Look at that charming picture. A neat white farmhouse, with a wide veranda, green lawns and flower-beds, divided from the barnyard by a hedge of blue spruce and lilac. The whole range of buildings is sheltered on the north, west and east, by a thick grove of maples and poplars thirty or forty feet high. That has all grown up in twenty years. The farmer began planting trees the year after he reaped his first crop. Westerners discovered after a while, and especially after soil drifting had become a nuisance, that trees were needed to protect our fields from the wind. The Dominion Government and the Canadian Pacific both started tree nurseries, distributing millions of seedlings and cuttings to farmers, who plant them in shelter belts along their fences. In 1924 the Government Forestry Stations supplied 5,215,800 of these young trees, to 4,593 applicants. This Province grows more wheat than any other in the Dominion, than any State in the Union to the south. But listen! There is a grain-grower speaking. “I had a hard time at first,” he says, “and left for the States. I found things worse in the farming line there, as indeed they are to-day. Thousands quit this country, like me; we didn’t know how to get a crop. We had thought of the West as a sort of big ready-made farm. ‘All you have to do is tickle the earth with a plow and she laughs with a harvest,’ we used to think. We were too new to the country; and we were mostly young men, and in too much of a hurry. We hadn’t a lot of old farmers around us, as people have in older countries, to tell us that hard times were always followed by good times.” “No,” say I, “we were a nation of newcomers; and we are not much more now, for what is half a century in the lifetime of a country? Besides, we had pulled up stakes somewhere else to come here; so it seemed the simplest thing to pull them up again and go somewhere else. We had to learn the good habit of ‘sticking it.’ Some men here are simply nomads, throw-backs to our pre-historic hunting tribe, and they will go on moving for ever. Perhaps when they have sampled the whole of this continent and find they can’t get farther west than the Farthest West, they may try the Farthest East and settle in China till they are ready to start a fresh migration on the track of their early ancestors, through Asia to Europe again! “Perhaps they will find the perfect climate, somewhere. I have sampled all sorts of climate in Europe, Asia, Africa and America, and never found one that escaped fierce criticism from the inhabitants. I met a man the other day who had thought to find it in Southern California,—‘lie on your back and let the fruit drop into your mouth,’ you know. He had come back a wiser man. And he showed me a story by an eminent American author, in the most popular magazine of his country, describing a personal experience at Los Angeles. Here are his very words: