One who has just come from the States may compare the manners and customs of the American travelling public with those of the Canadian. The former are very much in advance of the latter. The Canadian conductor, unlike his brother officer to the south, appears to make no attempt to keep things and persons in order for the general advantage. Anybody, however rough (and many Canadian travellers are in winter very rough indeed, perhaps because they are lumberers out for a holiday), is allowed to take his seat in the ladies’ carriage. The shaggiest and most unmannerly fellows, sometimes with short pipes in their mouths, and in their shirt sleeves, are permitted to perambulate the train, staring everybody in the face; I suppose merely to show that they are lords of the situation. But what I found the most annoying of all was, that I hardly ever left my seat for a few moments without finding on my return that some one had pushed my luggage and rug on one side, and taken possession of my place. This I believe to be a practice quite unheard of in the United States; at all events, I never noticed an instance of it. The only case of drunkenness I ever saw in any railway car was on the Grand Trunk line of Canada: it was that of a dirty, uncombed rough, who was uproariously tipsy; but neither conductor nor anyone else took any notice of him. Again; the worst carriages in the States are better than those on the great Canadian lines. All the former have good springs; but the Canadians are too strongly protectionist to tolerate American cars on their lines, and their own native cars have, as far as my experience goes, no springs at all. A Canadian assured me that there had once been a time when they had had springs, but that they had now stiffened or worn out, or in some way or other gone to the bad. The effect is that there is an incessant short, sharp, rattling jar, which becomes very distressing. Their home-made carriages must also be very deficient in strength, or else their rails must be most alarmingly out of order; for in one day I counted about a dozen wrecks of trains lying by the side of the road. This is not encouraging as one goes along and sees (the ground being everywhere covered with snow) nothing else but overturned and smashed-up cars. Still, we must remember that in the great bridge over the St. Lawrence, at Montreal, they have one of the grandest railway works in the world. It seems to be about a mile and a half long, and carries the train over the rapids of the St. Lawrence through a series of tubes supported by massive stone piers.