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A week in Quebec in the spring Thornley, Betty; Canadian Pacific Railway Company 1930

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H Do you like the color
of the cover? Maybe
you thought it Scotch.
But it's pure Quebec
— catalogne — the rag
carpet the habitant
likes for his floor. You
might like some for
your country house at
home. The windmill in
the lower corner isn't
Dutch, as you might
suppose. Its great fans
move to St. Lawrence
breezes—though, alas,
there are few of the
picturesque old giants
left. The Chateau Frontenac stands on the hill
above the river— like the
dream of the restless
vanguard who made
Canada, turned to
stone. The old Chateau
St. Louis lives in the
heart of it. And the
future blossoms in the
ballroom, night by night.
THERE isn't a sound in the whole world but the
singing of the wind . . . The air is cool, clean,
faintly aromatic, touched with the feel of water,
salt but not quite salt—no city air—alive ! . . . You
can smell the grass, too.
If you open your eyes, they plunge off into vast
blue distance—a blue gulf, blue as woodsmoke, filled
with wheeling wind-blown specks of black swallows—
floored far below with a mile-wide river like a huge
sheet of grey rippled glass. There's a single boat on
it, incredibly small, white, with a fan-tail of white
water behind her and a little smudge of smoke, sliding
away into the west. And over on the other side of the
river  there's  a  long low village with  toy houses,
many-coloured under the mist, pricked here and
there with spires ....
Then, on the wind, there comes the sound of
church-bells, every soft full note blown this way and
that, like the little swallows themselves, faint and
far . . . then closer, till they sound inside your heart.
You're up on the top of Citadel Hill. Quebec.
Spring.    And the dusk is coming down.
A week ago you were—well, where were you ?
Town house ? Country house ? Working ? Weekending? The usual thing, anyhow. Now you're
here. In a world so different, so beautifully, restfully
different that the years are sliding off two at a time,
and the little wrinkle between your eyes (and on
your soul) is going with them.    Sleep—miles deep.
Printed in Canada 1930
Page I // youve ever been a
military man or a Red
Cross lady yoitll want
to visit the Citadel,
where Great Britain
spent five millions sterling in the days when
stone walls were still a
protection and little
cannon guarded kithe
thin red line.1'
xpppmmrm' ;   : ". ppm:w^p::z
mmiMp€pppPPtp::^pyp :^
Eat—you can taste that grilled Saguenay salmon
yet! You didn't know fish could be like that if you
didn't catch them yourself. And Louis said something confidential, as he bent over your chair, about
brook trout tomorrow—an Indian brings them in.
Hurry or you'll. be late for dinner. (Heavens !
When have you cared before whether you were or
not?) As you trot down the wooden steps, miles
of them, and then along the terrace toward the
hotel, you think how you'd grumble if you had
to do it without your motor at home. But here
it's a pleasure. ... Is it the air? . . . And
besides, it's good for your weight. You know
what the doctor said.
The Chateau Frontenac looms like a great
mediaeval castle, spangled with fairy lights. Your
room's up in the tower—what a view! You don't
care about views as a rule, but when you can see
Page 2
clear to the North Pole and have it all blowing in
on you on a windy night—well, it gives you some
sense of the size of things, especially of the
Dominion of Canada, little lighted settled strip
that it is, on the edge of the ultimate dark that
goes clear up to the top of the world. Some day
they'll build it solid, perhaps, but not in our time,
please God.    It's good to be able to breathe.
This is a big hotel, this Chateau. Sixteen
hundred guests when it's full. You're here in
the spring, though, before the rush. Never did
like crowds. But the service is just the same.
What was it Louis said?—Dover sole over from
England, fresh-caught, in their own ships that
come right to the door—live lobsters from the
North Shore of Nova Scotia in their own ships—
all their own meats smoked, their own preserves
put   up—strawberries   and   vegetables   from   the Isle of Orleans over there where the church-bells
came from—maple syrup from their own place,
too; and wasn't that grape fruit a. la Canadienne.
good, all full of maple syrup—something new. The
Canadian Pacific owns about every kind of convenience there is—ships, railways, telegraphs,
express, farms, hotels. But this hotel is one of
their very best.    Lucky you!
