Perspiration was streaming down the hairy chests of the woodmen. They told me why they waste so long a stump. The base of the tree is charged with resin, which proves an obstacle to the saw. They also told me that they can “throw” a tree in any direction with precision. Man’s mastery over these wooden giants is, indeed, complete. Elsewhere in the forest we saw a felled tree of formidable dimensions girt about with steel wire, which extended through the undergrowth to a raised platform beside a railway line. Presently from that platform there came the hullabaloo of escaping steam and revolving wheels, the steel wire tightened, and the huge bulk was hauled with contemptuous ease through the wilderness of ferns and shrubs. At an incline of stout logs some show of resistance was made, but the engine gave a vicious snort, and the poor old tree, jerked out of his momentary anchorage, was dragged without ceremony on to the platform. Anon we saw noble firs subjected to further indignities, they being either towed or shoved by a locomotive along a timbered track. Still later we beheld them drawn from the water into a saw-mill, whence they emerged as clean yellow planks, which were loaded into a steamer soon to depart for Liverpool. There are growing communities of luxurious families who—in both senses of the phrase—live on fruit ranches in British Columbia. They dwell in paradise, and find it pays. But I have qualms about advertising their felicity. The existence seems to be altogether too restful and romantic to be deserved by mortal man. Instinctively I find myself recommending to my friends the prairie homestead rather than the British Columbia orchard. * * * * * Life on the plains is delightful enough in all conscience. It is good to wander in the sunny prairie, looking at the flowers, birds, and insects. Swallows and blackbirds occur in clouds. Pairs of milk-white doves float amorously by. There are rooks far in excess of the farmers’ wishes. You will occasionally see a robin that is larger and lankier than the English kind, suggesting a tiny eagle. In Eastern Canada I saw many sparrows, and Professor George Bryce, of Winnipeg College, told me these adventurous little immigrants have spread across the continent within his memory. They were introduced from England by ladies who, in 1880, made pets of them on Boston Common. Around Portage la Prairie I saw humming birds—sprightly scraps of gorgeousness. Prairie chickens and pin-tailed grouse are never far to seek. On almost every stretch of water you see cosy companies of wild duck among the lilies and rushes; while geese, swans, pelicans, herons and snipe may there be seen.