurance of Carlisle's tone irritated me, while I noticed others
were watching me with an expectant grin, and some who were slightly
intoxicated were making remarks which made it impossible for me not to
insist upon riding the animal.

It appeared very much as if they were trying to 'bluff' me. I was
satisfied the animal was perfectly harmless, and that sport was being
made of me. Just then Bronco Jack, the fellow I had first spoken to
regarding the animal, sidled up to me and whispered: 'Better steer clear
of him, stranger: he bucks.' I did not know what 'bucks' signified, nor
did I care. I walked up to the animal, caught the reins in my hands, and
although he was saddled with one of the uncouth saddles commonly used in
this country, and which I was unaccustomed to, I put my foot in the
stirrup and threw myself on the seat. The horse remained perfectly
quiet. I got well seated, tightened the reins, and gave the animal my
heels.

Just what happened next I do not know. I felt the horse go several times
into the air, and at each descent my head jolted horribly, my jaws came
together, and an awful shock ran up my spinal column.

The next thing, Carlisle was lifting me to my feet and brushing the
dust from my clothes, while the horrid horse stood with the same vacant,
innocent expression in his eyes, though vaguely watching me, and the
crowd was convulsed with laughter. I never felt so humiliated in my
life.

'All right, old chap,' said Carlisle; 'this will be part of your
education.'

He and the others went on to explain how the wild horses of the plains
were given to these tricks, and finally, for my edification, and the
entertainment of his guests in general, he asked Bronco Jack to show
what bronco-busting really was. Bronco Jack immediately mounted the
horse, who, however, seemed to know with whom he had to deal, and
refused to 'buck.' The rider gave him his head and dug his heels into
his ribs. The sleepy, apparently broken-down horse became a veritable
demon. His head went between his fore-legs, he rounded his back into a
bow, and again and again he sprang into the air, to land with his four
feet close together. The jar on the rider must have been tremendous.
Then he tried jumping sideways, and twisting while in the air--all to
no purpose. The man sat tight, and finally the horse gave up the game.
The same vacant stare came into his eyes, and the wild nature, erstwhile
rebellious, was again dormant.

Carlisle's meet was a happy one, and we spent two or three very happy
days. Before we left for our homes, the whole party rode in to town.
With Carlisle I walked into one of the bars to have a whisky. A roughly
dressed fellow was drinking, and the moment we entered, hailed Carlisle.
'Hulloa, Carlisle! Come and have a drink. Bring your friend. How the
h---- are you?'

'Oh, very well. Just been ridding the country of a few coyotes.'

He drew up and shook hands with his rough-looking friend. I did not like
the man's looks, so held back. 'Come on,' said Carlisle, 'and have a
drink.'

'I never drink with strangers,' I replied.

Carlisle then had a drink with the fellow and joined me.

The bar-room was now filled by the other fellows coming in, and Carlisle
issued a general invitation, but his new-found friend held back.

'Better join us,' said Carlisle; but the fellow put his hand in his
pocket and drew out a large silver coin, put it in his eye like a
monocle, and said in a most affected tone: 'I nevah drink with
strangahs.'

The whole crowd roared with laughter, including the bar-tender, while I
blushed crimson. It would have only made things worse to get angry, so I
said nothing. In fact, I am learning that the less one says in this
country the better.

The man who was the means of my discomfiture, I learn, is quite a good
sort. Has been to Oxford, and is one of the successful Englishmen in
this country. His reputation is that he is a hard drinker, can ride any
horse that runs, and owns more head of cattle than any other rancher in
the cattle districts further West. He was in town on a visit only.

This is assuredly a wonderful country.

                                              Affectionately yours,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   V

      Christmas on the Prairie  Moody Dies  A Test of Strength 
             A Mental Picture  The Soul's Unburdening 


                                                       THE OAKS,
                                                   WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                  _January 10, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

The winter is now on the prairie. The Christmas holidays are over, and
we have settled down in our 'shack,' determined to make the best of our
environments until spring.

The hamper you sent out from home did noble service, and I can assure
you we all appreciated it.

Christmas Day with us was fine and cold. The great unbroken surface of
the prairie seemed weird and desolate, and highly calculated to fill one
with moodiness and homesickness. Looking through the window, one's eye
would seek the horizon, and thoughts would come of all at home and what
you were doing there. This prairie fairly enchants one, and in its
dreamy whiteness there is the look of death; but again it has its power
over one, so I'll seek diversion telling you of our Christmas.

We did not rise until eleven, or rather at that time Jenkins rose and
cooked our breakfast. By twelve we all sat down, and, after our meal, we
opened your hamper. It was quite exciting. I, of course, undid the
fastenings, while Jenkins and Buckingham stood near and speculated on
what it would contain, making jokes, etc. We all knew it would be
generous, but the half-dozen of Burgundy was more than we expected,
while the three bottles of Scotch whisky were just what we wanted to
entertain any of our friends who might call.

In this country one's taste naturally runs to the more ardent spirits,
and increases with residence. A man seldom drinks wine in the West.
Jenkins immediately sampled the whisky, and pronounced it good, and took
charge of the bottles. We all drank your health, and the healths of all
our friends. After that we went to the stable to visit Nero and Moody
and Sankey.

I should mention here that the villainous Moody has died since, and
fearing a like fate would overtake Nero, I have sold him for 10,
keeping Sankey to work the farm in the spring. A neighbouring farmer
told me I had starved the poor beast to death, but I cannot believe
this, for while we never rose very early in the morning, we used to give
all the animals quantities of hay every evening, and they certainly had
enough to eat. I must admit that during several very cold days we
neglected to water them, but surely the lack of water for one day would
not kill a big strong ox.

After giving the animals all they could eat of hay and oats, we went
back to the house and drank a few more toasts, after which we read for a
bit, and then I began to get dinner. Fancy your humble servants cooking
a Christmas dinner! Our utensils are at present limited, so I was forced
to make the soup in a frying-pan. You just boil a tin of oysters in a
little water, and throw in some butter, pepper and salt. After dinner
some of the neighbouring fellows from home came round, and the Scotch
was again produced. Some of our friends were our guests till morning.

From Christmas until now existence has been a dreary monotony, with
nothing much to do except smoke, sleep, and eat. By way of amusing
myself not long ago, I wrote some verses, which, while not altogether
poetry, I forwarded to a Winnipeg paper for publication--more to see if
the editor would have the hardihood to publish them than for any other
motive. He mutilated them, put them in a dialect, as he termed it, and
prefaced them with the following:

'The verses following are evidently the outpourings of the soul of some
Englishman who has not yet been assimilated. We have ventured to add the
effect of dialect, thinking that with this flavouring they will appeal
more strongly to our readers.'

Here are the first two stanzas:

                A PROTEST

        This is a 'blawsted' country;
        It's awful, don't you know--
        So very hot 'tis scorching,
        When not o'erlain with snow.
        Colonials are such 'boundahs,
        One's nerves they irritate.
        They should be taught their places,
        Our ways to imitate.

        Their names for things are fiendish:
        They call our cotton 'thread,'
        And 'wheat' they keep on naming
        The corn to make one's bread.
        Disdaining our enlightment,
        They say, 'What's in a name?'
        And 'Custom makes the language,'
        Whilst we should rule the same.

I do not exactly know the idea of the 'dialect,' but I can fancy the
editor doctoring up my poor tribute to the muse and smiling, as these
people do when talking to an Englishman. It's this long-suffering,
patronizing smile that irritates one most in this country. It conveys
such an air of fancied superiority on their part, and is particularly
out of place when one considers the light in which we hold them; but the
worst of it is, that our opinion of them does not seem to trouble them a
bit. Of course, I never show my irritation to them as I express it to
you, but you can understand one's feelings.

The long-drawn wail of the coyotes coming across the prairies is
putting me out of humour for writing, so I will close. Again thanking
you, and hoping to hear from you soon,

                                        I remain,
                                              Yours affectionately,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   VI

      Hope Renewed  Right and Wrong  The Verdict of the Soil 
                             Realization 


                                                  WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                 _September 2, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

The farmer's life is not for me: of this I am thoroughly convinced. I
have sold The Oaks, and put all the proceeds over and above my
indebtedness, some 100, into the purchase of some land in the
neighbourhood of the new finds of petroleum made recently in this
country, and I am sure that I shall do well in my investment. I did not
decide upon this course without giving the matter due deliberation, and
I have the assurance of both Jenkins and the agent handling the property
that immense fortunes have been made in other countries by those who
bought early--'got in on the ground-floor,' as they express it here--in
the oil-fields, and I see no good reason why oil should not exist in
this country as well as in any other.

From the accounts I see in the papers, there is certain to be a
duplicate of the Pennsylvania or the Balkan fields here in Western
Canada, and I have decided to gain a portion of the money to be made by
shrewd investment.

My essay at farming has not been successful. The 100 the Governor sent
me to buy machinery with was nearly all absorbed to pay my debts
contracted during the winter, and nothing was left to buy the necessary
implements, so I engaged a neighbour to plough some ten acres for me. I
found one ox insufficient for the work, and sowed the corn by hand, the
old-fashioned way.