Back in 1608, Samuel de Champlain founded
Quebec. He was a strange sort, Champlain. A
statesman and a trader and a bit of a priest, and
a great lover of the gentle lady, his Marquise,
whom he brought out from France. He made a
garden for her, with seeds and slips from Versailles.
But that was below the cliff the Chateau stands
on, down in the Lower Town. Champlain laid the
foundation of the Chateau St. Louis in 1620, and
for over two hundred years it was the centre of
government for all the miles of Canada there were—
centre of wars between the French and the English
—between the French and the Iroquois.
Then, in 1834, lt was burned down in the middle
of winter (22 below zero), despite the warm water,
furnished, we're told, to keep the hand-engines
and their hoses from freezing. It wasn't built
again, this old castle, but the terrace was smoothed
over its turbulent history, and later on the lordly
Chateau Frontenac began to grow beside the spot.
It grew like Quebec itself, first one part and then
the other, with halls as round-and-round and
stairs as up-and-down as the streets of the town
that filled all the lower levels, and spread around
the bottom of the hill, and over the top of the hill,
and branched out into parishes on both sides of
the St. Charles. But the Tower of the Chateau is
the hotel's   most   recent   addition,   and   it  springs
Page 3 There are two 18-hole
courses out at Montmorency Falls where you
may drive with a view
across the river to inspire you, and many
long cold drinks as
consolers in case your
arm isnt as good as
your eye.
: .
pf£&>a^ :Pm:m:P>PP'PCLpPm^
as straight and as tall and as sure as Champlain
himself, a giant above his times. It can even
look down a bit on Citadel Hill, humped up, green
and still, at the other end of the fourteen-hundred-
foot terrace.
If you've ever been a military man or a Red
Cross lady, you'll go up to the Citadel, that grey
old stone fort with its great iron-studded door
where a sentry paces to and fro.
Gieat Britain spent five millions sterling on this
gently green and rolling plateau, three hundred
feet and more above the river—and that was in
the good old times when men got twenty cents a
day. But now the fringe of gnarled green willows
whispers to the old grey walls finished a hundred
years ago, and the tunnels under the walls are
never  opened,   and   the  little  green  cannon   with
1775 on it stands peacefully in front of the big
black gun with 1918 on it, and nothing warlike
ever happens except a salute of twenty-one guns
on the King's Birthday or a martial blare when
the boys go over to camp at Levis. All the same,
it's a marvellous old place. And the Observatory
signal-ball gives the time to the whole city. And
there's a wireless, doubtless filled to the last
antenna with all sorts of unspeakable secrets.
And you can see a million miles over the world,
and hear the wind beating in your ears. . . .
Strange, that the peacefullest place you ever
found should be an ancient Fort.
Whatever you like to do that can be done outdoors in the Spring—it's here in Quebec to do.
Golf, naturally—two eighteen-hole courses out at
Montmorency Falls, where the white water plunges
over a cliff higher than Niagara, straight into the
Page 4 ■'■ ■■: ■:■■■■■ ■ "      . '■ ■   ' ■  ,        '■.''■.'".■'■ . .,■ I : I ■:  : I
wide St. Lawrence. If this were only winter, in
the olden days, you'd see a cone of frozen spray
a hundred feet high at the bottom of the fall, with
refreshment booths carved inside by the thrifty
who sold hot drinks. But now the water goes
free and bold, and you turn into Kent House for
tea, with memories of Queen Victoria's father
thrown in for good measure. For this was where
he lived, the young Duke, when he wasn't in town
at his little place so near the Chateau. But that
little place was of hoary antiquity long before the
Duke was born, for the Chevalier Louis d'Ailleboust,
Governor-General of the French King in Canada,
friend and patron of the grateful Huron nation
who have never forgotten him, lived in that house
in 1648. And his widow gave it to the nuns of the
Hotel Dieu. . . . One wishes it could speak before
they tear it down.
