In point of population, and because it is the headquarters of commerce, shipping and railways, Montreal holds the title of the metropolis of Canada. Its shops and theatres are superb, and greatly have I enjoyed my sojourns in that city. It makes a wide appeal to one’s sympathies. It belongs not only to the present, but to the past. It represents old Canada and new Canada. It contains both Protestants and Catholics. And because of its manifold merits and ineffable charms, Montreal misses the quality that makes Toronto so fascinating. Not that the two cities admit of comparison. As well might one weigh the attractions of Bruges against those of New York, or set the useful qualities of chalk against the nutritive value of cheese. Montreal is a city of to-day and yesterday. Toronto is a city of to-day and to-morrow. The history of Montreal would make an interesting fat volume; Toronto’s two-pennyworth of history would go into a paragraph. I admire Montreal. But I simply fell head over heels in love with Toronto. It has a population of 350,000 progressive optimists. The whole city is full of bustle, but of bustle without hustle. It is a hive of healthy and vivacious industry. Toronto lives at the brisk pace that keeps the blood in a healthy glow. The people have discovered the happy mean between the hurry that wrecks nerves and the sloth that impairs digestion. Everybody in Toronto seems to be busy for the sheer joy of the thing. Tread on a man’s foot in that city and, instead of swearing, he smiles—then goes bustling off on whatever matter of business may happen to engage his enthusiasm. Nobody in Toronto gave me the impression of working under a sense of mere necessity. Everybody seemed to find his or her daily occupation an absorbing hobby. In a word, the spirit of Toronto is the newest spirit of the New World, undiluted. The life of Toronto is the life of modern Canada as developed amid the amenities of a city; and the life of modern Canada is the life of modern England—with the care and worry left out. The mechanic commands his £5 a week; a living wage, with some margin for luxuries, is accessible to everyone. The loss of a berth in London is apt to be a catastrophe. The loss of a berth in Toronto doesn’t matter—you can easily get another. Hence the prevailing optimism. And optimism is a condition of progress. When a man is not living in daily dread of what the morrow may bring forth he dares to do things.