I was obliged to leave off yesterday, and now proceed to take up the tale begun in the train to Chicago. I was telling you about our arrival at Winnipeg, &c. We returned to our car after dinner and found ourselves, during our first sleep, shunted off to a repairing shed, and presently I heard what seemed a shower of stones thrown all over the car. I could look out of a window sitting up in my bed, and on doing so, I saw two men violently throwing water over it from a hose, and some of it came into my bed, upon which I showed my lovely countenance with dishevelled hair and indignant expression, and called out: "Are you going to drown me in my bed?" and then I heard a man say--"La! there is a young lady at the window! don't disturb her!" however, just at dawn they were at it again, and at six o'clock began to move us into the shed. I jumped up and expostulated in my dressing gown on the platform (all the rest were in their beds) and insisted upon their asking for orders from headquarters; just then, fortunately, an early bird in the shape of a representative of the _Press_ appeared, and I got John to talk to him, and he went off to the authorities, and we were shunted to the depot again, and so got our breakfast by ten o'clock; the reporters always think I am John's wife (E--- is generally out of the way), and I believe the last idea is, that John and I have a grown up family, of which E--- is one! It is rather fun to be _interviewed_, and John is now less shy about it, and consents to be pumped (in a _measure_). After breakfast we all drove in a horse-car up the main street, and were twice off the rails and sunk into a mud hole, and the boys had to help in lifting the omnibus out of it. They are slowly paving the streets, but there _never_ was such a muddy lane calling itself a street anywhere before, I am sure; there are nice shops, however, and respectably dressed people walking or driving. We lunched and _cleaned_ ourselves at _Potter House_, where the maids had been living during our absence in the Rockies, and it seems Mrs. Smith, the landlady, came from Lady Ward's, and knew the Claughtons, and lived, for years with the Miss Bakers at Boss, (these unexpected encounters make one realize how narrow the world is). The country is ugly about Winnipeg, and so after paying a visit to the Archdeacon, whom we met in going there some fortnight ago, and seeing his nice house and wife, we dined at the depot and left for _Chicago_, our coloured cook was walking and dawdling about apparently quite well, now that he had got rid of us. We had sleeping berths in the train--an unknown man slept in the one over mine, and I had to dress and undress behind the curtains of my own. We breakfasted at Barnsville Wednesday morning, and that evening stopped in pouring rain at _Milwaukie_; it is a finely situated town, but the station had been lately burnt down, and we were very cold and uncomfortable for two hours. Poking about to amuse themselves, the