In the days not so long ago, before the Province
developed an extraordinary source of revenue
directly traceable to the Eighteenth Amendment
south of the Boundary Line, motoring in Quebec
wasn't all that it might be, once you'd left the
city itself. But now, there are miles and miles
of good driving in every direction. Many people
come up to Montreal and along to Quebec in their
own cars, and others hire cars by the day or the
hour from the Chateau management.
The local chauffeur has the advantage in that
he not only knows all the points of interest, but
may prove to be one himself to visitors not previously acquainted with the type.
Here's a keen-faced boy, perhaps, who says he
was born in Massachusetts but proclaimed himself
a French-Canadian in 1914, went into training
at  the  huge  camp  that  mushroomed  into  being
Page 5 When they plough in
Quebec, they may do it
with horses, or with
oxen—but not by machinery. They get full
value from their farms.
But there's none of this
modern roar—from the
tractor or the taxpayer.
Life's easy there.
wm-m .,,, m.^pmm^P,^
at his own cousin's village of Valcartier, stole out
one day and found a little black bear on the hills
and coaxed him to be mascot for a few thousand
men who never grew tired of seeing him drink
milk out of a bottle, sitting sober-faced in the
Y.M.C.A. "But we had to leave him in England
where all the mascots stayed," the boy said
mournfully. "We couldn't take him over and have
him killed."
Another chauffeur turns out to be an ex-postman
along the North Shore, where they deliver the infrequent mail to the lonely winter-bound villages
by dog-team, passing it from hand to hand "till
the Eskimos take it" at last. All the chauffeurs
tell you tales of the country, once they know
you're interested—of the boy from Valcartier
who won the ploughing contest at St. Eustache
(though, indeed, he was only fourteen), for he drove
his four horses with the reins around his neck and
just his voice to guide the lead horse, as wise
at the ploughing as himself. "And his furrows
were eight inches wide and four inches deep; all
of them; they measured."
And so the miles slide by. To the Falls, on one
day. To the great Quebec Bridge on another,
ten years in building, twice wrecked, with the
longest suspended span in the world—and perhaps
you'll hear of the marvellous Indian who fell with
it, twice, "and still he's got his nerve!" To
Valcartier, where eternal sleep has overtaken the
once-busy war-time town, and you can get moose
in the autumn once again, though it's only nine
miles from Quebec. To Spencer Wood, where the
Lieutenant-Governor lives in the middle of his own
forest and his round bright flower beds, sky-high
Page 6 w&WiM'pJ iMjXjMMiP
,     ;   ..   .   '.   ...   :      '."'.■
Three-foot walls for
the farmhouse—a little
narrow gallery all gay
with paint—a stone slab
just as God made it—
and gran'mhe spinning
in the sunlight and
crooning a queer old
chanson that goes on—
and on—and on—
above the river—perhaps you'll be asked to a
garden party there! To the end of Cap Rouge,
where you can see the whole of the St. Charles
valley spread before you, like a map come to life,
with hills and rivers and forest, and spires in
every fold. To Tewksbury up in the solemn hills
—but that's another story, with a fish in every
line. To Indian Lorette, where they make moccasins and canoes and snowshoes, Hurons and
workers all.
One of the most interesting drives, of course, is
that around the city to see the high-shouldered
little old French houses, shut-eyed against the
street; to see the monuments that spring naturally
from this romantic soil like bronze or marble
flowers; to see Notre Dame des Victoires, the
oldest church, the quietest and brownest; to
see    Breakneck     Stairs    and    Little     Champlain
Street and Sous-le-Cap and Sous-le-Fort, that
aren't any wider than the streets of Canton;
to take the Wolfe's Cove drive through the
Lower Town, and out the river road where the
Irish live and go to St. Patrick's, out till you
come to the Cove itself, where the history-maker
landed who would rather have written Gray's
Elegy than take Quebec (but he was like the rest
of us; he took Quebec).
For a longer drive, you'll try Ste. Anne-de-
Beaupre. The principal time for pilgrimages to
the world-famous shrine comes at the end of July:
all the better, therefore, for there'll be no crowd
in the road now. And, if you're in luck, it may
be the eve of Corpus Christi Sunday (around the
first of June), and you can see them planting the
roads on both sides with young Christmas trees,
as they've done for three hundred years, father and
Page 7 The whole place is
full of the feeling of
piety—of age—of peace.