The chap who ploughed the land for me told me I should do it by
machinery, but I reasoned that the way they did it in the olden days (I
remembered well the pictures of the husbandman sowing corn in my
school-books) should be good enough for a beginner. I find that by
machinery the seed is sunk three or four inches into the ground in
drills and covered to this depth. Although I harrowed the land so
thoroughly that there was not a seed left in sight, the seeds were soon
exposed and eaten by the gophers (a small animal like a ground-squirrel)
and the birds, for the weather subsequent to my planting was hot and
dry, and the high winds which prevail on the prairies swept away the
loose soil.

This would probably not have happened to such an extent had I ploughed
my land last autumn, as the time lost by ploughing this spring permitted
the escape of the moisture resulting from the melting of the winter
snows, which is depended upon for the germination of the seed when the
spring is dry. I am further informed that by deeper planting of the seed
by machinery greater moisture is gained, as there is a clay subsoil
impervious to water, which retains that resulting from the melting snow,
and, in a general way, the deeper the seed is planted, the more benefit
it will receive from this moisture.

All this is what one must learn by experience, and I am now strongly of
the opinion that a young fellow coming out to this country, a stranger,
to take up farming should engage himself to work with one who has made a
success of the business, and thus acquire the necessary experience.
That's why I say farming is not for me, for I could never bring myself,
unless prompted by dire necessity, to enter the employ of one of those
uncouth creatures one finds the most successful in this country. When I
came to realize that I should have practically no returns from my land
in the fall I visited the chap who ploughed the land for me. He was
working in his garden, and a very nice garden it was. When I told him of
my trouble, without looking up from his work, he replied: 'Yes, you
fellows come out here thinking that you know it all. You won't do as you
see others doing, and then you curse the country and all that is in it.'

This demonstrating the humour the boor was in, I did not prolong my
call, but spared his churlish temper the questions I had intended to ask
him, and returned home determined to sell out, and have done with it.

When I offered my land for sale, I found that the lake on my farm, of
which I was so proud, was everywhere considered a detriment, which goes
to show that these people have no soul for sport, nor yet for the
picturesque; hence the small price I was able to realize for my
property.

I should be very distressed over all this did I not feel assured that I
shall do well with my petroleum lands. Trusting that you will approve of
my action, and knowing that I have your best wishes for my good fortune,

                                       I remain,
                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  VII

            Charity  Farm Life  A Mistake  A Suggestion 


                                                 RANKIN'S FARM,
                                                 WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                _September 15, 1---._

DEAR MOTHER,

Jenkins is a scoundrel and I am an ass. Had anyone told me before I
learnt to know this man that an English gentleman could be so thoroughly
unprincipled as Jenkins has been in his treatment of me, I should not
have believed it. I am now convinced that he persuaded me to pay twice
the market value of my farm, to the end that he might share in the
profits of the agent selling; and that he refrained from telling me the
better course in the cultivation of the same, as its proper working
would entail efforts on us all; and that, finally, still unsatisfied, he
betrayed me still further into the purchase, from a rascally agent, of
land such as any man may have for the asking in this country. It fairly
staggers one's trust in humanity. Here I am without a sou, robbed and
deserted by him I trusted as a friend.

Nor do I gain a word of sympathy. Rankin, the man for whom I am now
working, and to whom I told my troubles, on hearing the tale, spoke as
others, too, have spoken: 'You fellows, when you come here first, at
once seek out an Englishman with whom to deal. You will not trust
Canadians. It may be natural, but it's unwise, and the result is you
fall a prey to the first remittance man who catches hold of you. I've
heard your story a hundred times.'

I asked him if he could give me employment, to which he replied that he
did not suppose I was much good. 'But I guess you have to eat, and the
harvest will soon be on. I'll see if you are any good.'

It was hard not to resent this patronizing speech, notwithstanding its
spice of kindness. However, it was Hobson's choice, so here I am, one
of the 'hired men,' though in all other respects one of the family.
There is no social distinction between the employer and the employee on
the prairie farm. We all work equally hard, and all dine together and
submit to each other's pleasantries. Half-past four each morning we are
aroused, and a considerable part of the routine is gone through before
breakfast, at half-past six. The work agrees with me. I am thoroughly
tired out each evening, and when not quite exhausted, feel wonderfully
fit and well.

I have had great attention attracted to myself recently, through my
being the victim of an accident which afforded a great deal of amusement
to all save myself. I may say that my distress was caused by my not
understanding the meaning of the word 'corn' as used in Canada. Corn is
the name these people give to maize.

In my thirst for knowledge last winter I asked whence the fur which the
great-coats almost universally worn in that season are made, and was
informed that it was 'coonskin,' or racoon, to speak correctly--an
animal which lives in the vicinity of 'corn'-fields.

Three or four of us were working on some 'scrub' land--that is, land on
which there were small bushes or scrub--when I saw a number of small
animals which I thought were coons. They were moving along slowly, and
paid no attention to me. I shouted out: 'Look at the coons! What pretty
little creatures!'

'Catch them!' shouted one of the fellows in reply, and I immediately
gave chase.

They quickened their pace but little, and I had no trouble in catching
them up. I caught one of them by the tail, when--oh, horrors! I was
nearly suffocated with the most horrid odour. The little beast was a
polecat--a skunk--and now I hear nothing but 'What pretty little
animals!' etc., as these fellows chaff me unmercifully. I had an awful
time; everybody avoided me, and even the dogs would bristle and growl at
my approach. I was given a complete change and a tub of water in the
stable; but though it is now ten days ago, I am not yet rid of the
feeling that I smell unpleasantly, and have been unable to regain the
friendship of the dogs.

I do not blame the animals--it is the only way they have of protecting
themselves--but I do think that something should be done to secure a
uniformity in the application of terms throughout the Empire. I really
think I shall write a letter to _The Times_, pointing out the dangers
arising from present conditions.

Do not worry because I have been compelled to enter the service of a
farmer. He is a decent enough chap, and not unsusceptible to the
humorous sallies of my fellows, though when I attempt any pleasantries,
he fails to comprehend, and looks at me in a vague sort of way, as if he
did not understand. Nor do I believe he does. I try to explain; he
mutters and seems suspicious.

With best love to all,
                                       I remain,
                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  VIII

         Comparisons  The Same in Australia  The Stern School 
           Comparison  Preparing to Reap  Intent Discerned 


                                                 RANKIN'S FARM,
                                                 WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                _September 20, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

It has been a great surprise to me to find that our parson here, Mr.
Reid, an old countryman, does not dislike Canadians at all, but is quite
fond of this country and its people. Mr. Reid is a public school and
University man, which makes it all the more surprising. He is on very
friendly terms with Rankin, and it was on Sunday afternoon when he
dropped in on his way home from holding service in the school-house near
here that I met him. His parish is quite extensive, and he has all the
work he can attend to.

After he bade Rankin good-bye he spoke very kindly to me, and I walked
on the road some distance with him, he also walking and leading his
horse. I had made some remark complaining of the want of respect shown
to Englishmen by the people of this country.

'Look here,' he said, 'what kind of a time would one of these farmers'
boys have if he were landed in upon a crowd of public-school boys at
home? Would your form at home have taken such a boy to themselves and
made life a treat for him, or would you have treated him as an
outsider?'

I could answer only that we should not have been entirely affectionate.

'Well, then, how do you suppose these people can sympathize with you? In
fact, Rankin here, I have no doubt, employs you more out of kindness
than because he cannot get a man to suit him better for the money he
pays you. This is kindness, and as such should be appreciated by you.'

'But,' I said, 'Englishmen seem to be disliked.'

'Not at all, except what they bring upon themselves. And then think of
the class of Englishmen who come out here. We were three boys in our
family, and our father used to say that if we did not get on well at
home, he would send us to the Colonies. I came here because I fancied
the field for my labours, and, please God, I am leading a useful life;
but my two brothers are in Australia, and are no more a success than you
will be here if you take to drink and don't learn to meet your
fellow-men half-way. This is a land of production, and to make this land
produce one has to work, and consequently a man's worth is estimated by
the amount of work he can do. You will find that an education in the
classics won't do you much good unless it is backed by a naturally
philosophical temperament.'

'Are there many unsuccessful Englishmen in Australia?' I asked.

'Yes; the misfit and the failure are more numerous there than in Canada.
That is because Australia is farther away from England than Canada is,
and there is less chance of a wayward boy drifting back home from
Australia than from here to embarrass his family; consequently more
prodigals are sent to Australia. It is not fair to the Colonies, and it
is no wonder that the Colonies object.'

Here the incident that happened to me in the bar-room, when the
so-called 'civilized' Englishmen brought so much ridicule on me, came to
my mind, and I said that I had met educated Englishmen who had caused my
discomfiture.

'Yes,' replied Mr. Reid; 'until you broaden your sympathies you will
find that there are none so prone to hammer sense into you as your
fellow-countrymen who have assimilated. In fact, no person has a greater
contempt for the tenderfoot than they, or is more inclined to display
it.'

I smiled at this and asked him if there was any hope for me.

'Yes, decidedly, after you have been broke, and go hungry several times,
in the midst of plenty, for the want of money to buy a meal. There is
nothing like hunger to bring a boy to his senses, especially if he has
strength of character enough to abstain from vice.'

We chatted away for some time, till some remark of his prompted me to
say: 'You must be a democrat.'

'I don't know that I am altogether a democrat, but I will say I am much
more of a democrat now than I was before I viewed life in Australia and
Canada. The struggle for existence in a new country is a test of
character, and the temptations lying about try the soul. Perhaps it is
that the sight of a man who can talk of swell London clubs or quote
Latin verse blacking one's boots, and rushing with the money so earned
to the nearest bar-room, is most conspicuous from the height of the
fall; but such spectacles I have seen frequently enough to destroy much
of my erstwhile veneration for birth and education.'

I now stopped to bid Mr. Reid good-bye. 'Good-bye,' he said, shaking my
hand. 'God bless you! I hope I have not spoken too plainly to you on
points concerning your deportment. For most strangers to do so it would
be a sign of friendship. I do it because I conceive it to be my duty,
as well from the friendship I entertain for you because I think you will
yet turn up trump.'

As you will readily fancy, this conversation has given me deep thought.
I wonder shall I ever become 'civilized'?

Operations on the farm are now directed to preparation for the harvest.
To me the approaching operations will be highly interesting, and I shall
gain all the information, and write you a full account of same. You may
call it my essay on harvesting, and I will fancy myself back in school.

To-day, as I was working about the yard, one of the fellows who were
employed near me said: 'Ho, Sam, did you ever hear a remittance man's
description of farming in Manitoba?'

'No,' replied Sam.

'It is this: "'Tis nice upon the wintah's morning to get up and look out
upon the open prairie, and see the little buttahflies making buttah and
the grawshoppahs making graws."'

This was said so that I could overhear it--it was intended I should
overhear it. How ridiculous! Butterflies don't make butter, nor do
grasshoppers make grass.

                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   IX

            The Reaping  The Harvest  The Prairie Settler 
                    The Colonist's First Requisite 


                                                 RANKIN'S FARM,
                                                 WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                _September 27, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

The very life of Rankin's Farm--indeed, that of the country as a
whole--is the harvest. The cutting of grain throughout the length and
breadth of the land is now in full swing, and the binders (the machine
that is used to cut the grain in this country also binds it into
sheaves, and is called a binder) are everywhere reducing the broad
fields of yellow corn into sheaves, which are piled into stooks by the
men who follow after, and then they are gathered up in waggons and
formed into stacks, or, in some cases, as with us, are carried directly
to the thresher, where six or eight men 'pitch' the sheaves to the
'cutter' on either hand of the 'feeder.' The cutters have each a table
before them, and as the sheaf is flung on these he cuts the twine that
binds it, and slides it in front of the feeder, who pushes or 'feeds' it
into the thresher in its disintegrated form. The thresher proper is a
cylinder of wood or iron in which spikes are inserted in rows, which
revolves at high speed, the spikes passing between other rows of spikes
in the body of the machine. This loosens the grain and the chaff from
the straw; the latter flies from the machine and the former goes through
the separators and the cleaners, in which the chaff and 'seeds' are
removed, and the clean corn pours from a spout into bags ready to
receive it. All is done with amazing speed. We work hard, needless to
say--and such appetites we have!

The weather these days is glorious. The air in the morning is chilly and
bracing. At noon it is hot, and the evenings deliciously cool, with
delightful sunsets. Far over the prairies are to be seen the great
fields with grain half cut, and the pillars of smoke arising from the
steam threshing 'outfits.' Now is tribute gathered from the soil, and
the fires which gleam through the darkness of the night speak of the
corn being separated from the chaff. In cutting the fields, which are
most rectangular and often square, the binders start on the edge and
wind round and round the field, and as the grain is cut and stooked the
border so treated sets off the uncut portion with effect.

The harvest is a bounteous one, and even the good humour has infected
the 'hired men.' These farmers all complain of their hard work, but,
nevertheless, they seem to enjoy life, and I never yet met a people who
were so thoroughly devoid of care or bore--at least, the semblance of
being so. The life, however, is certainly one of hard work, and I often
contrast the life Rankin leads with what I pictured should be mine ere I
set foot in Canada. Though the life here is hard, it commends itself to
one as being infinitely preferable to that led by many of our people at
home, who, with equal labour, gain their livelihood and nothing else.
The farmer here owns his land--something to leave to his children. The
prairies' bleakness is mitigated, and even overcome, by the planting of
trees, while in many places, where the settling of the districts has
prevented the recurrence of prairie fires, Nature is asserting herself,
and trees are springing up. The prairie is practically treeless only
because the fires have gained the upper hand.

As a rule, the prairie farmer tills but a portion of his land. One finds
these fellows holding anywhere from one hundred to fifteen hundred
acres, and even more, and tilling but 25 to 75 per cent, of the same. Of
course, some of the untilled land is poor or worthless, but the great
portion simply lacks draining and clearing. To picture this great
country peopled, tilled, and cultivated to its full, is to view the
Empire's greatest asset. Men here from Eastern Canada have told me the
tale of the early settlement of Eastern Canada, and hardships endured by
the United Empire Loyalists and the early Scotch settlers in overcoming
the wilderness in Ontario and in Eastern Canada generally, and I cannot
help thinking that the task before the prairie settler is but slight in
comparison with that faced by the Loyalists and the wards of Lord
Selkirk.

I am now convinced that the first requisite of the successful colonist
is a cheerful disposition and training to work. The nature to be content
on the prairies alone amid hardship is not contained in every man, while
the ability to do hard work in dreary, monotonous forms is largely the
product of birth; but where the two are combined, or the latter exists
to a marked degree, there you have an ideal settler, a man who can, be
his fortunes what they may, secure for himself an independence within a
decade in this vast extent of latent corn-fields.

                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   X

  An Impetuous Shot  The Shooting of Rankin  The Advent of Winter 


                                                   WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                  _October 23, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

Such a dreadful thing has happened--I have shot a man. The last of
harvest saw a fall of snow, that quickly went. There followed then a
month of weather almost ideal, called in this country 'Indian summer,'
which bears an individuality all its own. A frosty night is followed by
a day of glorious sunshine; the air has power to lend exhilaration to
one's spirits, while the sky takes on its deepest blue. The leaves of
the shrubs and bushes turn yellow and red, and bedeck the landscape
close at hand, and tinge that upon the distance. It seems as if it were
a recompense for the winter close at hand.

One such day I gained permission to go hunting prairie chickens, and
Rankin lent me his gun. I set out, and had the best of sport, and so
kept on and on. The air was bracing, and it seemed that I could walk for
ever; but all at once I noticed the sun was getting low, and I set out
on my return. As I was getting close to home I came upon a bluff of
poplars, and all at once I noticed something moving about among the
trees of a projecting cluster at a distance of about a hundred yards. I
stood looking at its erratic movements: it stood still, and then it
seemed to dart out of sight, to reappear somewhere else. The locality
was a place none of the men ever went to, as it lay some distance from
the house, and there was nothing to attract anyone there. All this I
reasoned, and felt sure it must be some wild animal, so I let drive.

My shot was answered by most awful human shouts and yells, and a man
sprang from out the bushes and shouted, 'Don't shoot! don't shoot!'--as
if there were any fear of my shooting again when I knew it was a man.

I ran towards him, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and
held it to his face. When I caught him up, he was swearing like a
trooper. I told him I had not done it on purpose, to which he replied
with a torrent of abuse. I never heard a man swear so violently, and
such names he called me! He said I was a 'fool, d---- fool of an
Englishman, who should never have been turned loose in a civilized
country,' and a lot more such rot. Just fancy! How these people think
that this is a civilized country, and in comparison with England! I told
him that I had thought he was a wild beast among the bushes, and then he
wished to know how I thought I could injure a wild animal with a small
shot-gun at about a hundred yards. This made him start off with another
volley of oaths and abuse.

Of course, I could not dream of continuing my engagement with a man who
used such language to me, so I requested him to pay me up, which he did.
It was my employer I had shot.

I left his place cursing myself for an ass to have allowed myself to be
cheated out of my money by Jenkins, and placed in such a position.

I came to this town, where I have since been stopping at a cheap hotel,
trying to get other employment. I have not succeeded, and have been
advised to go to Winnipeg. I must get something soon, as my money is
nearly spent.

The weather now is dreary and cold. I walk out every day for exercise,
but the wind is chill and the sun obscured totally or in part by leaden
clouds. There is a touch of sadness throughout all Nature: the snow
hanging on the bushes makes them bow their heads, as it were, and the
few remaining birds chirp in a plaintive sort of way. It all gives one
the hump most dreadfully, which seems to impress my misfortunes upon me.

                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   XI

    A Canadian Gentleman  The Social Side  A Shocking Accent 
                  A Wonderful Phonation  Loneliness 


                                                    WINTON, MANITOBA,
                                                   _November 10, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I have made such a wonderful discovery--I have found a Canadian who is a
gentleman. He is an engineer by profession, has been doing survey work
in this neighbourhood, and has been stopping at the same hotel with me
for the last few days.

