Port Moody is something more than a village, but at the present moment it is a strained recognition of its importance, even as a railway terminus, to call it a town. The number of inhabitants when I was there could not exceed two score of souls. Whatever its future, at the present time it has certainly no claim to civic rank. A wharf of good size has been constructed. At this time it was covered with piles of steel rails. A freight shed is attached. Near it stands the small house occupied by Mr. A. J. Hill, Resident Engineer. Two sailing vessels were lying at the wharf. The rail track has been laid a few miles westward. In the neighbourhood are half a dozen scattered frame buildings, some of them scarcely finished, erected by speculators to promote the selling of town lots. Several square miles of land have been so laid out. At this moment the greater part of the city of the future is covered with a dense growth of primeval forest, the age of some portions of which carries us back to the century in which the Magna Charta became law. I was told on the spot that the lots so projected would accommodate tenfold the present white population of British Columbia. I have to acknowledge the kindness and hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Hill. I derived no little pleasure from looking at the water-colour drawings of the wild flowers of British Columbia, which Mrs. Hill had executed. They promise to be a valuable contribution to science. I trust they may be published at some future date, when they shall have been sufficiently completed to admit of this proceeding. The steamer on which we had to embark at Burrard Inlet had not arrived, so we obtained a small boat and descended the inlet to meet her in order to have sufficient daylight to continue our trip through the entrance. The fog, which had partly cleared away by this time, soon re-appeared, and accordingly we kept near the shore so as not to lose our reckoning. We had rowed a distance of three miles when we met the small tug sent in search of us. We got on board without delay. The fog necessitated caution in our progress. It became thicker and thicker, until it was impossible to see a ship’s length ahead. Night came on and we did not know where we were. The head of the tug was turned in the supposed direction of the settlement, near Hasting’s saw-mill. All that we had to steer by was a pocket compass, which on more than one occasion has done good service. Some of us fancied that we heard the squealing of a pig; important in the double sense that we were not far from land and also near a settlement. Our whistle was almost continually sounded and the sharpest look-out kept. The pig replied unmistakably. We continued cautiously to approach in the direction of the sound, and were enabled to land at almost the only settlement on the south side of Burrard Inlet, west of Port Moody.