And here comes the procession — down, down
on your knees, while the
flowers are scattered,
and the little bell speaks,
and the incense drifts
in the still cool air. . . .
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;' ■. •:..   ■.'   ■   ■ ' '   .    ■   ■ .      ' :..    »   I
mmmmm-P^mPpmp/-y^ \^m'-p^PP
son—and   making   the   green-boughed   repository
to which the procession will go.
All the houses are new-painted—the old Normandy farmhouses down by the river, and the
houses on the long village streets that go for miles.
Painting the ends of a house and the front of it
the same colour just isn't done. So here's a white
house with pink ends, and a pink strip along the
front of the narrow roofless verandah on which
the family sits and watches you going by. The
steps are pink, too, and a strip of pink so dark it's
almost brown runs up the centre. For why make
work for Marie Jeanne by tracking in the mud?
Other houses are pink and grey, or pale blue and
white, or green like young corn, or faint buff and
blue—incredibly tidy, incredibly clean! As soon
as one man at the end of the village begins to
paint—all know.    If there is a renegade who paints
not—"Ah!" breathes the village choruses behind
its hand, "Grps Louis, he has not made the money
this year; he cannot paint!" Till—beg, borrow, or
pray to bonne Ste. Anne to save his face—Gros
Louis, he paints too.
Naturally, whatever one's faith, one should
go to see the great new Basilica, already rising
like ^ the so-proverbial phoenix from the ashes
of disastrous conflagration. The crypt has been
temporarily fitted for the reception of pilgrims,
and all the sacred and valuable relics and gifts
to the shrine, some of them dating back two
hundred and fifty years, were saved intact. Then,
one must investigate the foundations of the
marvellous edifice that is to take the old Basilica's
place when the Redemptorist Fathers have finished
their work—a matter of years, of course, for the
church never hurries unduly in such a case.   Every-
Page8 f^V*^
He wtg/j/ fo making
snowshoes, or canoes,
this dark-eyed boy. But
he's carving a figure for
a crucifix, every little
stroke slow, calculated,
his very own. He could
make more money in
the United States—but
—he couldn't take his
nice Canadian timel
thing must be of the best, and donations are
coming from all over Christendom, as one would
naturally expect.
The whole place is full of the feeling of piety,
of age, of peace, of a world one never sees any
more—men and women making the rounds of the
Stations of the Cross out under the soft flushed
sky as we go to our tea in the pale blue and white
hotel with the carved iron railing—the sound of
bells—a drift of incense from the chapel of the
Franciscan convent, whither the Blessed Sacrament
was taken from the Basilica in the midst of the
flames—people ascending the Scala Sancta on their
knees, absorbed, praying—a little boy carrying
holy water back to his sick mother—shops and
shops full of tiny statues and rosaries and pictures
—the Cyclorama of Jerusalem, where one may
see everything from the Cross to the Rich Man's
tomb—and behind it all the broad blue river up
which the Breton sailors came so long ago, and,
looking up at the bluffs, proposed a chapel as a
thank-offering to the good Ste. Anne for having
saved them from a watery grave. . . . And,
straightway, miracles began—miracles which were
an old tale to the believing in 1665.
,. The drive back to the city is quiet past all
telling. There are few headlights to stab the dark.
One passes a wayside Calvaire where a woman
kneels . . . a little brook tumbling down under
old willows bringing the scent of night with
it ... a slim line of pines, brushing the road with
their clean heady fragrance. . . .
"And if I wanted to come here to live when I
was old, what would a house cost?" you ask. "This
house with the light in it, where the dog barks?"
"Two   thousand,   maybe,"   says   the  chauffeur.
Page 9 "But they wouldn't sell. Always they were here;
since there was Canada."
To-morrow they will be out watching the procession. But you will be in Quebec, watching it
there after High Mass in the Seminary Chapel.