This evening we were both sitting with our feet on the stove, when he
opened the conversation by asking how long I had been in the country. It
is very strange how these Canadians can guess so much of one's
antecedents.

I answered his question, and we soon fell into quite an animated
conversation. He told me of his experiences throughout the country, and
gave me much valuable information. I was delighted to meet so
entertaining a companion, and in my enthusiasm I said:

'But you must be an Englishman: you talk quite like a gentleman.'

He looked at me for a moment with a sort of puzzled expression I could
not quite make out, and then he said: 'No, I am a Canadian.'

'Oh,' I said, 'I beg your pardon.'

Again he looked at me in the same puzzling way, and then smiled.

As here was an educated man, brought up in the country, the idea struck
me that this was a good opportunity to find out the reason why Canadians
disliked Englishmen. To my question he replied:

'Canadians don't dislike Englishmen except in the localities where the
remittance men concentrate, and even there only the remittance men are
disliked. Why, in Eastern Canada the Englishman is very popular, and an
Englishman with fair address is taken up by the society folk in a
manner that your people at home would never dream of doing to a Canadian
unless he had the highest introductions. This trait of our people, in
its extremest forms, we call "Anglomania," and the disease is growing,
and, as a complication, the English accent is making its appearance.'

'The English accent? I don't understand you. There is the English
language and the Englishman's way of speaking it; there is the American
or any other accent.'

'It is the only thing to call it,' he rejoined. 'If you ever lived in
Halifax, Ottawa, or Victoria, British Columbia, you would know what I
mean. Of course, the better class of Canadians don't affect it; it is
limited to the socially ambitious. It is very distressing, however,
though fortunately epidemic only in the three places I have mentioned,
and there only with a faction of the people. In Halifax the presence of
the military is the cause, in Ottawa the Governor-General and his staff,
and in Victoria it is just habit, quite extreme enough to be styled a
disease.'

'This is very funny; I don't understand it quite,' I was forced to
remark.

'Funny! Certainly it is funny, or worse. But it is not indicative of a
widespread dislike to Englishmen among Canadians. Now, don't understand
me to mean that I dislike the Englishman's manner of speaking. To me the
Englishman's voice is very pleasant, and that of the English
gentlewoman, in its soft modulation, is delightful. It is the
affectation of some of our own people, I dislike.

'I may say,' he continued, 'that the greatest shock these people got was
when the Prince of Wales came out here; for, try as they would, they
could not distinguish any accent in his voice at all, and consequently
were much disappointed.'

'Oh!' I said.

My companion looked at me for a moment, and then made a reassuring
gesture with his hand, his peculiar smile playing over his features.
'Don't be alarmed,' he said; 'there is absolutely no danger of an
insurrection. The Canadian people as a whole are among the most loyal
of British subjects, and as I have said before, those of our people who
are emulating the ever-memorable Jack Daw are happily few in number, but
their accent is the most wonderful phonation in the whole realm of
acoustics. You should hear it before you return to England.'

'I shall,' I said.

'To give you a sample,' he said, 'I once heard a girl say she laughed,
and laughed, and laughed, and nearly split her sides laffing.'

'How wonderful!' I could not help exclaiming.

Here my companion retired to his room, and I have been writing this
letter ever since. To-morrow I leave for Winnipeg. I have not money
enough left to pay my fare, so I am going to the next town, where
perhaps I can earn enough to carry me the rest of the journey; if not, I
shall walk. Not to be hampered with luggage, I am leaving the most of my
effects here.

The porter has just filled the stove full of wood for the night, and I
am left alone in the sitting-room, with its dingy pictures hung about
its smoke-begrimed walls, so I too shall say good-night.

                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  XII

        England and Christmas  Heat and Cold  Home Truths 
   Hospitality  The Remittance Man  The Gentleman  Opportunity 
                  Hunger and Thought  Hope Eternal 


                                                    PLUMMER'S HOTEL,
                                                    WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                   _November 20, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

Want of proper food and the lack of any companion with whom I can
exchange ideas has had a most depressing effect upon my spirits, and
last evening when I arrived here I was particularly depressed. Every man
I saw seemed to be my enemy.

Leaving the station and walking up Main Street the wind was cold and
raw, and flakes of snow were in the air. Everybody seemed in a hurry,
yet all seemed in good spirits.

As six o'clock came and the crowds of girls came out of the offices and
shops laughing and hurrying to their homes, they seemed to me to be my
enemies. The boys snow-balling each other and shouting in the street
seemed to aim their missiles at my sensibilities, and it would have
relieved me to box their ears.

All was bright and full of life--I alone was depressed. And then I began
brooding on why I was different from those I saw around me. I was
educated--they were not. They were happy--I was not. I envied them their
happiness. My education is the product of much time and money, yet it is
useless. It teaches me to suffer rather than to bear pain.

The jingle of the bells on a passing sleigh is gay and strong in
confidence. The clammy hand of Despair does not muffle the sound, but I
turn from the sleighs to the crowd and the shop windows.

In the stationer's window I saw Santa Claus with a tin horn in one hand
and a Union Jack in the other. Both the figure and the emblem reminded
me of dear old England--England and Christmas. The thought seemed to me
a Mockery--the diabolical inspiration of despair. The crowd continued to
hurry past, and in its mass I continued to see signs of contentment and
of happiness in the faces of souls obtuse and uncultured, yet their
happiness and their contentment show that they are active units in
society, which I am not.

The coldness of the atmosphere fairly gripped my heart, so I sought the
warmth of one of the hotels. I entered what they call out here the
'rotunda,' and sat down in a seat near a coil of steam-pipes. Gradually
the heat penetrated my body; my muscles relaxed, and a great contentment
came over me. Here was warmth at least, and being warm my hunger did not
press me so hard.

It was now the hour for the evening meal, and I hear the word 'dinner'
spoken by the members of the crowd about me. One man asked another to
accept his hospitality, and the other refused, giving an excuse. How I
wished the invitation had been given to me!

A man flopped down in the seat alongside of me. His face was flushed and
bore signs of too much wine.

'Fine night,' he said.

'Yes,' I replied.

'Cold.'

'Yes, very cold,' I answered.

'You're an Englishman?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'Thought so,' said he--'a remittance man. Remittance men ain't no good
for work, but sometimes they make flunkies and bar-tenders, or further
West they join the Mounted Police. The Mounted Police is nearly all made
up of remittance men, and there ain't no better force on the top of
God's green earth. Say! will you have a drink?'

What effect liquor would have in my famished condition I did not know,
but I said 'Yes,' and went into the bar and asked for a glass of port
wine. My host called for whisky, and drank liberally. As he drank he
looked at me a long time, and asked: 'Remittances coming regularly?'

I replied that the Governor had refused to send me any more money, to
which my new friend replied:

'He does right. If you're any good, you'll make your own way in this
country. Been eating regular lately?'

I was first inclined to resent the question, but as the fellow seemed
good-natured, I answered that I had had nothing to eat since early
morning.

'Better come and eat with me,' he said.

This was evidently an invitation to dinner, and I replied that I would
be glad to do so.

He led the way to the dining-room, and we sat down.

The immediate prospect of a good meal to be eaten in comfort caused a
glow to pass through my body. As I took my soup the stimulation of the
atmosphere outside, which had lately benumbed me, came upon me, and I
felt the hilarity that had lately appealed to me as almost diabolic in
the throng outside.

My friend ate and talked, and did each in an erratic manner. He said to
me:

'You're going to try and get a job?'

I replied that I was.

'Well, then,' he said, 'let me give you a pointer. Chuck those pants you
have on'--pointing to my riding-breeches--'and put on a pair of white
man's pants, and your chances will be better.'

I told him that these were the only garments of this nature I had with
me, the main part of my wardrobe being in the country.

'Well,' he replied, 'as soon as you get the money buy a cheap pair of
pants, and your chances of success will be better. With those things you
have on a man could spot you for a remittance man a mile off, and being
a remittance man ain't the best recommendation on top of the earth for a
job in which you are to make yourself useful.'

As the fellow was talkative, and as they say only drunken men and fools
tell the truth, I thought that here was an opportunity to gain the
truth. My friend was drunk--he was not a fool--so I asked him what
objection people had to remittance men, that they would not employ them.
He jumped in his chair, and brought his fist down on the table so that
the glasses rattled. His eyes shone out, and he stared at me.

