As to British Columbia, it is destined to be a great holiday resort alike of Canada and of the North-Western American States. We catch sight of the serrated line of the Rockies at Calgary, clearly visible through the transparent atmosphere at a distance of seventy miles. From Calgary over the Rockies, and the descent through British Columbia to Vancouver, is a run of twenty-six hours. The scenery surpasses even that of Switzerland. Canadians who have spent a holiday at Lake Louise or other centres for mountain climbing and glacier exploration find even their abundant and eloquent vocabulary insufficient to express their ecstatic admiration. I passed through British Columbia and back in the middle of November, but even then the hours of daylight were hours of continuous delight. From the windows or the platform of the observation car rise on either side the shaggy sides of mountains and beyond them peaks and peaks towering above each other over the snow line, until they are lost in the dim distance. Anything more exquisitely lovely than sunrise in the Rocky Mountains it is impossible to imagine. The gilded snow peaks look like cubes and pyramids of glittering gold. The railway itself is a continual wonder. It is a triumph of the mind, the resolute will, the skilful hands, and the Napoleonic organisation of labour and mechanical ingenuity over the forces of Nature, which it would almost seem intended to place the Rockies as an everlasting barrier between the prairie and the Pacific. The railway now tunnels through the living rock, now corkscrews up apparently impossible gradients, now throws itself across terrific chasms, now winds along the edge of precipitous cliffs, now runs through gloomy ravines as it makes its westward journey to the coast.