Each parish has its own procession, and	
Here is ours, coming down a steep grey-cobbled
street under the windiest blue sky, between grey old
houses with their seventeenth century faces all
gay with flags—Canadian flags, the tricolor, yellow
Papal^ flags, flags of the Sacred Heart, even an
American flag or two, all clean and new, flick-
flicking above the little girls in white with their
white veils, and the Seminary boys with their
wide green sashes, and the Academy boys with
their band who march like soldiers, and the men
and women in their Sunday bravery who walk
and pray out loud.
Ah! Here are the little altar boys all dressed
in satin—a pink satin boy with a pink ruff and a
tall rose-petal-coloured banner—a blue satin boy
with a tray of flowers—a white satin boy with the
face of a very young angel on his sunniest day.
And here come the priests—down, down on your
knees—they bring the Blessed Sacrament with
bell and incense and scattering of flowers. The
oldest priest has hair as white as moonlight, and
a cope of gold lined with old flame-colour. . . .
If you believe, it's all divine. . . . And even if
you don't believe in just this way, why, worship
in your own, as you bow your head, and thank
God for a city where they still believe something.
And then, that night, the band plays on Dufferin
Terrace in the little green and white candy-striped
pavilion, and all Quebec comes joyfully up to
promenade in the soft air, and flirt a bit, and chat
Page io u.sri
Wayside shrines are
many in this province
of the devout. Often one
sees a kneeling figure,
quiet under the trees before the gate. For the
road runs by, but the
heart pauses. . . . Hence
there is peace in Quebec.
a bit, and listen to the music. Strange to say—
or is it strange?—there is no jazz; nor does the
crowd seem to want it.
Lean over the railing and look down, down two
hundred feet into the silent Lower Town where
the narrow tall houses are lit from below by the
street lights, eerily, their feet in shadow, their
sharp-pitched roofs in shadow too, only the white
gleam on their strange old faces. . . . If the Past
could steal out of them, and come up Mountain Hill, and walk, wrapped in its cloak, on
Dufferin Terrace ... if Laval, that great Bishop,
could come down from his bronze pedestal, and
Champlain could clap on his plumed hat and step
from his high elevation where the sculptor thinks
he has him fixed forever ... if Louis Hebert, the
first settler . . . and Jolliet who discovered the
Mississippi . . . and  Frontenac   himself . . . and
the Duchesse d'Aiguillon, great Richelieu's niece
. . . and the Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation who brought over the first of the gentle
Ursulines to teach the school at which so many of
the lovely dark-eyed little Quebecoises have been
educated, generation after generation—if these
could come! And if the ghosts of the Micmacs,
the Abenakis, the friendly Hurons in blanket and
feathers could slip through the shifting crowd and
listen too	
Perhaps they are here! Who that had ever come
to Quebec could fail to come again? It's not like
any other city, this high-piled town of memory
and dream. Nor would the ghosts of its past be
in the least like other ghosts. They're so human
when you read about them, so gallant in misfortune,
so steadfast in their faith. They would be pleased
to come, be sure of that; and we to have them.
The Chateau Frontenac,
Quebec, Que.
Place Viger Hotel,
Montreal, Que.
The social centre of this historic city. Commandingly situated on Dufferin Terrace, it affords magnificent views of the noble St. Lawrence. It is an ideal stopping point for either the tourist or the business man. Besides the scenic and historic interest of Quebec, golf, motoring and easily reached fishing are available to visitors. Excursions can be made to Montmorency Falls, Ste. Anne de Beaupre, etc. In winter
the Chateau Frontenac is the headquarters of a splendid winter sport season.
The Chateau Frontenac (a mile from station) is operated on the European plan.    Open all year.
A charming hotel that makes an ideal centre for those who prefer quiet and yet wish to be within easy reach of the business and shopping
districts.    Close to the docks and the old historic section, and a popular social rendezvous.
The Place Viger (which adjoins Place Viger Station, and is \y2 miles from Windsor Station) is operated on the European plan. Open all year.
The Royal York Hotel,
Toronto, Ont.