'Why don't they give remittance men jobs?' he repeated. 'They don't give
remittance men jobs because they are no d---- good. They are no good
before their parents send them out to this country to get rid of them.
They can't make a living in a country where they are used to the ways,
and yet they expect to make things go here, where they don't know the
ways--and they don't seem to want to know the ways. If they did you'd
get rid of those pants. Why are the remittance men no good at home? For
the simple reason they ain't taught to be. From asking questions, the
way I size the proposition up is that the remittance man is kept
"lally-gaggin" round home doing nothing but making himself look pretty
until he is twenty or twenty-two, and then his people come down to earth
and find that it is about time he was earning a dollar or two for
himself, especially as he is cutting up mean. Then they pack him off to
Canada to become the free and independent gentleman farmer. They tell
him to be sure and be a gentleman, and he generally is, for being a
gentleman is to have the ability to borrow money on your face, when you
don't know how in the devil you are to pay it back, and care less. That
is why I never lend money to a remittance man, for the remittance men
are mostly gentlemen. No, sir,' my host continued, and he got more and
more excited. 'I don't want any remittance men working for me. They are
a class of fellows who ain't been brought up like me. They have never
been turned loose and made to rustle round at sixteen years of age, and
their ideas of making themselves useful--well, they ain't got any ideas
on the subject at all. It ain't because they are English that they're no
good: it's because of the training they get in England, or the training
they don't get--take it as you like it. Look at me. I rustled round the
farm back east when I was nine years old, going to school in winter, and
I got all the schooling that was good for me in the winter, and I've got
a store up the line with a few hundred acres of wheat land and some
cattle on the plains further west. I've earned them all, and how to ask
a man for the loan of a $5 bill I don't know.'

'Give me the opportunity and I will make money.'

'Give you the opportunity! give you money! No, sir; the opportunity is
here, right round you; but you've got to lay hold of it yourself, and
before you can lay hold of it you've got to see it; therefore, young
fellow, learn to size up your fellow-man. Don't be ashamed that you are
alive, or ashamed to let the world see you alive. And be honest above
all things--be honest; no matter how hungry you get, stay straight. You
can shake yourself clean of hard luck, but dishonesty sticks like a
mortgage on a widow's farm. It's worse than whisky is with me, and it
ain't my fault I'm drunk now.'

Soon after this we finished our dinner, and my friend left, and I and my
thoughts were again close companions. I left the hotel and walked out
into the night. The stars stood out as glittering points in inky
blackness, giving promise of greater cold. But I soon gravitated back to
this hotel, and have passed the hours far into the night writing this
letter. How I shall pass the remaining hours of the night I know not.
Hunger is a great stimulus to thought, and it is probably because I have
been thinking of what my host of the evening said during dinner that has
made his ideas part of this letter. One thing I have decided, and that
is that there is something I lack which prevents me from entering into
life where force of personality is the gauge of success. Or is it
something I possess in excess--self-consciousness or what?

Pardon me for detailing my troubles so strongly, but setting them on
paper seems to give a vent to too much thought, the inspiration of my
condition. The problem which attributes bad to success has taken hold of
my fancy, which was stimulated by the ideas of my erratic friend at
dinner.

Do not be distressed at my experience: I feel that I shall yet come out
on top.

                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  XIII

           A New Friend  A New Mode of Life  A Mode of Life 
               The Remittance Man  An Interesting Study 


                                                   WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                  _December 5, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I have your letter in which you say that the Governor takes great
exception to my purchase of oil lands. His criticism is no doubt just,
as I have been trying to sell my holdings, and cannot get even a
fraction of what I paid for them. I have been to every real estate
office in Winnipeg.

You will be astonished when you learn that the diggings I now occupy are
those of the rascally Jenkins. For several days after my last letter I
wandered the streets looking for work, and succeeded only in making a
few cents, no permanent billet to be had, when one evening I aimlessly
entered the bar-room of one of the hotels, and I tumbled on Jenkins. I
would have passed him, but the fellow held out his hand; I took it. I
had not received a friendly word since that dinner with my intoxicated
friend, and a sympathetic word even from the man who had cheated me was
not unacceptable.

Two companions were with Jenkins: one, of the name of Howard, had, so I
was told, just received 100 remittance from home, and was celebrating.
I was introduced, and was invited to drink with my new friends. This was
followed by a general invitation to supper, which was turned into a
great celebration, Howard insisting on buying champagne. We all then
went to Jenkins' diggings, where there were several beds, and an
additional one was improvised for myself.

Drinking and feasting were kept up for several days, till the remittance
was all spent. I accepted their invitations to meals, for I thought I
might as well have the benefit of the remittance as have Howard and
Jenkins drink it all. I spoke to one of the bar-tenders, when both
Howard and Jenkins were very drunk, as to who Howard was. 'Oh,' the
fellow replied, 'he is a well-known remittance man about town; his money
comes regular. There is one thing about remittance men: when one has
money, they all have money.' This last remark I accepted as being for my
benefit.

When the time for headaches and repentance came, Jenkins spoke of going
back to work. He had been employed as a waiter in a restaurant when
Howard's remittance came, and he returned to his employment and was
reinstated. His meals are part of his salary, while the cakes and pies
he is able to smuggle home help Howard and myself to keep off
starvation.

The one large room we all occupy is over a shop, and is heated by steam.
In one corner there is a small gas-stove, on which we make tea and
occasionally cook food, when we have it to cook. This is a great
convenience, as Jenkins frequently brings in something that is the
better for warming up; and when Howard or myself get any money--I by
earning it, or Howard more frequently by borrowing from other remittance
men--we buy beefsteaks and have a grand feast. It is very much like the
life I passed on the farm, only our supply of food is very intermittent.

                                                      _December 7._

Jenkins has lost his position, and we are in most awful distress. When
he received the money due him he went and got drunk, and now we have
nothing, and I find it more difficult every day to earn anything; there
seem to be fewer odd jobs obtainable. The cold is very great, and it is
very distressing to work out in it; besides, I am not sufficiently clad,
the greater part of my clothing being in the country. Jenkins and I sit
in one room most of the day--Howard has gone into the country--and when
we do go out we hurry along the streets to the nearest bar-room, where
we get warm, and leaving that, hurry on to the next, or into the hotels,
where people stare at us. A group of us Englishmen, all acquaintances of
Jenkins, were gathered together in one of the hotels the other day.
Every one of the party was stony-broke, yet in the party was a Cambridge
B.A., an ex-lieutenant the Royal Navy, and a man who had passed his
third year in medicine at Edinburgh. Bad as my circumstances are, there
was not one in the group better off than myself. The party compared
notes, and each told of his endeavour to get work, and how disheartening
the result was.

For myself I have made several acquaintances in the hotels among
Englishmen down in their luck, and I find consolation in their
society--I suppose in keeping with the law that misery likes company.
The remittance men all arrive down about eleven o'clock in the morning,
and file into the public rooms of the hotels. I have watched them often
and amused myself picking them out from the general public. They walk
in, hands in their pockets, and glance round till they see a seat where
a newspaper has been abandoned by the late occupant. They immediately
sit down and read the morning news, and it is generally not long before
their friends join them. Another place to study the remittance man is
the post-office, on days when the English mail is due. Long lines of
anxious faces stand before the general delivery wicket, and when one
gets a cheque there is a great rejoicing by his friends as well as by
himself. Such a group will probably be seen later in the hotels.

I have lately fallen in the habit of studying other Englishmen down in
their luck, and I find the subject very interesting.

The night is cold outside, and Jenkins has just come in informing me he
has some food. Where he procures the stuff he brings home I do not know,
but I think he gets some of it from his old friends, his former fellows,
in the restaurant. The ethics of all this I don't dwell upon mentally,
so will not do so here.

With my best love to all at home,

                                       I remain,
                                             Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  XIV

            The Salvation Army  The Helping Hand  The End 
                      Lieutenant Jones  Daylight 


                                                  WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                 _December 10, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I have your letter of last Monday week. One of my chief regrets is that
my experiences cause you distress. Otherwise I do not feel them so much
myself, as something always seems to intervene between me and
starvation, and I have taken to studying my fellow-men from this plane.
In the very battle for existence in which I am engaged I find a
magnetism. The primitive instincts are developed, and to me the aspect
of life is changed.

As my environment is changed, so I look towards those factions of
society which are yet accessible to me.

Yesterday the weather moderated, and it snowed a little. In the evening,
as I tramped the street, I came upon some members of the Salvation Army
holding forth at the street corner. As I stopped to listen, they broke
up their little meeting, and invited all to follow them to their citadel
or meeting-house. I fell in line, and soon found myself seated among
their congregation. The Salvation Army has existed now many years, but
this was my first contact with it. As its name implies, it has an
organization similar to an army--that is, the executive is composed of
lieutenants, captains, colonels, and so on, up to the chief executive,
General Booth, the founder.

The service comprises prayers and singing of hymns by all, and addresses
by different members of the staff, and testimonies by adherents, the
trend of the remarks of the latter being towards certifying to the
improvement of their lives since coming under the influence of the
Salvation Army. Of doctrine there was little said by anyone. They speak
of each other as 'brother' and 'sister,' and outside of 'saving souls,'
as they term gaining converts to their cause and adherents to their
force, their purpose in life seems to be the relief of suffering and
poverty, wherever found.

The staff-captain who led the meeting told of measures that were being
applied by the Army for the relief of the distress in the city. He
pointed out that there were many unsuccessful in Winnipeg to whom the
idea of accepting bare charity was demoralizing, so the Army maintained
soup-kitchens, where meals could be had at cost price, and a tailoring
department, where old clothes given to the Army were repaired and sold
at smallest cost to anyone in need.

