At Burlington it was the initial experience of my friends in a typical American hotel, the Van Ness. Mrs. Watson missed the bread plate and the two knives. She didn’t enjoy spreading butter with the same knife that she used to cut her meat. The doctor learned to his surprise that preserves and jam are one and the same, and he inquired if he were expected to spread his preserves on bread. If so, he wanted some bread. Owing to the necessity of an early start, we got only an hour or two of sleep that night. The Watsons were up on time--2:30--and stood the unseasonable disturbance very gracefully and cheerfully. It seemed rough on the little lady, but she did not complain. All slept well into Montreal, where we enjoyed as good a breakfast at the Windsor Hotel as ever was set before hungry travellers. I noticed a look of pride and an at-home air about the Watsons as soon as they knew that they were in the Queen’s dominions, and it seemed to give a relish to their food when I exclaimed, “God save the Queen!” At Montreal there was a delegation of representative Scotchmen waiting to do honors to “Ian Maclaren.” I don’t think there was a man in the city that day who hadn’t Scotch blood in him, at least I did not see one. The lecture was in the St. James Methodist church, an immense auditorium, with a seating capacity of about 2,300, but with reverberating acoustics that enabled a speaker to hear the echo of his words five times repeated. I don’t think very many could understand the reading, and it was about the stupidest audience I ever saw for one so numerous. The lecture, however, was a great financial success. The local manager who had engaged the doctor for the lecture was an insurance agent. He tried to keep possession of Dr. Watson and worried him all day long. Dr. Watson was up very early the next morning and knocked at my door, saying: “Major, are you up?” “Come in,” I said, throwing open my door, ready to go to breakfast. “Major, not a bad meeting last night. I see the papers are not unfriendly; but oh! that late supper. We will have no more of them.” We went on to Ottawa by the Canadian Pacific Overland Express. The general manager of the road had set aside for Dr. and Mrs. Watson a drawing-room car containing more photographs of scenery along the Canadian Pacific route than I think they could possibly have examined in a month, even had they done nothing else. Dinner in the dining car pleased them. They declared it a most interesting way of enjoying a meal, and such a good meal, too! Where could it possibly be prepared?