The argest hotel in the British Empire and one of the most palatial in the world. Located in the heart of downtown Toronto, it commands a magnificent view of Lake Ontario. .A subway connects the hotel with Union Station where railway lines from all parts of Canada
and the United States converge.    European Plan.    Open all year.
The Algonquin,
St. Andrews,  N.B.
McAdam Hotel,
McAdam, N.B.
The social centre of Canada's most fashionable seashore summer resort, charmingly situated overlooking Passamaquoddy Bay. Two
golf courses (18 and 9 holes), bathing, yachting, boating, bowling green, deep sea and fresh water fishing, tennis, etc. In summer, has through
sleeping car service to Montreal.    Open June 21st to September 5th     American plan.    One mile from station.
A commercial hotel at an important junction point; also for the sportsman, the starting point into a magnificent fishing and big game
country. Open all year.    American plan.    At station.
Royal Alexandra Hotel,
Winnipeg, Man.
Hotel Saskatchewan,
Regina, Sask.
Hotel Palliser,
Calgary,  Alta.
A popular hotel in the largest city of Western Canada, appealing to those who wish to break their transcontinental journey.     The centre
of Winnipeg's social life.    Good golfing and motoring.    Open all year.    European plan.    At station.
A new hotel in the old capital of the Northwest Territory, headquarters of the Mounted Police.      Golf, tennis.    Most central hotel for the
prairies.    European Plan.    Open all year.
A handsome hotel of metropolitan standard, in this prosperous city of Southern Alberta.    Suited equally to the business man and the
tourist en route to or from the Canadian Rockies.    Good golfing and motoring.    Open all year.    European plan.    At station.
Banff Springs Hotel,
Banff, Alta.
Chateau Lake Louise,
Lake Louise, Alta.
Emerald lake Chalet,
near Field, B.C.
Hotel Sicamous,
Sicamous, B.C.
A magnificent hotel in the heart of the Banff National Park, backed by three splendid mountain ranges. Alpine climbing motoring
and drives on good roads, bathing, hot sulphur springs, golf, tennis, fishing, boating and riding. Open May 15th to October 1st.
European plan.      Special rates to longer term or resident guests.     1 y2 miles from station.      Altitude 4,625 feet.
A wonderful hotel facing an exquisite Alpine Lake in Banff National Park. Alpine climbing with Swiss guides, pony trips or walks to
Lakes in the Clouds, Saddleback, etc., drives or motoring to Moraine Lake, boating, fishing. Open June 1st to September 30th. European
plan.    3 }4 miles from station by motor railway.    Altitude 5,670 feet.
A charming chalet hotel situated at the foot of Mount Burgess, amidst the picturesque Alpine scenery of the Yoho National Park.
Roads and trails to the Burgess Pass, Yoho Valley, etc. Boating and fishing. Open June 15th to September 15th. American plan. Seven
miles from station.   Altitude 4,262 feet.
Junction for the orchard districts of the Okanagan Valley, and stop-over point for those who wish to see the Thompson and Fraser
Canyons by daylight. Lake Shuswap district offers good boating, and excellent trout fishing and hunting in season. Open all year. American
plan.    At station.     Altitude 1,146 feet.
Hotel Vancouver,
Vancouver, B.C.
Empress Hotel,
Victoria,  B.C.
The largest hotel on the North Pacific Coast, overlooking the Strait of Georgia, and serving equally the business man and the tourist.
Situated in the heart of the shopping district of Vancouver. Golf, motoring, fishing, hunting, bathing, steamer excursions. Open all year.
European plan.      One-half mile from station.
A luxurious hotel in this Garden City of the Pacific Coast. An equable climate has made Victoria a favorite summer and winter resort
Motoring, yachting, sea and stream fishing, shooting and all-year golf. Crystal Garden for swimming and bathing. Open all year. European
plan.    Facing wharf.
Kentville, N.S	
Digby, N.S	
French River,  Ont..