During the meeting the idea that struck me most forcibly was that the
Salvation Army appreciates the fact that human nature is the same
wherever met, and that their whole system is based upon this.

The members of the staff are largely, if not entirely, drawn from those
among whom they work, and are trained by work among the fallen and the
needy. The consequence is that they never separate sympathy from their
charity. They do not feel that they have fulfilled their duty completely
by a mere act of giving, but they take those to whom Hope is a stranger
to themselves. They give the man or the woman who has conceived all
mankind to be an enemy their hand, and they call them brother or sister.
In no way is this more clearly instanced than by the nursing they give
to the spirit of independence and pride, which is seldom altogether
absent in the human being, by their principle of selling at a small cost
rather than by direct gifts of absolute necessities.

These were the impressions I received as I listened to the several
speakers during the evening, and, as I have told you before, my late
experiences have schooled me to view men and things without bias.

I stayed till the end of the meeting, after the majority of those in the
benches left. Several of the staff who took an active part in the
meeting came down to the main body of the hall, and a young woman with a
face bearing a rare light of happiness came and sat beside me. She
leaned over towards me, and said:

'Brother, are you saved?'

The question to me was so unlike any that I had ever before met that it
frightened me, or rather, I was afraid of its very evident significance,
so I replied:

'I do not understand you. What do you mean?'

Her reply left no chance of evasion: 'Are you prepared to meet your
God?'

In the days before I knew the force of hunger I would never have taken
the question seriously, had I ever been met with it, but the stern hand
of want opens the soul to the entertainment of promptings at other times
shed by the indifference to which health and plenty is father. I
answered: 'I do not know.'

Lieutenant Jones, as she was called, then talked to me in a manner I
have never been talked to before. She asked me about my present
existence and my past life, and when I told her that I had been reared
in all the luxury of an English home, pointed out how little I had been
taught to feel the responsibility of life. Then she pleaded with me to
give up the search for personal pleasures, and lend my efforts to doing
good for others. To this I replied that all my exertions were at present
required to keep myself from starving, when she told me that the Army
would always be ready to render me what assistance it could.

As I walked home my thoughts ran in a new channel, and in the general
flow I felt the spirit of hope and trust in my own abilities, a
confidence new to me. I felt as if I had reached bottom, and from
henceforth my way would be upward.

                                              Affectionately yours,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                   XV

   No Englishman Need Apply  Mr. John Fleming  'Bellows Pants' 
        The Reason Why  Englishmen Do Succeed  Education 
              A Trust  As Romans Do  True Charity 


                                                  WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                 _December 14, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

This morning I picked up a paper that was lying in one of the vacant
chairs of the hotel; after I had glanced through its news columns, I
turned to the advertisements, and among them I saw:

'WANTED--Man to work in warehouse. No Englishman need apply.--FLEMING
AND CO., Wholesale Grocers.'

I looked at the thing and was puzzled. 'No Englishman need apply.'
Surely there could be no objection to Englishmen because they are
Englishmen. This is part of the British Empire, of which England is the
head and centre. What objection could Fleming and Co. have to employing
Englishmen? I thought the matter over, but came to no decision save
that I would apply for the position, and if I did not get it, I would at
least find out why Englishmen were objected to.

I asked the locality of Fleming and Co.'s office, and was directed by a
policeman. It is in the wholesale district, being part of the second
floor of a large warehouse. I mounted the steps and entered directly
into the office. Desks with clerks leaning over them and tables with
typists at work were spread over a large floor-space. A railing a few
feet high, through which were several gates, divided the clerks from the
area for customers. A young clerk came to the railing as soon as I
entered, and said:

'Anything I can do for you?'

'I wish to see Mr. Fleming,' I replied.

'Which Mr. Fleming? There are two.'

'Either,' I said.

'Do you want to apply for work?' said the clerk, looking me over.

'I wish to see one of the heads of this company.'

'All right; there is Mr. John Fleming, office manager, at that desk,'
said the fellow, pointing in the direction of a large, heavily-built man
in the centre of the office, and opening one of the gates for me to
enter.

My assurance began to leave me as I approached the office executive. Mr.
Fleming was reading and sorting out letters. He had a strong face, and I
noticed him replying to one of the clerks who questioned him without
taking his eyes off the letter he was reading. I felt he would be a hard
man to persuade to employ anyone he did not wish to. However, I came up
to him and said:

'Are you Mr. Fleming?'

'Yes,' he replied, without lifting his eyes.

'I see you are advertising for a man to work in your warehouse, and I
would like to ask for the position,' I made bold to say.

'Yes, I wanted a man, but I said no Englishman need apply.'

His attention was all on the letter he was reading.

'How do you know I am an Englishman?' I inquired.

'I have heard you talk, and caught sight of your bellows pants. How do I
know a mule is a mule?' He was still reading.

'Do you mean to say you won't employ an Englishman because he is an
Englishman?' I inquired.

'I do,' said he.

'Oh,' said I, 'I thought that the position was one you did not think an
Englishman would accept; but as I am in distress, I have made up my mind
to take anything I can get to do.'

'Good God!' I heard him mutter, 'this is a new one.' And then he said,
'Sit down a minute.'

I sat down in one of the seats, and in a minute he laid down the letter
he was reading and turned to me. He looked me hard in the eye for a
second or two, and then he asked how long I had been in this country.

'Two years,' I replied.

'Well, have you not learned in that time that you are no mortal good on
top of earth, that there is something lacking in your make-up which
prevents you from assimilating with the men who do things? To tell you
the truth, I am sorry for you fellows. I am not the first one who has
advertised for a man and added, "No Englishman need apply." In fact,
complaints have been sent over to England about it, and the knowledge of
this is not calculated to do this country any good, for it will tend to
keep the better class of Englishmen away, while it is not so likely to
influence the remittance men among the better educated, nor the scum
from the slums.'

'Well, why do you insert such advertisements in the papers?' I asked.

'Because there is a bunch of remittance men in the city who read the
advertisements every day, and apply for every job that's vacant, totally
indifferent whether they are competent to give a fair return for the
wages they receive. Besides, an Englishman is a born kicker, and if you
give him a job he is sure to make trouble, and uses his spare time in
writing letters to the newspapers. There is no inherent dislike to
Englishmen in this country; in fact, in the East there is a strong
friendship, and the Anglomaniac is not absent.'

'Do you mean to say that no Englishman will make a success out here?' I
asked.

'Not at all,' said Mr. Fleming. 'I have several in my office, but they
came to me, not as Englishmen, but as book-keepers and accountants, or I
took them very young. A boy who does not start to make himself useful at
sixteen years of age is hardly likely to prove a success in after-years.
Some of the best artisans in this city--carpenters, bricklayers,
tailors, machinists--are English; but when they hunt a job, they do so
naming their trade, not their nationality. English craftsmen are always
looked favourably upon, because the apprentice system, as you have it in
England, tends to thoroughness. But as to the class to which you belong,
the trouble with you is that your people bring you up to be what they,
in their minds, fondly term "gentlemen." Now, the attributes which go to
give a man a social polish set him apart from the common herd, more or
less. Besides, the education of a gentleman carries with it the
acquiring of expensive habits. In fact, your education has been towards
the spending of money, not making it, and what your people bring you up
for with extravagant tastes unless they can furnish you with funds to
maintain them, I don't know. I will give my sons an education far
superior to any I ever was able to obtain, but then, I will see that
they either go into the professions, or I will give them a taste of
business in these offices during their holidays.'

'I am sure an education in the arts would not do anyone harm in any
vocation,' I said.

'No, perhaps not,' said Mr. Fleming; 'but while you are attaining it you
should be learning business methods at a couple of dollars a week in an
office. A boy of about twenty thinks more of himself then than at any
other period of his life, and won't stand being told things by someone
he regards as his social inferior. Excuse me taking up your time in this
manner, but I have been thinking a good deal about the Englishmen
problem in this country lately, and I want to put our position right.'

'Then you can't give me a position in your warehouse?' I said.

'No; I have filled it already, and by a man I fancy will give us better
satisfaction than you would.'

I turned to go, and said 'Good-morning,' as Mr. Fleming turned again to
his letters.

'Wait a minute,' he said. 'I have a note here from our parson, and he
wishes me to send a man up to the Maple Leaf Hall to help the ladies,
who are having a tea and bazaar in aid of the church. I think you will
be more agreeable to them than one of the men out of the warehouse.
Besides, we are very busy. Now, you go up to the Maple Street Church
Sunday-School, and tell the ladies who will be there that I sent you.'
As I turned to go, he put his hand in his pocket, and handed me five
dollars. 'Here,' he said, 'are five dollars. If you are like most
remittance men I have met, you'll get drunk; and if you are worthy of a
hand-up in life, you'll buy a cheap pair of trousers and chuck those
things you have on. Have a good meal and a shave, and be at the
Sunday-School at two o'clock. Excuse my remarks about your "bellows
pants," but in view of the reputation your countrymen have earned in
this country, you will find life will be easier if your appearance is
not conspicuously pointing to your nationality. No one but an Englishman
would be hunting odd jobs in riding-breeches.'