Nipigon,  Ont	
Kenora,  Ont	
Moraine Lake, Alta.,
 Cornwallis Inn
 The Pines
. . French River Camp
. Nipigon River Camp
. . . Devil's Gap Camp
. Moraine Lake Camp
Banff, Alta Mount Assiniboine Camp
Hector,  B.C Wapta Camp
Hector, B.C Lake O'Hara Camp
Field,  B.C Yoho Valley Camp
Penticton, B.C Hotel Incola
Cameron Lake, B.C Cameron Lake Chalet
n      ~ w.    . .    j. ...     „.,. / Castle   Mountain  Bungalow Camp
Banff-Windermere Automobile Highway ^ Radium Hot Springs Camp /
Atlanta, Ga	
Banff, Alta	
Boston, Mass	
Buffalo, N.Y	
Calgary, Alta..... .
Chicago, 111	
Cincinnati, Ohio . . .
Cleveland, Ohio . . .
Dallas, TExas	
Detroit, Mich	
Edmonton Alta....
Fort William, Ont.
Guelph, Ont	
Halifax, N.S	
Hamilton, Ont	
Honolulu, T.H	
Indianapolis, Ind...
Juneau, Alaska	
Kansas City, Mo ...
Ketchikan, Alaska..
Kingston, Ont	
London, Ont	
Los Angeles, Cal...
Memphis, Tenn	
Milwaukee, Wis . . .
Minneapolis, Minn.
Montreal, Que	
Moose Jaw, Sask. . .
Nelson, B.C	
New York, N.Y... .
North Bay, Ont....
Omaha, Neb	
Ottawa, Ont	
Peterboro, Ont....
Philadelphia, Pa...
Pittsburgh, Pa	
Port Arthur, Ont..
Portland, Ore	
Prince Rupert, B.C
Quebec, Que	
Regina, Sask	
Saint John, N.B.*. .
St. Louis, Mo	
St. Paul, Minn	
San Francisco, Cal.
Saskatoon, Sask	
Sault Ste. Marie, Ont
Seattle, Wash	
Sherbrooke, Que...
Skagway, Alaska . . .
Spokane, Wash	
Tacoma, Wash	
Toronto, Ont	
Vancouver, B.C... .
. . .K. A. Cook, 1017 Healey Bldg.
. . . J. A. McDonald, Canadian Pacific Station.
. . .L. R. Hart, 405 Boylston St.
. .  W. P. Wass, 160 Pearl St.
. . . G. D. Brophy, Canadian Pacific Station.
. . .T. J. Wall, 71 East Jackson Blvd.
. .   M. E. Malone, 201 Dixie Term'l Bldg.
. . .G. H. Griffin, 1010 Chester Ave.
. . .A. Y. Chancellor, 906 Kirby Bldg.
. .   G. G. McKay, 1231 Washington Blvd.
. . .C. S. Fyfe, Canadian Pacific Building.
. . .H. J. Skynner, 108 South May St.
. . .W. C. Tully, 30 Wyndham St.
. . .A. C. MacDonald, 117 Hollis St.
. . .A. Craig, Cor. King and James Sts.
. . .Theo. H. Da vies & Co.
. . . P. G. Jefferson, Merchants Bank Building.
. . . W. L. Coates.
. . .R. G. Norris, 723 Walnut St.
. . . Edgar Anderson.
. . . J. H. Welch, 180 Wellington St.
. . .H. J. McCallum, 417 Richmond St.
. . .W. Mcllroy, 621 South Grand Ave.
. . .E. A. Humler, Porter Bldg.
. . .F. T. Sansom, 68 East Wisconsin Ave.
. . .H. M. Tait, 611 2nd Ave. South.
. . .F. C. Lydon, 201 St. James Street.
. . .T. J. Colton, Canadian Pacific Station.
. . . J. S. Carter, Baker & Ward Sts.
. . .F. R. Perry, Madison Ave., at 44th St.
. . .C. H. White, 87 Main Street, West.
. . .H. J. Clark, 727 W.O.W. Building.
. . . J. A. McGill, 83 Sparks St.
. . . J. Skinner, George St.
. . . J. C. Patteson, 1500 Locust St.
. . .W. A. Shackelford, 338 Sixth Ave.
. . .F. C. Gibbs, Canadian Pacific Station.