Mr. Fleming turned again to his work, and I left him.

It is not necessary for me to assure you that I did not betray the
trust, but arrived at two o'clock at the Sunday-School. The ladies were
putting up decorations and arranging the tables for their sale of work,
which was to be the following day. I got on famously with them, and they
were very nice, and I quite enjoyed the surroundings. Mrs. Fleming asked
me a good many questions about myself, so I fancy her husband had been
talking to her about me. She asked me to return in the evening, which I
did. She was there, and called me into a corner, and undid a large
bundle, which proved to be an overcoat. She asked me to accept this as a
Christmas gift from her husband, and, of course, it would have been
folly for me to have refused it.

'When you get up in the world again, you can give an equal gift to
someone in need. In the meantime, accept it as a loan.'

This was certainly a tactful way of putting it.

I was there three days at the bazaar, and Mr. Fleming gave me another
five dollars, which I turned over to Jenkins as a contribution towards
our rent. Jenkins, however, returned home drunk that evening, and had a
bottle of whisky with him, so I am afraid my money went into the wrong
channels.

I must now bring this somewhat lengthy epistle to a close.

My new overcoat is a great comfort, and is making me feel quite hopeful.

                                              Affectionately yours,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  XVI

    Why Do They?  Colonization  'There is a Tide'  A Promise 


                                                  WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                 _December 22, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I have come to the conclusion that the application of the term
'remittance man' is extended to all Englishmen not engaged in any
permanent occupation. While the term is not in our vocabulary at home,
it is every day used here, and even appears in the press.

The following appeared lately in a local newspaper:

'Another case of suicide occurred at the C.P.R. station this morning. A
young Englishman by the name of Hopewell entered the lavatory of the
station, and, putting the muzzle of a revolver in his mouth, pulled the
trigger. Death was instantaneous. Hopewell was seen in the general
waiting-room some time before he committed the rash act, and though his
actions appeared queer, no particular attention was paid him.

'He is said to be well connected in England, and was well known around
town as a remittance man. He lately received quite a large cheque from
home, which he dissipated in a most extravagant fashion in wine and
dinners for himself and friends. His money exhausted, he became
despondent, which led to his taking his life.'

I knew Hopewell, but not intimately. He was a friend of Jenkins, who
introduced him to me one day. From Jenkins I gather that poor Hopewell
read for the Church, but took to living too fast, and gave up his
studies, after which his people induced him to come to Canada. It
appears to me this is a poor atmosphere in which to try moral
reformation.

Why do English parents and guardians permit, and even prompt and
encourage, wayward sons to come to the Colonies, where licence exists,
and where moral restraint is not? An Englishman coming to this country
naturally seeks the society of his own kind, even as I did, failing to
recognize that, while the atmosphere that education gives and breeding
conveys may be retained, dissipation and want tend to deaden moral sense
and breed unrighteous principles.

Christmas is now close at hand, and as a great rush exists among the
shopkeepers, it is not as hard as it was to get 'odd jobs.'

Many of my evenings I spend at the Salvation Army meetings. The last one
I was at was distinguished by the presence of an officer who is
connected with the Army's emigration work. You may have seen in the
press that the Salvation Army has inaugurated a system under which it is
to bring desirable emigrants from home to Canada.

The Commissioner, as he is called, led the meeting, and told his hearers
of the methods the Army was using in carrying on this work. They did not
take the vagabonds from the slums, but they picked from the great host
of applicants, such ones as were accustomed to lead useful lives at
home, and calculated to work out their destiny here. The work of the
Salvation Army is among the masses, and the training of the officers is
thorough to the point of gaining them a great knowledge of men, of human
nature. After all, success to the point of a competency is the sequence
of being able to do things, but great heights are attained only by those
who have a knowledge of men.

This thought was mine as I walked home through the stillness of the
winter night, though the words that Lieutenant Jones has again spoken to
me were stored for meditation.

There are some men who will attain success under almost any
circumstances; there are those ever predestined to failure. Of the
latter class I am afraid a great many are here--the outcasts of
Europe. A land may be one of golden opportunity--to those who see, who
grasp, and who hold and convert.

The Salvation Army is giving a grand free dinner for the poor on
Christmas Day, and I have promised Lieutenant Jones to accept their
hospitality.

Wishing all at home a merry Christmas,

                                                   I remain,
                                           Ever yours affectionately,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                  XVII

       Christmas Cheer  A Fellow-countryman  A Friend at Court 


                                                  WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                 _December 26, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

Yesterday was Christmas Day. To me, and I fancy to most people in my
condition, Church service has at all times more than anything else the
power of transporting one by the memories it recalls; but Church, with
its Yuletide decorations, its music of 'gladness and great joy,' brings
up its bygone anniversaries in panorama to move the soul to the acme of
that condition known as homesickness.

After morning service I visited the Salvation Army to be their guest at
dinner. I had a little money, and my presence there was not the outcome
of actual want, but was due to the invitation of Lieutenant Jones.

A large room was filled with tables, and the supply of food seemed
unlimited. The officers of the Army were everywhere, shaking hands with
and welcoming all who came with a spirit of friendliness which no one
could mistake for anything but genuine. Any and all who came were saved
any scrutiny which might indicate a question as to their need of such
hospitality or their worthiness of its bestowal. In the crowd that
gathered were men of all nations; their creeds were mostly of the past.
Through the rags and uncleanness of their persons in many were plainly
seen the stamp of erstwhile ease and plenty; many were remittance men.
Some of these had countenances of stolidity, and some seemed to avoid
scrutiny, but the markings were unmistakable.

I sat down by the side of a good-looking fellow who was occupying a
bench in a corner. A great look of dejection was on his face. He paid no
attention to me, so I made some conventional remark about the weather.

'Yes,' was all the return I got.

'You are an Englishman?' I asked.

'Yes,' he replied.

'How long have you been in the country?'

'Two years.'

'The same as myself.'

After a moment's pause, he turned to me:

'What part of England do you come from?' he asked.

I told him, and we soon found that we had mutual friends. He told me
then a tale of hardships in working for a farmer some distance from
Winnipeg. The man did not understand him, nor he the man. Bad food and
hard work six days in the week, and glum silence or dreary hymns on
Sunday. As the winter settled down, he went into the woods to cut fuel,
and remained at this till the week before Christmas, when he came to
town with his hard-earned money. He lent a chum a few dollars, and the
rest had been stolen by a degenerate fellow-countryman. So my new
acquaintance had gravitated to the Salvation Army.

To-day I was walking down the street when Mr. Fleming overtook me, and
was passing, when he placed his hand upon my shoulder, and asked me how
I was getting on. I told him very well.

'I see you got rid of the bellows pants,' he said.

'Yes,' I replied.

'You made a good impression on the ladies at the bazaar. There's nothing
like making a good impression on the ladies.'

'Possibly,' I said.

'Yes,' he continued, 'my wife has spoken several times about you, and
wondered if you always have enough to eat. I finally promised to hold a
job for you in the warehouse, and there is one open now. If you report
to-morrow, you can go to work. Wages are not very high, but you can live
comfortably on them in a modest way. Good-morning.'

So I go to work to-morrow to be permanently employed. I shall probably
work too hard to be inclined to write much, so my letters will naturally
be less frequent.

Kind regards to all.

                                              Affectionately yours,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




                                 XVIII

      Success  A Partner  Western Humour  A Ridiculous Story 
     Borrowed Plumes  As Does the Roman  Square with the World 


                                                  WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,
                                                 _February 10, 1---._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I to-day received a full month's pay for my work in January in Fleming
and Co.'s warehouse. I feel I've earned the money, and done my work as
well as any man could have done it, whatever his nationality. I feel
that I am now building up from rock bottom.

I have some very good news for you--more good news. A few days ago I
received a letter from a real estate firm here asking me what price I
wanted for my land, my petroleum land. I called on them, and said in a
joke ten thousand dollars. The fellow said he would take it. I was
thunderstruck, but said nothing. When an Englishman makes a joke, no
one in this country sees it as such; so it was in my case.

The real estate man then went on to talk about 'the railway' and the
'divisional point' and I soon gathered that a railroad was being built
through the district in which I had bought my land, and that a
'divisional point,' which means a new town, was to be located on the
land to which my petroleum land adjoined. This caused a great jump in
values, and I am to be one who will reap the benefit. As I have said, it
was only by sheer luck, for really, had the land man been able to detect
that I was joking, I would not have got nearly so much. In fact, I would
have accepted twenty pounds for the property, and here I am getting two
thousand pounds for it.

So now I feel that I am a remittance man no longer, but a successful
land speculator, or what you will. It matters not what you call me as
long as I am not called a remittance man. To sum up, I have been in the
country two years, and I have doubled my capital.

I have talked the whole matter over with Lieutenant Jones, and she
advises me to stay working where I am till spring, and then to buy
another farm--this time after I have personally inspected it. I have
decided to do this. I will buy a farm with horses and machinery, and
will hire workmen. I will have nothing to do with any man who wears what
Mr. Fleming calls 'bellows pants,' and will cut the whole tribe of
remittance men.

This, however, I do intend to do--namely, to take a partner in the deal,
for Lieutenant Jones has said 'Yes.'

She is reluctant to leave the Army, but a life on the prairies is not
altogether wanting in opportunities for doing good. She is eminently
practical in matters pertaining to a farm, having been born on one.

It is a strange thing, but since I have begun to work for Mr. Fleming I
have cultivated a great dislike to Englishmen of the remittance man
type, and I get angry when it is hinted that I am one of them. I smile
and yet pity them when I see the new arrivals on the street and in the
hotels. How confident they are of how much they know! What a great
awakening they will yet receive!

Amusing stories are continually being circulated about remittance men,
and the following appeared in the local press:

'A large percentage of Western humour is arrayed against the remittance
man, but there have been few stories told at his expense more
mirth-provoking than the following, or perhaps it is because this story
is rather at the expense of the old folk at home. Here it is:

'An Englishman was given a thousand pounds by his father to begin life
as a farmer in Western Canada. After receiving this patrimony the
dutiful son came to this country, bought 160 acres of sage-bush and
gophers, took up his quarters in a neighbouring town, and blew in the
remainder of his money. When cash and credit were alike gone, he put pen
to paper, and wrote his fond parent as follows:

    '"MY DEAR FATHER,

    '"When I was leaving for this country, you told me that if I made
    a success of farming in Western Canada, you would send me an
    additional 1,000. Now, I beg to inform you that I have here a farm,
    and upon that farm have eighteen head of gopher. These gopher are
    the sleekest and fattest gopher in all the country round. I
    therefore lay claim to the 1,000, as promised.

                                               '"Your son, etc."

'The return mail brought the following reply:

    '"MY DEAR SON,

    "I am delighted to hear that you are attaining success in the
    Colonies. I enclose the 1,000 you requested. Your mother sends her
    love, and says she does hope you will be careful and not get hooked
    by the gophers.

                              '"Your affectionate father, etc."'

Of course this story is most ridiculous, but the ideas you people in
England have of things in this country make any deception possible, and
I know many remittance men who would gladly practise any such trick.

Another story, which is vouched for here, is that a man borrowed a farm
for a few days from a friend, and when his father came to visit him he
was shown flocks and herds, fields and gardens, by his son as his own.
After the father had given the son a large cheque, he went away wholly
satisfied, while the prodigal visited the nearest town and began to
celebrate on the strength of his father's latest gift.

While my success may be called accidental, I feel it is genuine. My
experiences and the hardships I have gone through have taught me many
things. For instance, I know now that the opinion other people have of
one and one's own idea of one's capabilities and worth are generally far
asunder.

Lord Chesterfield said that gentility had ancient riches chiefly for its
foundation, and while the methods of 'Vanity Fair' are desirable
quantities, yet this attainment should be preceded by a training to
usefulness; for, just as money makes fine manners and fine speech
possible, so it is necessary to their perpetuity. Fine ways are an
ornament to money; money is not an ornament to fine ways. In other
words, the youth should be taught how to make money before he receives
his training how to spend it.

I have likewise learned that it is never well to dress conspicuously.
The passing of ages has not dimmed the truth of the saying, 'When in
Rome do as the Roman does.'

I shall close now. Perhaps you had better write Lieutenant Jones to my
care. We may go to England on our honeymoon, but I hardly think so. I
greatly desire to see the Great West, the Rocky Mountains, and the
Pacific coast. Besides, Sarah--that is my sweetheart's name--would
rather not visit England for a year or two yet. What her reason is I do
not know. I did not ask her. I never ask her reasons for her actions and
ideas, as she is always right. Why should I?

                                           Your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.

P.S.--Through a delay in the mails, the twenty pounds you sent me for
Christmas did not reach me till after New Year's Day. With it I
purchased a new great-coat, and I placed the balance in the bank. The
coat I received from the Flemings I have given to the Salvation Army,
together with five dollars, in keeping with the spirit in which it was
given me.




                                  XIX

           The Battle of Life  A Burglar  The Farm Labourer 
                    The Flower of Courtesy  A Toss-up 


                                                THE OAKS,
                                    NEAR PORTAGE LA PRAIRIE, MANITOBA,
                                           _November 15, ----._

MY DEAR MOTHER,

We have finished the last of the threshing, and are settling down to
winter conditions, which season is now upon us. The 'harvest help' I
have dismissed save one man, whom I shall retain through the winter, so
Sarah and I are practically alone in our happiness. She insists that she
does not find the work of the house too much, and refuses a servant for
herself. Domestics, I may say, are here hard to obtain and harder to
hold. They are quickly picked up as wives by the settlers.

My operations for the summer have shown a good profit, and so I feel
myself a successful Canadian farmer; and now, as I look back upon my
past experiences, I ponder upon what advice I could give the
well-balanced and wholesome youth coming to this country, a stranger to
the existing conditions, that he might be saved such hardships as I have
gone through. Not that I regret my experiences now that they are past:
they did me good; but all who separated themselves from their patrimony
as I did could not expect to have it handed back by a freak of Fortune.
Experience is more easily gained than 1,000 or 2,000; indeed, there is
a saying here that the first 1,000 dollars (200) is the hardest money
to make, and it is quite true.

If a young man has decided that he has the physical strength to do the
hard work, the animal spirits to maintain cheerfulness in a lonely life,
and the moral stamina to keep away from dissipation and drunkenness, let
him, when he comes to Western Canada, separate himself from his
money--not as I did, but by putting it in the bank--and let him spend at
least a year in the service of a farmer. He will then be able to judge
of the life he is contemplating; his associations will give him a
knowledge of men, and the work will harden his muscles.

No thought of what the world will think should deter him, as, in this
country, a man can lose caste only by showing an unwillingness to take a
man's part in the struggle for existence. The scheme of parents paying a
farmer here to teach their sons farming is a fraud. Such 'pupils' are
held in contempt alike by themselves, by their tutors, by the hired men,
and by the community at large. They are saved no unfit associations.

A boy working on a farm can learn the industry and character of his
fellow-workmen, and can choose wisely his assistants when he takes up
his own land. He can do more: he can learn the difficult virtues of each
section of country, the proper price to pay for land, horses and cattle,
and he can gain knowledge of what implements to buy to work a farm.

About that greatest bugbear of English parents, the demoralizing
influence of associations with the ordinary farm-hands: Every stage of
society has its own latent demoralizing influences, but my experience
has not taught me that that of the farm workman is especially dangerous.
The average farm workman here is a chap who owns 160 acres of land (a
quarter section) or so, and who is struggling to earn money to buy
machinery and get together the few hundred dollars necessary to give him
his first start in life. He is full of ambition and industry, and his
ways are economical. Surely the society of such a man cannot be baneful,
even if he talks ungrammatically and his sense of humour is perverted?
The society the boy fresh from England should avoid is that of the
remittance man.

So much for the guidance of the youth contemplating the life of the
Western Canada farmer. To him who has ambitions for a clerical or
commercial life general rules are harder to lay down. So much depends
upon natural acumen. In a general way he should dispossess himself of
all exaggerated ideas of his own importance. If he appears friendly, he
will find the people will receive him as a friend. He must be prepared
to work.

It has been said that courtesy is a flower that does not bloom in
Canada. I think these complaints are largely unfounded. Here rush and
hurry is more general than in England, and busy officials are sometimes
forced to stay a flow of irrelevant questions by impatient replies. It
must be admitted, however, that 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' are not
forthcoming with the readiness they roll off the tongues of servants in
England.

While I was at dinner at a small country hotel the other day an
Englishman, evidently an Oxford don, came in and sat down at the same
table with me. He had some soup, after which the waitress came up and
rattled off: 'Roast beef, roast pork, boiled corn-beef, and cabbage!'

The don said he would have roast beef underdone.

'What's that?'

The don repeated in slow and impressive tones:

'I'll have some roast beef underdone--what you call rare.'

The girl went off with a toss of her head and muttering to get the
'rare' beef.

If that girl were dismissed for incivility she could have a like
position elsewhere in an hour, while her late employer would be long in
replacing her.

To me the incident was highly amusing. It was a toss-up which face
expressed the greater contempt.

I had another good laugh at a remittance man the other day. I found him
frantically trying to lift the back wheels of a trap, as the horse
harnessed to it had his feet in a brook. I inquired what the matter was.
He replied that the horse wanted a drink, and I noticed the animal was
tugging at his check. I undid the check, and the animal soon satisfied
himself.

And now I must close. Sarah sends her love.

                                        Ever your affectionate son,
                                                       REGINALD BROWN.




BILLING AND SONS, LIMITED, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Although there are no chapter titles in the book, the page headers are
very descriptive so they have been included at the beginning of each
chapter.

The following changes were made to the original text:

Page 7: changed chicknes to chickens
Page 23: changed shop-keepers to shopkeepers
Page 41: changed here frained to he refrained

Other than the addition of 2 missing periods and a quotation mark, minor
variations in spelling and punctuation have been preserved.




[End of _The Letters of a Remittance Man to his Mother_
by W. H. P. Jarvis]