. . .W. H. Deacon, 148a Broadway.
. . .W. C. Orchard.
... .C.-A. Langevin, Palais Station.
. . . J. W. Dawson, Canadian Pacific Station.
. . .G. E. Carter, 40 King St.
. . .Geo. P. Carbrey, 412 Locust St.
. . . W. H. Lennon, Soo Line, Robert & Fourth Sts.
. . .F. L. Nason, 675 Market St.
. . .R. T. Wilson, 115 Second Ave.
. . .R. S. Merifield, 529 Queen St.
. . .E. L. Sheehan, 1320 Fourth Ave.
. . . J. A. Metivier, 91 Wellington St. North.
. . .L. H. Johnston.
. . .E. L. Cardie, Spokane International Ry.
. . .D. C. O'Keefe, 1113 Pacific Ave.
. . .Wm. Fulton, Canadian Pacific Bldg.
. . . F. H. Daly, 434 Hastings St. West.
Victoria, B.C	
Washington, D.C.
Windsor, Ont
Winnipeg, Man...
Antwerp, Belgium..
Belfast, Ireland
Birmingham, Eng...
Bristol, Eng	
Brussels, Belgium. .
Cobh, Ireland	
Glasgow, Scotland..
Hamburg, Germany.
Liverpool, Eng	
London, Eng.	
Manchester, Eng. .
Paris, France	
Rotterdam, Holland
Southampton, Eng..
Hong Kong, China.
Kobe, Japan	
Manila, P.I	
Shanghai, China	
Yokohama, Japan..
. .L. D. Chetham, 1102 Government St.
. C. E. Phelps, 14th and New York Ave
. . W. C. Elmer, 34 Sandwich St. West.
. . C. B. Andrews, Main and Portage.
. .E. A. Schmitz, 25 Quai Jordaens.
. .W. H. Boswell, 14 Donegal! Place.
. . W. T. Treadaway, 4 Victoria Square.
. .A. S. Ray, 18 St. Augustine's Parade.
. .G. L. M. Servais, 98 Blvd. Adolphe-Max.
. .J. Hogan, 10 Westbourne Place.
. .W. Stewart, 25 Bothwell St.
. .T. H. Gardner. Gansemarkt 3.
. .H. T. Penny, Pier Head.
[C. E. Jenkins, 62-65 Charing Cross, S.W. 1.
' \G. Saxon Jones, 103 Leadenhall St., E.C. 3.
. . J. W. Maine, 31 Mosley Street.
. .A. V. Clark, 24 Boulevard des Capucines.
. .J. Springett, Coolsingel No. 91.
. .H. Taylor, 7 Canute Road.
. .G. E. Costello, Opposite Blake Pier.
. . B. G. Ryan, 7 Harima Machi.
J. R. Shaw, 14-16 Calle David, Roxas Bldg.
.A. M. Parker, 4 The Bund.
. E. Hospes, No. 21 Yamashita-cho.
J. Sclater, Traffic Manager, Can. Pac. Ry., for Australia and New Zealand,
Union House, Sydney, N.S.W.
A. W. Essex, Passenger Manager, Can. Pac. Ry., for New Zealand,
Auckland, N.Z.
Adelaide, S.A Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Auckland, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Brisbane, Qd Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Christchurch, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Dunedin, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Fremantle, W.A Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Hobart, Tas Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Launceston, Tas Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
(Harry Boyer, Passenger Representative, Can.
TT     -PaCo5"y;- f   XT 4    'P J     /T   Id   \
Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Thos. Cook & Son.
Perth, W.A Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Suva, Fiji Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Sydney, N.S.W Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Wellington, N.Z (J;T- CampbeU.TW. Pass. Agt   Can Pac. Ry.
(Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Any of the agents listed above will be glad to make reservations at Canadian Pacific Hotels for intending guests.
Canadian Pacific    Hotel Department
Convention and Tourist Trafic Manager
Asst. General Manager
Eastern Hotels
General Manager
Eastern Hotels
General Manager
Western Hotels
GOOD THE WORLD  OVER MnvMWMitffliWiiiiPMMWtgittantiwmtnttt
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